Anchor In The Storm Part 19

Dan peeked over his shoulder. "From Hawaii. I'm trying not to be jealous of our brother. Right in the thick of things."

Arch flipped through the envelopes-one from his mother, one from Bitsy-no, two from Bitsy. He groaned and tucked the two unwanted letters in his trouser pocket.

As they walked down the pier, Arch read the letter from his mother, skimming through the society news.

We hope you'll be able to come home for our thirtieth anniversary next month. We're planning a lovely dinner on Friday, April 24, with music and dancing. We'll understand if you can't come, but we'll be elated if you can.

By the way, Bitsy and her friends will be in Boston next week to visit her brother. She hopes to see you. When you came home in December, she was quite concerned about your welfare, and she says you haven't replied to her letters, which deepens her concern. I know you two aren't close any longer-and I don't blame you after how she threw you over-but she regrets her actions. Please remember the Chamberlains are dear friends. If your ship is in town and you don't see her, we'll never hear the end of it.

That explained why he had two letters from Miss Elizabeth Chamberlain. Arch extracted them from his pocket-one from Stonington and one from Boston.

He opened the most recent one. Bitsy was in Boston through March 29. She was in town today.

Arch's groan caused the rest of the party to stop and stare at him.

"Is everything all right?" Mary asked.

He waved the perfume-scented missive. "Bitsy's in town. My former girlfriend. She'll know we're in port, and she expects to see me. And my parents expect me to see her."

"Guess you have no choice," Jim said.

Arch huffed. "We're only in town one night. I'd rather spend it with my friends. But I don't have a choice."

"We understand." Mary's eyes shone with sympathy, but the tilt of her mouth almost looked smug. "Lillian will understand too."

Lillian would probably be thrilled. He wanted to crumple the stupid letter, but he needed the hotel phone number.

Why did it have to be a Friday? He couldn't take Bitsy and her girlfriends out for coffee. They'd expect a night on the town. It was the right thing to do, but he didn't have to like it.

In the lobby of the Parker House, Bitsy held both of Arch's hands and gave him a sly smile. "Archer Vandenberg, if I'd known you'd look like this in naval uniform, I never would have broken up with you."

Her friends, Trudy Sutherland and Helen Whipple, twittered by her side.

Arch extracted his hands. "You three ladies are a vision of loveliness."

Trudy patted her brown curls. "Poor Archie. He never got over you, did he, Bits?"

Helen raised her long chin to Bitsy. "You did treat him abominably."

"I did. But I was a silly child then. I'm all grown up now."

Indeed she was. Every inch a cool elegant beauty. Deep-brown hair hung in sleek waves to her shoulders, the front pinned up in curls. Her golden dress clung to a figure as long-legged and lean as he remembered from his youth, but rounded out nicely.

She was lethal.

And he couldn't let her know. "You said we have reservations for six o'clock?"

"Oh my." Helen swung back her pale blonde hair. "All business. What happened to the legendary Vandenberg charm?"

"I grew up too. Shall we?" He gestured across the hotel lobby.

Trudy chattered the whole way, while Helen lashed her with droll comments. Arch studied the ornate wood paneling as they walked. A mutual friend had once told him Bitsy chose her friends because she looked brilliant in comparison to Trudy and gorgeous in comparison to Helen. A cynical thought, but not unwarranted.

In the restaurant, they were shown to a table. The waiter took their orders and brought out the famous Parker House rolls.

Bitsy laid her hand on Arch's forearm. "It's good to see you. I've been concerned. You looked positively haggard in December, and you didn't stay for Christmas."

"You went out west, didn't you?" Trudy asked.

One corner of Arch's mouth flicked up. "I stayed with my friend Jim's family in Ohio."

"Ohio." Helen raised one plucked eyebrow. "How quaint."

Arch sipped his water. He had once been that big of a sn.o.b too.

"Well, I think you look worlds better now." Bitsy gave his arm a proprietary squeeze. "You're still quiet, but we are at war."

"We are." They had no idea, none at all. Men were dying in the Philippines and New Guinea and Burma, and hundreds of men were dying at sea, and here they sat at ease, while the piano played "Dancing in the Dark."

Trudy laced her fingers together and rested her chin on top. "Tell us, Archie. What's it like in the Navy?"

"First, I don't go by Archie anymore. Just Arch." He laid his hands in his lap to break Bitsy's grip. "And the Navy is the right place for me to be."

"We are at war," Helen said.

Trudy nodded as if she'd had a deep thought. "Yes, we are."

How many times would they say that?

"What is it about the Navy that draws you? I want to understand." Bitsy's brown eyes glowed.

So now she wanted to understand. When they were eighteen, she didn't want to hear one word about it.

"The sea? Sailing?" she asked.

"That's part of it." An idea tumbled in his mind, and he grabbed it, molded it into words for the first time. "The sea has always drawn me-magnificent, immense, mysterious, powerful. Now I know why. Those same traits also draw me to the Lord. Especially lately. When I'm at sea, I feel . . . weak. I'm learning the Lord, only the Lord, is my strength."

All three ladies wore flat smiles, and they shot nervous glances at each other. He'd breached the law of propriety in his crowd. Good.

Energy surged through him. Time to drive the wedge deeper. "That's not the only reason I love the Navy. It's the spare simplicity of life. Jim and I share a cabin twelve feet by six. Bunks, a sink, a desk, and a locker this wide." He measured off s.p.a.ce between his hands. "Everything I own fits inside. Everything I want."

"All this serious talk." Bitsy clucked her tongue and gave Arch an impish smile. "Come along, darling. Why don't you ask me to dance while we wait for our dinner?"

Once again, he had no choice. He stood, nodded apologies to Trudy and Helen, and offered his arm to Bitsy. "Shall we?"

"I thought you'd never ask." She followed him to the dance floor and nestled in his arms as the piano played "Star Dreams."

Her perfume filled his nostrils, sophisticated and evocative. The supple feel of her waist under his arm and the brush of her hair against his chin brought a rush of memories. Dances and horseback rides and picnics. Bitsy stretched on the Caroline in the sunshine, her legs as long as a summer's day. Heated, fumbling kisses whenever and wherever they could steal them.

Bitsy sighed and stroked his shoulder with her thumb. "I do worry. I've never known you to be so serious."

"We are at war." He couldn't resist.

She snuggled closer. "I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you. I could never forgive myself."

"Forgive yourself? Unless you're a German spy, you have nothing to fear."

She raised her face only a few short inches away, her brown eyes crowned with long lashes. "I mean, I could never forgive myself for how I ended it with you, for not understanding your patriotism and your love of the sea. I should have supported you, but I was silly."

His feet struggled to remember the dance steps. How he would have welcomed that speech a few years ago.

Her bright red lips trembled, just a touch. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I forgave you a long time ago."

"Oh, thank you, darling. And I forgive you for not answering my letters. Although you must improve in that matter." A coy lift of her eyebrows, and she nestled closer, making him well aware of her new curves.

Heat rose in his belly. He wouldn't have to work for her trust and affection. She didn't recoil from his touch. A few charming words, and she'd be his again.

Would that be so bad? She regretted her choice. She wouldn't pressure him to leave the Navy after the war, would she? She'd learned her lesson, hadn't she?

The heat turned muggy and stifling. The ceiling pressed on him, the hatch slammed shut, dogged into position.

Trapped.

He knew Bitsy too well. She'd drag him back to their old life, and if he resisted, she'd make him miserable. This woman would never be satisfied with the spartan life he loved.

Besides, he couldn't lie to himself. How could he give his heart back to Elizabeth Chamberlain when it belonged to Lillian Avery? Even if Lillian didn't want it, it was hers.

"Darling?" Bitsy looked up with tiny creases across her brow. "Are you all right? Your hand is . . ."

Shaking. His hand was shaking.

He drew in a long breath. Then he stopped dancing and took both her hands in his. "Yes, I've forgiven you. And I appreciate everything you said. But we're not right for each other."

Hurt flickered in her eyes, then a flash of anger, then it all smoothed into confident composure. "So you say. Things change."

No, they wouldn't. But he gave her a polite tilt of his head. "Shall we finish our dance?"

She laughed and twirled into his arms. "Oh, my darling. Our dance will never end."

He laughed for her sake, to help her save face, but he prayed she was wrong.

20.

Boston

Friday, April 3, 1942

No prescriptions waited to be filled, Mr. Dixon wasn't coming in until one o'clock, and Albert was cleaning the soda fountain.

Perfect. Lillian pulled her notepad out of her purse in the stockroom, returned to the prescription file, and found where she'd stopped yesterday.

Lillian flipped back until she found another order for a large quanit.i.ty of barbiturates, then recorded the date, the patient's name, the doctor's name, the medication, and the quant.i.ty.

As suspected, nothing from Dr. Kane since her encounter with Harvey Jones almost a month earlier. Recent orders came from Dr. Mercer and Dr. Tennant. How far back did these prescriptions go? How long had this been happening?

Marian Zimmerman approached the counter.

Lillian tucked her notepad in the pocket of her white coat. "Good morning, Mrs. Zimmerman."

"Good morning, Miss Avery." She set an empty tube on the counter and adjusted her hat over her gray hair. "I need a refill of my ointment. I even remembered to bring my old tube."

"Oh, thank you." The War Production Board's new requirement for customers to bring in old tin tubes in order to buy new ones had gone into effect the day before. "I've already had to send one patient home for his old tube, and Mrs. Connelly and Miss Felton are having a time of it. Toothpaste, shaving cream . . ."

"Well, I don't mind." Mrs. Zimmerman raised a strong chin. "Tin is vital to the war effort, and my grandsons have all enlisted."

"Good for them." Lillian examined the prescription label-a compounded ointment. "This will take me about half an hour."

"I don't mind. I'll browse through your new cosmetics section. I love it. And the window is so bright and cheery, like a show window at Filene's."

Lillian laughed. "My roommate works at Filene's. She gave me tips."

"You did a splendid job." Mrs. Zimmerman strolled down the aisle.

If only Mr. Dixon could hear.

In the file, Lillian located the original prescription. Mr. Dixon had recorded his calculations on the back. Too bad. Lillian loved doing math.

She pulled down bulk containers of salicylic acid, benzoic acid, and white ointment.

The door opened and shut, and Albert grinned at her. "Mrs. Z is raving about your display. I'll pa.s.s it on to Mr. Dixon."