Under the Moon Gate

by Marilyn Baron

  “That’s utter nonsense, Olivia,” the vice admiral said, turning to his son-in-law. “William, you’re making excuses because you love her. I understand.”

  “I think it’s all that talk in the papers about the murder of that censorette,” William suggested. “It was a violent fight. And there have been no new developments.”

  Olivia shuddered.

  The vice admiral had warned Diana and her mother not to go out alone during the day or at night, especially where the victim’s bludgeoned body was found, near Prospect Railway Station.

  “I know the constables are on alert, but you’ll see to my daughter’s protection, won’t you, son?” the vice admiral asked as he pulled William aside. “Ever since that censorette was murdered, Diana and her mother have both been jittery. Can’t blame them. Most of those poor girls on the Imperial Censorship staff are worked to death. I’m surprised they don’t keel over from heat exhaustion down there in the basement of the Princess Hotel. Not exactly the glamorous jobs they signed up for. But to be clubbed to death with a sawed-down softball bat and foully murdered—no English lady, no lady, deserves that. Police Headquarters have hinted that a sex maniac was responsible.”

  “The police have raised the reward that will hopefully lead to the apprehension of Miss Stapleton’s murderer,” William volunteered. “Until they solve this crime, all our residents and visitors will remain alarmed.”

  “Regardless, we can’t be too careful with our women until the killer is found and he’s swinging from the end of a rope,” said the vice admiral. “Poor woman probably took up with the wrong man or inadvertently discovered something she shouldn’t have. Nasty business. No doubt it’s one of those German spies who did it.”

  William pursed his lips. He suspected Nighthawk was somehow involved. It was his style. But he’d never admit it. And his mistress was a British censorette. William was convinced Nighthawk was a dangerous madman. Volatile and very unpredictable.

  “Diana’s been so emotional lately,” Olivia began. “You don’t think she’s…”

  “Pregnant?” the vice admiral finished her sentence. “So soon? That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, William? A grandchild. Son, do you suppose that’s the reason she’s been so teary lately?”

  The color drained from William’s face. It was unthinkable. A child in these uncertain times would be disastrous. He was doing everything he could to protect his wife, but a child? A helpless child? He couldn’t let that happen. William couldn’t speak.

  “Sir, Mrs. Hargrave…I…I mean, I…I don’t know what to say,” William stammered, feeling sick.

  “Don’t scare the boy, Stirling,” Olivia said. “He’s just become a husband, and now to learn he might be a father on top of that? But William, a child! There’s no greater joy in life, and it would be such a blessing at a time like this.”

  At a time like this? The war isn’t going well. This is no time to bring a child into the world. Not his world.

  Of course he and Diana had talked about a family.

  “My life would be complete if only we could have a child,” Diana had said.

  William would rather cut out his heart than deny his wife what she wanted more desperately than anything else. But that was the way it had to be.

  “But we have each other,” he would always say to coax her out of her doldrums. “I love you to distraction. That’s all we need.”

  “But a child would be a celebration of our love,” Diana pleaded.

  “We can’t in good conscience bring a child into a world at war,” William had countered. “It wouldn’t be fair.” And then he had manufactured other excuses to placate his wife.

  He had been a child alone. He had known what it was like to grow up without a father. His father had been a hero, a submariner killed in the war twenty-five years ago, before he really had a chance to know his son at all.

  What was the going rate for a dead hero? How different would his life have been if he had grown up with a regular father like the other boys had? Instead, he had grown up with a ghost—a picture, placed on a table over a lace cloth, of a man he had never known. His mother had presented him with his father’s medal, the Iron Cross, and he had left it with Emilie to assure her of his return.

  What he remembered most were his mother’s tears. The medal was a poor substitute for a flesh-and-blood man. William himself had been awarded the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross for successful leadership as a submarine captain of the German Navy. He was proud of it but didn’t dare wear it.

  He was not going to let Diana be a war widow. He didn’t know what the future held for him, and there was no way he would let Diana raise his child alone. No child of his was going to go to bed lonely every night, missing his father’s guidance, his praise, his love. If things were different, he would love to have a son. But no. Even after the war it would be impossible.

  Loving Diana was out of his control. But he couldn’t knowingly bring into the world a child who would be the target of a threat. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But one day. He didn’t know when it would come. Or from whom. He was only sure that it would come eventually. He would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, watching his back. And that was not the kind of life he wanted for any child of his. A child was simply out of the question. It had never been in the plans.

  William made his apologies and said his goodbyes to the Hargraves. Checking to see that Diana was still resting comfortably on the couch, he locked himself in his study to update his war diary and review the highs and lows, the ups and downs in the dangerous and volatile game he was playing.

  Chapter 12

  Bermuda, December 6, 1941

  With sixteen shopping days until Christmas, William did his part to get into the holiday spirit by buying Diana a tweed skirt, a new English camel-hair topcoat, a Shetland cashmere pullover, and an angora sweater to keep her warm on the cool Bermuda nights. He picked up some trowels, rakes, forks, and spades, as well as a watering can, for when she puttered around in her garden. He planned to surprise her with diamonds from Crisson Jewellers on Christmas Day, sure to make her smile.

  Diana insisted he try on a tweed topcoat and some of the new khaki for men, which she called “knockabout” clothes, suitable for soldiers or civilians. She said she loved the way he looked “in clothes and out of them.” He couldn’t help noticing the unwrapped boxes from Astwood-Dickinson in the bedroom closet. When he peeked, he found a felt hat and a new watch. He’d act surprised. Diana had trouble keeping secrets. He didn’t have that problem.

  William and Diana attended the annual ball of the Bermuda Branch of the Over-Seas League at the Belmont Manor Hotel and a dinner dance at the New Windsor Hotel, where, to the casual observer, all seemed right with the world.

  The next morning, the news in The Royal Gazette was all about Tokyo and reports of Japan saying America had “misunderstood” her. A Japanese government spokesman made it clear that Japan had no territorial ambitions. The spokesman expressed his opinion that both the U.S. and Japan would continue with sincerity to try to find a common formula for a peaceful situation in the Pacific.

  Journal entry 7th December 1941:

  The headlines read: Japan attacks U.S. bases and declares war on America and Britain. The inside pages report about “The Japanese Stab in the Back.” While Japanese envoys were still at the State Department, the White House broke the news of the aggression and, unable to substantiate reports of a second attack on Army and Navy bases in Manila, Roosevelt hoped that the report of the bombing was “at least…erroneous.” Amid reports that RAF bombers will set a new pace in attack, and unidentified planes were approaching San Francisco, the San Francisco Bay area was blacked out and radio stations were ordered off the air.

  In the same vein, the governor of Bermuda asked all householders and the public generally to make every endeavor to obscure their lights, particularly outside lights and naked lights shining through unscreened windows. “Absolutely Light Proof” blacko
ut paper is for sale and there is a rush on the flashlight business.

  U.S. base workers’ Christmas leave is cancelled. Bermudians are instructed in emergency procedures. Should an attack be considered imminent, a two-minute blast on public “Syrens” will signal danger.

  After they hear the warning, Bermudians are instructed to take the following actions:

  If you are in a building, stay there.

  If you are in the streets, or in the open, make your way quietly to your homes and take shelter in the nearest available place.

  Close shutters.

  Leave windows open.

  Keep calm.

  Carriage drivers were instructed to unhitch horses and tie them up.

  What not to do:

  Don’t use the telephone.

  Don’t spread rumors.

  Don’t stand near glass.

  Amid efforts to formulate a civil defense plan, the governor declared, “I do not want people to become hysterical, but we cannot sit back and say it cannot happen here. That idea is fast disappearing. We can no longer bury our heads in the sand.”

  With the Americans electrified and united, and Britain and the U.S. declaring war on Japan, the strength of American forces stationed on Bermuda would undoubtedly increase after the invasion of Pearl Harbor. If ever there was a time to move, it was now.

  Chapter 13

  Bermuda, December 7, 1941

  Journal entry 7th December 1941:

  Bermuda has been plunged into darkness, and the cause is not inclement weather. The world is at war. Our time has come. Telephone lines across the island have been cut. The power has stopped humming. Commercial planes have stopped their crossovers. The island is virtually paralyzed.

  I cannot help but think that the High Command is acting out of desperation. When Operation Sea Lion never surfaced as scheduled, I assumed all related plans had been scrubbed. Now, when I got the unexpected signal from the sub this afternoon outlining the advanced timetable, I headed straight for home, quickly gathered my wife, prompted her to pack a bag, and rushed to install her at her parents’ house in Hamilton. Hamilton Harbour is exposed, but at least Diana will be with her mother. I don’t know how safe they’ll be there. I am no longer able to reach Diana after dropping her off.

  By now everyone on the island has heard about the “Japanese treachery” at Pearl Harbor and the hostilities perpetrated against American and British forces in the Pacific.

  ****

  The women were stunned but frantic, and Diana wouldn’t let go of him.

  “What does it all mean, William?” she asked anxiously, holding hard to his arm.

  “Everything will be fine, darling Diana, I promise,” he said, as he bent to kiss his wife on the lips and fold her tightly into his arms.

  Trying not to convey his alarm, William futilely struggled to overcome his need to clasp Diana desperately against him and kiss her roughly, maybe for the last time. He was wondering whether he’d ever see her again, and whether, after today, she would ever want to see him again.

  “You act as though we will never see each other again,” Diana whispered, echoing his thoughts and his worst fears.

  “Of course we will,” William assured, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back in what he hoped was a calming, circular motion. “I just miss my wife.”

  “But I’m here, William. I’m here with you now.”

  “I know you are, sweetheart.”

  Diana was used to his amorous ways, but she detected the edge of desperation in him, and her face telegraphed her fear.

  “I just want you to stay with your mother until things can be worked out. I need to get into the office to handle this emergency. I’m a businessman, darling. Not exactly a dangerous profession. I’ll be with you soon.”

  “When will you be back for me?” she demanded.

  “I can’t say exactly. I really can’t say.”

  “William!” she screamed in alarm as he broke out of her arms and dashed to the car. “I’m frightened. Please be careful.”

  While the vice admiral rushed to his base, William’s car swung by the Princess, the massive pink waterfront resort hotel on Pitts Bay Road in downtown Hamilton, to pick up Nighthawk on the way to their appointed emergency station. Nobody was out on Front Street, with the exception of a few sailors cycling by. A Fire Evacuation Practice was scheduled for today, so William left the car parked at the hotel’s entrance and paid the attendant to watch it. He took the elevator to the second floor and pounded repeatedly on Nighthawk’s hotel room door, behind which he was no doubt comfortably cocooned with his French mistress.

  When Nighthawk finally answered the knock, William peered into the low-lit room and inclined his head toward the bed, where Nighthawk’s woman was shamelessly sprawled, voluptuous breasts bared, the rest of her luscious body only lightly covered. Her lustrous, slightly mussed long, dark hair swung sinfully over one eye, and she resembled an American film star. And Gott, she was pregnant. It had been a long time since he’d seen her. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her swollen belly. She met his eyes and placed a protective hand on her stomach. The flash of an emerald on her finger nearly blinded him.

  Posed like a satisfied cat, she affected a sleepy stretch, moistened her sensuous lips, flashed back an inviting smile, and fixed William with her smoldering green eyes. What was her name? Yvette, Claudette, Rosette? Something like that. He could never remember. A man could lose his head around a woman like that. A woman like that would certainly test a man’s resolve.

  Personally, he didn’t have much use for the French. However, he imagined Nighthawk was finding plenty of uses for his longtime lover. He had seen Nighthawk’s paramour fully clothed, had conversed with her on the few occasions his associate had allowed her to venture out of their hotel room. She was clever and she was stunning, the incarnation of perfection itself. So much so that it would have been difficult to determine who was taking advantage of whom in this unorthodox arrangement.

  William often wondered what would have happened if he had met her first. What dark power did Nighthawk hold over this beautiful woman that would cause her to remain imprisoned for so many years in what seemed, on the surface, to be a very depraved relationship? It certainly didn’t resemble any form of love he was familiar with. William half suspected she might be a double agent. But he assumed Nighthawk had the situation under control. Where did Nighthawk’s loyalties lie? He was not quite certain. But that was a matter to be pursued at a later date.

  “Excuse me, Herr Kapitänleutnant,” Nighthawk whispered smugly. “As you can see, I was just taking care of business.”

  William could see from the advanced state of Nighthawk’s arousal that his business had not yet been concluded.

  “Well, yes, the war is hard on everyone,” William said dryly.

  “The bitch is insatiable,” Nighthawk explained with his back to his lover. “She’s always in heat.” Yvette/Claudette/Rosette flinched, and for a minute, from his vantage point at the door, William detected a flash of pure hatred, immediately replaced by a steely resolve. But other than the daggers shooting from her eyes, and a wayward tear that slid down her cheek and was quickly brushed back, the girl betrayed no emotion. At that moment, there was something so sad, so vulnerable about her, that William was tempted to reach out and brush the drop of moisture from her face. She seemed to be imploring him with her eyes. And then, just as quickly, she lowered her lids and a look of resignation replaced the fear.

  He thought he might have imagined the wild look of helplessness he had seen there. If Nighthawk wasn’t more careful in his liaisons, William suspected the man would one day find himself washed up on the shore with a knife in his back.

  “We were just reenacting the exact moment when Germany entered Paris,” Nighthawk recounted in an amused voice. “It didn’t take long. She just lifted her skirts, spread her legs like a French whore, and let us right in.”

  “Your remarks are crude,” William stated with disgust
, “and your behavior careless.” It was becoming increasingly obvious that Nighthawk’s recklessness would have to be dealt with.

  “You’re just jealous,” Nighthawk sneered.

  William was in love with his wife, but he could see how a weaker man might be sorely tempted by the woman who now appeared to be waiting obediently on the bed for her lover’s return.

  “What you do with your seed is your own business,” William warned in a harsh whisper. “What you do with your secrets is mine.” Then he nodded his head toward Yvette/Claudette/Rosette.

  “Je m’excuse de vous interrompre, mademoiselle.” William apologized for the interruption as if they were making polite dinner conversation. Continuing in perfect French, he added, “It was nice to see you again.” She never lifted her head, and he didn’t bother to wait for her acknowledgement.

  “Finish it, then, and meet me in the car,” William said sharply to Nighthawk before he turned to leave.

  “I’d be happy to share, Herr Kapitänleutnant,” Nighthawk said slyly before advising over his shoulder, “When I return, cherie, we’re going to practice the armistice and the occupation.”

  William turned to leave, and Nighthawk observed, “Women are capricious. If she had seen you first, I’ve no doubt you would be the one in her bed now. She has a weakness for powerful men.”

  William didn’t have a clue how to respond to that revelation. “Don’t be long,” he admonished darkly and disappeared down the hall.

  Chapter 14

  Bermuda, an hour later

  “The Princess is in chaos,” Nighthawk relayed with satisfaction when he slipped into the passenger seat of William’s car. “Everyone is running around like ants without a queen. Sailors on a sinking ship. A headless hydra. The attack on Pearl Harbor has blindsided them. All they can do is wait helplessly for instructions.”