“Sorry, no. Is he here? I need to speak with him.”
Reginald took his seat. “You know where to find him.”
Never had the sight of the closed door to Wesley’s office looked quite so daunting. Coming to him for help was intensely awkward after last night. Nevertheless, there were few people in the city so well versed in humanitarian law. She squared her shoulders and knocked.
“Come in,” he responded, his rich tenor painfully familiar. She opened the door, and surprise widened his eyes as he shot to his feet. “Delia, hello. Come in.” He gestured toward a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
“I have a legal problem. I wondered if you could help.”
He smiled. “Of course.”
She was too nervous to sit and instead paced the route circling his desk, the floor globe, and the chair near the window. It didn’t take long to summarize Mathilde Verhaegen’s arrest for her part in saving Finn. She explained the outlawed newspaper of the resistance and how Mathilde had been caught with hundreds of copies in her home, clearly intending to distribute the papers.
“Is her situation as bad as Finn believes it to be?” she asked.
Wesley remained seated at his desk, watching her through somber eyes. “It’s bad, yes,” he said. “Either one of those charges could potentially result in the death penalty. Both charges togetheris almost a certainty.” He stood to retrieve a fat volume from a bookshelf. “This book contains the Hague Convention Treaties of 1899 and 1907—international agreements that govern the conduct of war and the rules for protecting civilians. Both Germany and the United States are signatories to them. This is Mathilde’s best hope, albeit it’s a slim one.”
Delia took the heavy volume from him. “Any other ideas?”
Wesley returned to the desk and sat, thrumming his fingers while mulling the situation over for a moment, a gesture she’d watched hundreds of times over the years. She waited several minutes while he pondered. Finally, his head shot up. “Is there a photograph of Mathilde?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“It would be easier to rally public support if people can see her face. Edith Cavell’s story caught fire because of her photograph—a lovely woman with classically beautiful features. It made her the ultimate heroine. Is there a photo available?”
But should support for a woman depend on her being “classically beautiful”? Finn never mentioned Mathilde’s appearance, only that she was brave and that she loved her country. And yet if hunting down a photograph would help her cause, Delia would look for one.
“Finn once told me that she met her husband at the university in Ghent. Perhaps the university has a photo we can use.”
“Find out,” Wesley said.
Within moments they had reverted to their old rhythm, batting ideas around and generating angles for a legal defense. It was like slipping into a comfortable old glove. Wesley wanted to make Mathilde another cause célèbre, stoking public outrage much like had been done with Edith Cavell, but hopefully with a different outcome. Mathilde Verhaegen would be portrayed as a valiant mother, struggling to keep her children alive after her husband had been seized by the Germans and sent to an unknown fate.
“I’ll get Amy to contact the local newspapers and start the process,” Wesley added.
Delia frowned. “This is too important to entrust to Amy. Why did you hire her anyway?”
“I found myself short of staff when a reliable foot soldier disappeared without warning.”
She quirked a brow. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been running around behind said foot soldier’s back if you wanted such unstinting support and loyalty. Why did you lie to me about Constance Beekman?”
“It wasn’t a lie. It was an act of omission.”
She waved her hand in the air, as if clearing the room of a bad smell. “Don’t hide behind legal technicalities. You knew exactly what I wanted, and all the while you were escorting Mrs. Beekman to country vineyards in the Hudson Valley.”
“It would have been improper for a lady of her status to gallivant around the state without an escort.”
“How kind of you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of chivalry. Honestly, the halo above your head is practically glowing. Tell me this: if I offered to return to work here, would you hire me?”
“In an instant.”
“And now that Mrs. Beekman is engaged to another man, would the age difference between us continue to be a problem for you?” She flicked the globe into motion with a single push of her finger.
Wesley stared at the rotating globe, his eyes both hopeful and calculating. The globe was the site of their first kiss. Several moments passed with only the squeak of the rotating globe to mark the passage of the seconds.
“No,” he finally said. “I don’t believe age should be an issue anymore. I’m sure we could reach an understanding, both in the office and outside of it.”
Once upon a time, that statement was her deepest hope. Not anymore. She approached him slowly, her limbs feeling as heavy as stone. “And if Mrs. Beekman’s engagement was to fall through,how fast would you toss me aside were she to reappear in your life?”
