The thought made me pause. His response to my kiss, and his strange words about not giving him a chance, swirled within my mind.
“Isn’t it magnificent?” Mama asked as she stared at Cliveden House.
I was thankful she tore my thoughts away from Austen—though it would be impossible to forget about him completely.
The central part of the mansion was a three-story rectangular structure with dozens of windows, and along the sides were corridors leading to two-story buildings flanking either side. The River Thames hugged the edge of the beautifully landscaped property, and the first yellow tinges of autumnal color were starting to appear, though the weather felt like July.
“It’s remarkable that this home was a wedding present,” Mama said. “I can’t imagine such wealth.”
My parents lived a very comfortable lifestyle, but it wasn’t grand. They’d purchased Mama’s childhood home on Lafayette Square in Washington, DC, and had taken care of my grandparents Maggie and Graydon in their old age. My older sister, Lydia, and I had been raised with them. Losing Grams and Gramps within months of each other just two years ago had been a difficult loss,but I had taken comfort in knowing they’d led good, fulfilling lives. They hadn’t left much of a financial legacy since they’d spent most of their money caring for orphans, but the legacy of faith and love was priceless.
The cab took us to the front entrance. A butler was waiting for our arrival, and he ordered two footmen to take our bags to our rooms, but Nancy Astor had requested that we be brought to the terrace as soon as we arrived.
The back terrace of Cliveden House was even more impressive than the front entrance, looking out at a pristine lawn with hedges and flowerbeds. It also afforded a better view of the river.
There were several people already gathered on the terrace, laughing, enjoying hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Some were sitting at tables, others were standing in small groups, and still others were on lounge chairs. The ladies wore large hats and light-colored dresses, while the men were in summer suits and brimmed hats. It was a festive, happy crowd. I recognized a few from the Astors’ dinner the night before, but there were others I didn’t know.
“Finally,” Nancy said as she left a group of people and joined us. “Now the weekend can start.”
We greeted our hostess and allowed her to introduce us to several of her guests. I was surprised to see Sir Bryant Rothschild and his Italian wife, Bianca, among the group. I wasn’t aware that the Rothschilds were friends with the Astors.
But it was Charles and Anne Lindbergh whom I was most eager to see. The famous aviator and his wife had been living in England for the past three years, having left America after their first-born son, Charles Jr., was kidnapped out of their home and found dead in a wooded area less than five miles away a couple months later. The press had been unbearable, forcing the Lindberghs to flee for the safety of their second child.
“Colonel Lindbergh,” Papa said as the Lindberghs rose from their place at a wrought iron table to greet my parents. “It’s good to see you again.”
I’d seen Charles Lindbergh the day he received the DistinguishedFlying Cross medal from President Calvin Coolidge eleven years ago. I had only been twelve years old as Mama, Papa, Lydia, and I had stood on the makeshift stage under the Washington Memorial with hundreds of thousands of people watching. Charles Lindbergh had been the first person to fly solo nonstop across the Atlantic Ocean in 1927, and the world had not been the same since. He’d gone on to promote aviation and had married Anne Morrow, an American ambassador’s daughter, two years later.
His famous airplane,The Spirit of St. Louis, hung in the North Hall of the Arts and Industries Building at the Smithsonian. I walked under it every day.
“It’s good to see you, too, General Voland,” Lindbergh said. He was a tall, thin man, known for his good looks and private demeanor. “I was surprised when we learned that you and your family would be in London.” He motioned to the woman standing beside him. “This is my wife, Anne.”
Anne was just as quiet and reserved as Charles, though she was dwarfed in comparison to his height. She shook my hand and then Mama’s before smiling at Papa. It was hard to imagine what her life had been like since the kidnapping of her son. But one of the reasons they’d come to England was to stay out of the limelight and not talk about it—so I wouldn’t. But she was an author, with two books about the famous flights she and her husband had taken, and I hoped to talk to her about them.
“Ever since I heard you’d be here, I’ve been eager to discuss an opportunity with you,” Lindbergh said to Papa. “I’ve recently made two trips to Germany at the invitation of the American military attaché in Berlin to inspect the Luftwaffe.”
The Luftwaffe was the aerial warfare branch of the German military—something Papa had spoken about often since it became known that Germany was rearming themselves despite their agreement not to do so after the Great War.
“It’s been fascinating to see their aircraft and factories,” Lindbergh continued. “I’ve sent reports back to Washington, but I’d like to return to Berlin to see more of their aircraft factories andget a better understanding of their capabilities. I would appreciate your perspective, if you’d like to join me.”
I looked to Papa, expecting him to decline the invitation. If Mama thought England was a dangerous place right now, Germany was far worse.
But I didn’t see fear or even concern in Papa’s face. What I saw was excitement. “You’d like me to join you in Berlin?”
“I think we could both help the US by offering our opinions on Germany’s airpower. My report didn’t seem to alarm President Roosevelt, but if he had another respected member of the US Army Air Corps take a look, perhaps we could persuade him that we’re not in a place to fight Hitler at this time.”
Mama’s eyes widened as she looked at Papa. I knew what she was thinking—what she would say to him later. She would not be pleased with the invitation, or the fact that he seemed to consider it.
“Take your time in deciding,” Lindbergh said. “I won’t be going for several weeks. But it would be good to have you.”
“I’ve gone with him,” Anne said to Mama, her voice just as quiet and unassuming as her gentle appearance. “It’s a marvelous city, and I plan to return with Charles on his next trip. Perhaps you’d like to join us, as well, Mrs. Voland.”
Mama offered a tight smile, though I could tell she had no intention of accepting the invitation, even if it had come from the Lindberghs.
My gaze shifted to Sir Rothschild and Calan, who were speaking with Sir Rothschild’s wife, Bianca. When Calan caught my eye, he motioned for me to join them.
“You’ve met?” Sir Rothschild asked as I entered their small group.
“At the Astors’ townhome, last night,” Calan said.
