The officer gave her a quick, apologetic glance. “Ma’am, this is a warship. German U-boats are sinking ships up and down the coast, and our job is to sink U-boats. When our patrol is over in a few days, we’ll return to Boston. I’ll have to ask you to be patient.”
Lucie covered her face with both hands, nodded, and prayed harder than ever for that tiny girl in that tiny boat on the great big sea.
47
LISBON, PORTUGAL
FRIDAY, JANUARY30, 1942
In a pressed suit and a new fedora, Paul strolled down the Avenida da Liberdade, clean-shaven, well rested, his stomach full.
Even better, notes from Lucie stuffed his pocket.
His train had pulled in to Lisbon the previous evening. The city lights had almost blinded him after living so long under blackout.
Paul had been delayed in Madrid while American officials verified his identity and his loyalty. Thank goodness Col. Jim Duffy had already given Washington firm instructions to trust Paul and to dismiss all rumors about him being a Nazi collaborator.
First thing in the morning, Paul had visited the American Legation and retrieved Lucie’s notes. They’d taken the first ship home as promised. By now Josie was charming his parents, and Lucie—well, he hoped she stayed in Waltham until he arrived. And forever.
His favorite note had a sticky kiss from Josie’s first candy and a red lipstick kiss from Lucie. Both moved him, although in different ways.
Paul passed restaurants serving full menus as if a war weren’t raging around the world. Yet it raged in Lisbon too. As the only major European port open to both the Allies and the Axis, Lisbon attracted agents from both sides who spied on each other.
He had almost a month to explore. Since the automobile industry was converting to military production, the legation had leaped to help Paul. He’d received a prized seat on a Pan American Clipper flying to New York. But not until February 27.
The next order of business was to cable home his arrival date.
His feet wanted to skip like Josie’s.
Down a side street, he spotted a post office. He stepped inside. “Bom dia,” he said to a clerk. “Parlez-vous français?”
“Oui, monsieur.”
“Good. I would like to send a telegram to the United States.”
“Yes, sir. Your message?”
Paul had composed his message in his head. “May I have a piece of paper?”
“You do not have it? It must be typed.”
“Typed?”
“Of course.” He looked at Paul as if it were obvious. “In Lisbon, messages must be typed.”
He’d never heard of such a thing. “Do you have a typewriter I can use?”
The clerk let out a long-suffering breath. “No, sir.”
Where could Paul find a typewriter? But the rule wasn’t the clerk’s fault. “Thank you anyway.”
Back outside, he filled his lungs with sea-scented air.
Although the thought of surprising Lucie brought up a smile, she shouldn’t suffer an entire month.
Paul strode down the street. “Time to buy a typewriter.”
WALTHAM, MASSACHUSETTS
