“Just made your birthday, my little roll of Necco wafers.” Paul bounced his daughter. “Would have been here on Saturday if big waves at Bermuda hadn’t kept our plane from flying.”
Josie squealed. “You flew in a plane?”
“Not as exciting as your birthday. Five years old. Look how big you are. What’s Miss Girard been feeding—”
“NotMiss Gee-jard.” Josie scowled at her father. “She’s Maman.”
Lucie pressed a kiss to Paul’s shoulder. “She’s following your orders.”
Paul shifted Josie to his hip and circled his arm around Lucie’s waist. “There’s only one solution.”
His grin had to be the most beautiful sight in the world, stirring up laughter and hope and joy and love. “What is it, Mr. Aubrey?”
He kissed her forehead. “Marry me right away so Josie can call you Maman without setting tongues wagging.”
She gave him a teasing smile and snuggled close. “What if I don’t want to?”
“I’ll have to appeal to a higher authority.” He jiggled his daughter. “What do you say, birthday cake? Should Daddy and Maman get married?”
“You alreadyaremarried,” she said with five years of wisdom. “You keep kissing each other.”
“You heard her.” Paul smacked a kiss on Lucie’s lips. “Mrs. Aubrey.”
Lucie overflowed with love for her two brown-eyed Aubreys. They were already a family in heart and soul.
51
WALTHAM
TUESDAY, MARCH3, 1942
“What do you think?” Paul stood with his father by the desk in Dad’s office.
Dad rubbed his chin. “You risked your life for this.”
Tank plans covered the desk—drawings and specifications gleaned from the original French plans, the German officer’s analysis of tanks in combat, and Paul’s knowledge of vehicle design. “Yes, I did.” And he’d do it again.
“I don’t know much about tanks, but this looks good.” Dad crossed his arms over his stomach, pudgier than the last time Paul had seen him. “I’m not sure we have the capacity to build them here.”
“We could expand, build another facility. But I don’t even know if the Army will be interested.”
“Our congressman’s an old friend. He’ll connect you with the right people.”
Paul grinned. “After the wedding.”
“Of course.” Dad slapped him on the back in the unfamiliar American way. “Ready to see how the conversion’s going?”
“I am.” Paul returned the plans to the attaché case Dad had loaned him.
As they made their way out to the factory floor, Dad tugged down his suit vest. “It’s a good day for you to be here with the ladies fussing over the wedding on Saturday.”
“It is.” As far as Paul was concerned, they only needed a preacher, a license, and rings—and that morning he and Lucie had started the process for each of those. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.
Paul passed through familiar halls filled with familiar smells, his step lighter than it had been in almost two years.
Last night he and Lucie had stayed up late talking. Not only had they shared their experiences since they’d been torn apart, but Paul finally told her—and only her—all of what he’d done the past year, from sending information to Duffy to sabotage to sheltering airmen.
For so long people thought the worst of him, but it all felt worthwhile to see the glow on Lucie’s lovely face.
