Upstairs the dark, narrow hall reminded me of my venture into the German embassy and the panic I felt when I realized I was locked inside. So I padded down the hall to Phoebe’s room. Pushing open the door, I whispered to her.
‘Phoebe? Phoebe? I’m sorry to wake you up.’
Phoebe sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes. ‘It’s all right, dear, what is it?’
‘Can I have one of your Nembutals? I don’t think I can sleep tonight without one, and I’m so tired.’
‘Of course, dearie. You know where they are.’
I went into the bathroom and took the tin out of the medicine cabinet. Picking a tablet out of it I swallowed it dry. By the time I returned to Phoebe’s bedroom to thank her she was already curled up and snoring softly.
Milt clutched my arm with his only hand. ‘The President’s home,’ he said. ‘The USS Potomac docked at the Navy Yard this morning. I heard it on the news just a few minutes ago.’ The Potomac was the presidential yacht. Roosevelt would have transferred to it from the Iowa in the Chesapeake Bay.
‘Thank God,’ I said. I felt almost as much relief to know the President was back in the country as I had when I’d read Joe’s letter last night.
Milt pulled out my chair and seated me at the breakfast table. I still felt a little woozy from the Nembutal, but last night’s deep sleep and Joe’s letter had returned some strength to me. Phoebe moved around the table with the coffee pot, filling everyone’s cup. I slurped mine down the second it had cooled enough to drink.
Phoebe took up her seat at the head of the table and served our plates. She scooped up a helping of scrambled eggs, added two strips of bacon to the plate and passed it on to me. I added two pieces of toast smeared with margarine and tucked in, finding myself starving. I realized that I’d missed dinner last night.
‘I don’t know what the President thought he was doing,’ Phoebe said. ‘Going so far away during wartime, and with his health problems. I didn’t even know where Tehran was until I looked it up in the atlas.’
‘He traveled over seventeen thousand land, sea and air miles, according to the newspapers,’ Henry said. ‘Cairo, then Tehran, then back to Cairo. So irresponsible of him. He should have sent Cordell Hull instead. What if he’d died and we’d been left with Vice President Wallace? He’s even more of a socialist than Roosevelt.’
So despite his disdain for the President even Henry was relieved he was back in the country.
‘I don’t understand why anyone had to go as far as Iran,’ Phoebe said. ‘I would think they could all have met in Cairo.’
‘Because Stalin won’t travel far from Russia,’ Milt said.
‘I guess he’s a homebody,’ I said.
‘And Stalin won’t talk to the Turks. So Churchill and Roosevelt met with the Turkish Prime Minister in Cairo and then went on to Tehran to confer with Stalin,’ Milt said. ‘And then they returned to Cairo to brief General Eisenhower.’
‘Is there any more coffee in the pot?’ I asked.
Milt picked it up and shook it. ‘Some.’ He leaned over and filled my cup half-full. That would have to suffice until I got to work.
Phoebe noticed me eyeing the last two pieces of bacon. ‘Here, dear,’ she said. ‘Ada’s sleeping in, so you can have hers.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I missed dinner last night. I was so tired all I could think about was getting to bed.’ I folded the bacon into another piece of toast and ate it like a sandwich.
‘Speaking of food,’ Phoebe said. ‘Christmas will be here in ten days.’
We all groaned, knowing what was coming.
‘If we want the same meals and sweets we had last year we have to hoard our butter and sugar rations. It’s just not possible otherwise. So does anyone object if we don’t have butter or sugar for the next two weeks?’
‘I’m OK,’ I said. I hated my coffee without sugar but I was willing to sacrifice for Christmas dinner.
‘It’s worth it,’ Milt said.
‘I agree,’ Henry said.
‘Ada doesn’t eat enough meals here to really have a say. So we’ve decided: Dellaphine will hoard our butter and sugar rations for the next two weeks so that she can make cookies and cakes for Christmas.’
‘Coconut cake!’ Milt said. ‘And will you make your sweet potato casserole?’ he asked me.
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘I love cooking for the holidays.’
‘I’ll buy the champagne,’ Henry said. ‘Are we asking Joe to join us for Christmas dinner again?’
‘Of course, I’d planned that already,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’ll call him today.’
I couldn’t tell them that Joe had left town. They would wonder why I knew and they didn’t and might guess at our relationship. Joe’s roommate would break the news to Phoebe when she called.
I scooted my chair back from the table, still holding half of my bacon sandwich. ‘I need to run if I’m going to catch my bus.’
‘Bundle up,’ Phoebe said. ‘It’s still freezing out!’
‘The Potomac’s full of ice floes,’ Henry added cheerfully.
TEN
As I pulled on hat and gloves in the hall the telephone rang. I was right there so I answered it.
‘May I please speak to Mrs Louise Pearlie?’ asked a male voice I couldn’t quite place.
‘Speaking,’ I said, holding the receiver to one ear while buttoning up my coat.
‘This is Leo Maxwell.’
‘Well, hello,’ I said. Why was this man calling me?
‘I wondered if you could join me for dinner tonight? Or am I too late?’
Then I remembered. After I’d escaped the German embassy I’d run into Leo Maxwell on the street. He’d driven me home and, distracted by my adventure, I’d agreed to go out with him. I didn’t expect him actually to call me, especially at eight o’clock on a Friday morning.
‘No, you’re not too late.’
‘I know you must be on your way to work. I’ll pick you up at seven tonight, then. I thought we’d go to the Raleigh Hotel. Have you ever been there?’
My brain finally woke up from its Nembutal-induced lethargy. Why was Leo Maxwell asking me out on a date? He was practically engaged to a very rich socialite. I was a government girl who lived in a boarding house. I had to be at least five years older than he was. It made no sense, unless he wanted to pump me about the Stinson murder investigation. But that could work both ways. I’d have liked to know why he cared so much. I guess Harvey was right. I didn’t know how to give up.
‘No, but I’d love to go. I’ve heard how elegant it is. I’ll be ready at seven.’
Merle’s drawing of Krampus leered at me all day from its spot pinned to my office wall. I wished I’d never heard of the guy. A Christmas devil watching me was exactly what I needed. Two days before, General Donovan himself had rejected Krampus after my idea for a ‘black’ propaganda operation in Europe. So humiliating! I hated making mistakes. And that had been just the beginning of a disastrous week.
The last few days were so crowded I wasn’t sure I remembered what had happened when and where, so I went over it all in my mind. I couldn’t help that Joe and I had been in the Baron Steuben Inn when Floyd Stinson’s body had been found. It wasn’t my fault that Harvey Royal had been in charge of the case. But once Miss Osborne told me that Floyd Stinson was an OSS operative, using his position as custodian at the empty German embassy to search it for intelligence, I should have lain very low. Instead I used my friendship with Harvey to insinuate myself into the case. And I’d lied to Royal – lies of omission, but still lies. While he trusted me completely. When given the chance I’d sneaked into the abandoned German embassy and was lucky to have gotten out without being caught. That would have been enough to get me fired. While inside I’d discovered that someone was stealing from the embassy, someone who appeared to be inside the building at the same time I was. After climbing down the fire escape I’d run into Leo Maxwell, accepted his offer of a ride home and stupidly agreed to go to dinner wi
th him. I’d taken it upon myself to find out what Mavis Forrester was doing on the Tuesday I saw her crossing the Taft Bridge. Her ‘alibi’ held up. Then I came up with a theory of the case that was completely wrong. I didn’t know that Floyd Stinson’s keys were found in his room so I decided that he was murdered for them. I didn’t know, and probably never would, who was pilfering valuables from the embassy, but there was no evidence that the person had anything to do with the Stinson murder. I’d considered Walt or Leo Maxwell as suspects, just because Walt had a chip on his shoulder and Leo lived nearby and had money problems. And I still thought they were possibilities.
I’d discovered Al’s body after checking Mavis’ alibi. This excluded him from being in the embassy last night but not from Stinson’s murder. So confidently I’d proposed my brilliant analysis of the crime to Sergeant Royal. Perhaps Al was so despondent he had killed himself, but that wasn’t proof he’d murdered Stinson. Someone else had killed Stinson for his keys to the embassy and had been in the building with me the night before. Then Harvey took pity on me and told me that Stinson’s keys were found in his boarding house room when it was searched by the police, and turned over to the Swiss legation. I was mortified all over again.
After fortifying me with coffee and cookies Harvey had sent me home, cautioning me to stay out of the Stinson murder case. But had I done that? No indeed. My curiosity had driven me to accept Leo Maxwell’s invitation to dinner tonight. He clearly had an ulterior motive for the invitation and I should have refused, but I was too curious about his reason for asking me. I wanted to know why.
This morning Miss Osborne had brought me a stack of files and dumped them on my desk.
‘Could you go through these for me, please, Louise? They’re the first reports on our Italian operation. I’d like a one-page summary of the results on Monday.’
Miss Osborne and I had worked together interviewing German prisoners of war in an effort to recruit some to take our propaganda into northern Italy. I thought we’d formed a warm relationship, but she seemed distant and preoccupied today. I hoped I hadn’t lowered her estimation of me.
After Miss Osborne left I applied myself to the files. It seemed that the operation was a success. Each of the ten German POWs recruited had been dropped off by submarine, fully kitted and briefed, with a backpack full of forged letters, phoney newspapers, stencils and pamphlets to distribute behind the German lines in northern Italy. All had returned to their handlers with empty backpacks; now they’d go back into POW camps in southern Italy until the end of the war. I thought it was remarkable that none of them had tried to escape. We’d done a good job selecting them.
Each man had been debriefed on the operation and on conditions behind the German lines and I set about writing a summary for Miss Osborne.
Merle poked his head into my office. ‘Lunch?’ he said.
‘Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.’
He leaned up against the doorjamb. ‘Look, Louise,’ he said, nodding at Krampus, ‘he was a really good idea. The Planning Committee made a mistake rejecting it. They have no imagination at all.’
‘I think he was a good idea, too,’ I said. ‘But it’s all over.’
Merle left then, but a few minutes later he returned.
‘You have to eat something,’ he said. He set down a steaming cup of coffee and a plate with a slice of cake. ‘One of the girls brought the cake in and I saved you a piece.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
After he left I pinched off a piece of cake and tasted it. It wasn’t bad for a single-layer honey cake with no frosting.
Did I dare wear this dress tonight? Ada had insisted I buy it off the sale rack at Woodies the last time we spent a Saturday afternoon shopping. I’d never have bought it on my own, but we’d had a glass of wine at the tea room during lunch before hitting the sale. I charged it, and once I got it home I regretted it. Joe and I were lucky to be able to afford a movie and a cocktail. A fried oyster dinner at Sholl’s was a real splurge.
It’s not that it wasn’t a stunning dress. It fit me like a glove, too. Black acetate taffeta with spaghetti straps and tiny covered buttons that ranged down the bodice and ended at the point of a dropped-V waist. The skirt, gathered to the waist, dropped just below the knee. A contrasting grey-cuffed neckline matched a grey flounce on each hip embroidered with a crimson rose. The bodice was boned but I could bear it for an evening.
Why shouldn’t I wear it? I was going to the Raleigh Hotel for dinner, a spot second only to the Mayflower Hotel for glamour, and I was going with a genuine playboy. One who might need to pawn some object from his mansion to pay for the dinner, but still, I was going. Luckily I had black gloves and shoes to go with the dress. The art deco lavaliere and earrings Phoebe gave me would look fine; no one would be able to tell they weren’t real sapphires and diamonds. With a rhinestone clip for my hair I should be able to pass as a society girl.
I dressed and put on my usual make-up and went outside into the hall to find someone to zip me up. I heard Frank Sinatra’s voice emanating from Ada’s room and knocked on her door.
‘Come in,’ she said.
I found her sitting on her bed painting her toenails bright red. She wore Chinese red lounging pajamas and a pink turban wrapped around her head.
‘Holy smokes!’ she said to me, gaping. ‘You look gorgeous! I told you you’d have a chance to wear that dress. Where are you going?’
I turned my back to her so she could zip me up. ‘The Raleigh Hotel.’
‘No joke! That’s high-class. Who are you going with?’
I didn’t dare tell her that I was having dinner with Leo Maxwell. I would never hear the end of it and I didn’t have a reasonable explanation for how I met him. I sure didn’t want to tell her about the corpse behind the bar.
‘I’m just doing escort duty. A friend of a friend needed a date. His boss asked him to a dinner and he didn’t want to show up alone when everyone else had a wife or girlfriend.’
‘Is he single?’
‘Of course he’s single. I wouldn’t go out with him otherwise.’
Ada turned me around and studied my face.
‘You need eyeliner.’
‘No. It makes my eyes itch. Besides, it doesn’t accomplish much once I put on my glasses.’
Ada had given up trying to get me not to wear my glasses on dates.
‘Your lipstick is a good color for you. Just make sure to reapply it after you eat something.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Let me pencil in your eyebrows.’
‘Ada!’
‘You’re mighty thin in the eyebrows.’
‘Oh, all right.’
I sat on her bed while she worked on my brows. When she was done I checked my reflection in the mirror and I had to admit that I looked less like a rube than usual.
‘See?’ she said.
‘You’re right.’ I plunked back down on her bed. ‘Why aren’t you dressed? Don’t you work tonight?’
‘The boilers at the Willard are low on fuel oil and they can’t get a new delivery until Monday. They’ve shut down the ballroom and the restaurant so the guests don’t freeze in their rooms.’
I went downstairs to wait in the lounge in front of the fire until Leo arrived. When Milt saw me he threw me a piercing wolf whistle. ‘Louise, you’re a knockout! Where are you going?’
‘The Raleigh Hotel, for dinner.’
‘That’s a swell place.’
‘New beau, dearie?’ Phoebe asked, dropping her mending into her lap. ‘What’s his name?’
‘It’s a mercy date,’ I said, ‘with a friend who needed an escort for a dinner with his boss.’ I avoided inventing a name, one of the first things I learned at The Farm during my basic OSS training.
I heard a car horn sound outside and hastened from my seat.
‘Is that him?’ Phoebe asked. ‘Well, he has terrible manners. He should come to the door.’
‘I know,’ I said, and pecked her
on the cheek. ‘See you all later!’
I hastened outside, throwing on my coat and gloves, glad that Leo had honked for me even if I did feel summoned. I didn’t want anyone to recognize him from the society pages.
Leo got out of the driver’s seat and moved around the car to open the door for me.
‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘Did I choose a cold enough night to go out? I’ve got the heat blasting.’ He was bundled up in a black cashmere coat with a white dress scarf wrapped around his neck, his frosty breath billowing around his face.
When Leo had driven me home the other night it was too dark and I was too preoccupied to notice his car. Now I saw that it was a ‘Doozy’. I was familiar with the expression, but had never seen a Duesenberg before. The jungle-green roadster was aging but elegant, the leather worn in a few places, especially on the driver’s side of the bench seat. When Leo started the motor all the needles on the round dials leaped into action and the engine engaged with a contented purr.
The façade of the Raleigh Hotel reminded me of the Willard – not surprising since the same architect had rebuilt it. Faced with limestone and brick, it rose thirteen stories high. Wrought-iron balconies and a Beaux Arts tower made it the grandest of Washington’s hotels until the Mayflower was built. Until the war a spotlight from the rooftop garden lit up the Washington Monument every night. For some reason I didn’t know the hotel was named after Sir Walter Raleigh, who established the Roanoke Colony in my home state of North Carolina.
Leo drove up to the very front door of the hotel and parked. He tossed his keys to a colored man in hotel livery. ‘Hang on to those keys,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost the other set.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the valet answered. ‘Like they was my own baby.’
I’d never heard of valet parking until I’d come to Washington. That some people didn’t even need to park their own cars was a revelation to me. Leo handed me out of the car. I felt quite grand getting out and walking under the awning on his arm, and found I was excited about the evening. Which was just what he intended, I thought to myself. I still had no idea why he’d invited me and I needed to stay alert.
Louise's Lies Page 17
