Flying boat,” Sam said the next morning, with the same disbelief Estella’s voice had carried when she’d discovered exactly how she, Alex, and Lena were getting to Paris. “Do you think you’ll come back alive?”
“I don’t think the flying boats are the worst danger,” Estella said.
“You’re going to a war zone with a man you hardly know…”
Her stomach turned over and the sidecars and whiskey of the night before made her feel nauseated, sweaty, fearful. You’re going to a war zone with a man you hardly know. But what she did know, she realized, was that, despite his reputation, his womanizing wasn’t directed at her. Lena must have tamed him.
Lena. Who’d grown up with Harry Thaw while she, Estella, had not. Through some accident, through some quirk of fate, she’d had her mother, while Lena had had Harry. Like it had done all night as she’d lain awake in her bed at Alex’s home outside Sleepy Hollow, terror squeezed her heart. What if Jeanne Bissette wasn’t her mother? By going to Paris, Estella would have to ask her mother that question.
Before her panic became too overpowering, Estella thought of the man stuck in Paris, hiding from the Germans. The agent Alex had said was one of his best. The agent who could help so many of her countrymen and -women if he was free. Estella must go to Paris. Her fists clenched. Once she’d helped Alex, she would take Lena to see her mother and they’d ask her to tell them everything. Otherwise, Estella’s fear of whatever secret her mother had kept from her would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“I’m also going with a woman who might be my sister,” Estella said to Sam now. “She’s there to protect my reputation. I’m doing some translating for Alex; his French is shocking.” It wasn’t true of course but it was the story he’d asked her to tell—that he had legal work to do for some American clients in Paris and she was there to help him with the language. “And I can see my mother. That’s worth anything.” And it was, no matter what she learned. Her final words were sober and Sam squeezed her hand.
“Besides,” she said, forcing a smile, “I seem to remember traveling out of a war zone last year with a man I hardly knew and look how well that turned out.”
“Come here,” Sam said gruffly and she stepped in closer and found herself enveloped in an enormous hug. “Estella,” he began.
At the same moment, the door to Sam’s apartment flew open and Janie rushed in, holding out her hand. “Look at this!” she shrieked. “I’m engaged. Nate asked me to marry him. And I said yes. Isn’t it huge?”
“It really is,” Estella said, leaning over to examine the proffered finger, then reaching out to hug her friend as if she could, without words, say everything she wanted to which was: Don’t get married. Stay exactly who you are. But nobody ever stayed who they were.
“We should toast,” Sam said. “This is the last time we’re all going to be in the same room for a while.” He poured out three whiskeys in water glasses and passed them around.
“What were you about to say before Janie barged in?” Estella asked him.
“Nothing.” He raised his glass. “To your adventures, Estella.”
“What are you doing?” Janie demanded.
“I’m going to Paris.”
Janie laughed.
“I really am,” Estella said. “In a Pan-Am flying boat.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” Janie asked with disbelief.
“It’s a long story,” said Estella.
“It really flies?” Estella asked for possibly the tenth time that morning, shouting so that her voice would project from the rumble seat and into the front of the car where Alex and Lena sat as they drove to wherever flying boats departed from.
“It really does,” Alex replied.
“But isn’t that just the teeniest bit exciting?” Estella said. “Have you been on one?” she asked Lena.
“I haven’t,” Lena said and she turned and gave Estella a small smile.
“See!” Estella said triumphantly. “You’re excited too. As for you,” she said to Alex, “you’ve probably been on them dozens of times and are so jaded by the whole experience that you’d rather us just be there already.”
“Dozens of times?” he replied, in a mock-boastful voice. “Try hundreds.”
Estella laughed. So did Lena, and then Alex.
They soon arrived at the Marine Air Terminal at LaGuardia and Alex ushered them inside. Estella watched him talking to two men in military uniforms, who both laughed with him and seemed to know who he was.
While they waited, Estella turned to Lena. “Thank you for coming.”
Lena’s eyebrows lifted a little in surprise. “I’m happy to.”
Then Estella made herself ask. “Will you come with me to meet my mother while we’re in Paris?”
Lena shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Estella reached out and took Lena’s hand, the first time she’d ever dared touch her. “Harry came to my fashion show. He came to the Gramercy Park house another time too. He’s everything you said he was. A monster. I grew up with nothing but love; I can’t imagine what it would have been like to grow up with him. So I want you to meet my mother. I want us both to talk to her. I think…” She hesitated, unsure if this was pushing Lena too far. “I think there are things you would like to ask her, just as I have questions for her too.” Then she let go of Lena’s hand and waited.
Instead of replying, Lena searched through her handbag and passed Estella a book. The title—The Memoirs of Evelyn Nesbit—was emblazoned in red on the cover, along with a sensational picture of a red velvet swing. “I thought you should read this,” Lena said. “It might fill in some of Harry’s background better than I can.”
She didn’t look at Estella as she spoke but Estella heard something fragile in Lena’s voice and she understood that Lena really meant it might fill Estella in on things Lena found too difficult to say. The moment of vulnerability touched Estella but she knew if she acknowledged it, Lena would freeze over once more. “I’ll read it on the plane,” was all Estella said.
Lena turned away from her, as if she was watching Alex walk back over to them, and, while her face was obscured, said, “I would like to meet your mother.”
Estella tried not to let out the breath she was holding, tried not to let that one poignant sentence make her cry. Once the tightness in her throat subsided, she said, “Then you will.” And added, “I’m sorry I was so awful to you when we first met.”
Estella thought she saw Lena reach up her hand to her eyes. “You’re the last person who should be sorry,” she heard Lena say before Alex reached them.
He led them down a gangplank that stretched out over the water to where the flying boat was perched, like a large and lazy bird, atop the water. Estella saw the way Alex kept his hand just behind Lena’s back, helping her down the gangplank, then handing her into the airship. He turned to do the same to Estella, reaching out his hand to take hers.
“I can manage,” she said.
“I know. But I’m trying to show you I have some manners,” he said.
“All right then. I don’t want you to think I have none,” she said.
She slipped her hand into his and saw his face stiffen, as if she’d done something wrong. She didn’t know what it was and could hardly wait for the three seconds to pass until she’d stepped into the flying boat and could remove her hand from his. Perhaps she’d held on too tightly and he thought she meant something by it. Perhaps he thought she was attracted to him, just like every other woman he encountered. She’d do her best to make sure she gave him no such signals for the duration of the flight. She’d be polite and reserved and speak only when necessary.
Her resolution left her the moment they were inside. “It’s like a palace,” she said, taking in the linen tablecloths, the crystal glasses, the wood paneling, amazed that something so luxurious and capacious could be hidden inside an airship. “It’s almost as lovely as…” She stopped, uncertain if Lena knew of her sojourn at Alex’s house in the Hudson Valley. Something about the way he was looking at her made her say, “Your home, Lena.”
“We should move along,” Alex said. “We’re down the end. In the bridal suite.”
“You’re joking,” Estella said. “There’s a bridal suite?”
“Can you think of a better place to spend your honeymoon?”
The truth was, Estella had never once thought about a honeymoon, let alone having one while suspended over the Atlantic Ocean. “You won’t want me staying in the bridal suite with you,” she said.
“I think Alex will be able to control himself,” Lena said dryly, walking ahead.
“I’m sure I can talk to the, whoever—somebody—and have another seat arranged,” Estella said.
Alex took Estella’s arm and propelled her forward. “Can you please keep going. We’re holding everybody up. I promise not to behave like a man on his wedding night with anyone for the duration of our time in the bridal suite. Happy? I fly back and forth a lot. So they give me the best seats when they can. I’m going to France because the Chase National Bank and the American Hospital in Paris need some legal help and you’re my translator and Lena’s your chaperone. The bridal suite is big enough that I can work on the way over.”
“Oh,” Estella said, understanding that everything was about his assignment in France, nothing more. “Of course.”
“Have a seat,” he said brusquely at the very last room. “I’m closing the door for my own privacy, not because I have any evil intentions.”
“Of course you don’t,” Estella stuttered. “I never thought you did…”
Her voice trailed off. She determined to sit down and be quiet. But the suite was spectacular. “I’m speechless,” she said, looking around.
Lena smiled and Alex looked at Lena and said, “Will you say it or will I?”
“Go right ahead,” Lena said.
“You’re never speechless, Estella,” Alex said.
“Well, pardon me for being unable to be blasé about my first voyage in the bridal suite of a flying boat,” Estella said crossly, sitting down in the nearest chair. “I almost think it would take someone blowing this up before you reacted at all.”
“We’re not that bad, are we?” Alex teased.
But Estella didn’t want to be placated. “Yes,” she said. “You are.”
“I bet if I told her it cost $675 each she really would be speechless,” Lena mused and Estella stared at her in horror.
“$675? That can’t be true.”
“Lena,” she heard Alex say in exasperation.
She turned to him. “You spent $675 to put me on a flying boat to France?” Whoever they were getting out of the Village Saint-Paul must be even more important than she’d realized. None of this was a game. Which would explain Alex’s demeanor, his lack of excitement. It was a job. A dangerous job, one that he must be desperate to accomplish, one that he must have used all other resources for and failed, if he’d asked her to help.
Alex didn’t reply. He sat down in a chair, unfolded a newspaper and began to read. Lena closed her eyes. Estella pulled out the book Lena had given her, read the first line—My name is Evelyn Nesbit and more words have been written about me than the Queen of England, such is my notoriety—and braced herself for what Evelyn would have to say about Harry Thaw. She put the book aside half an hour later when her stomach began to churn from the horrors revealed, most of which she already knew from the newspaper articles Alex had shown her, but hearing from the victim, who used a childish and breathless tone to recount the various cruelties, was so much worse.
Not long after, an impeccably made sidecar appeared at her side. “Peace offering,” Alex said.
“Isn’t coffee more appropriate for this time of day?”
“It’s already nighttime in Paris,” Alex said.
“I suppose that’s true,” Estella said grudgingly as she put the book down and sipped her drink. A sudden roar of engines jolted her upright and she jumped to her feet. “Are we starting?”
“Taking off, you mean?”
“Look!” Estella remembered Lena had her eyes closed so she said again, more quietly, “Look!”
Out the window, water rushed past, waves created by the movement of the flying boat over the water lurched up onto the glass, and she was moving faster than she ever had in her life. The whole ship vibrated so intensely she wondered if it might burst apart from the force, from the noise. Then she felt the boat tip to one side and she grabbed hold of the wall at the same time as Alex put one hand on her back to steady her.
“Sorry,” he said, ripping his hand away. “I promised to behave myself.”
Estella relented. This was the experience of a lifetime; she might as well relax her hackles. “It’s fine,” she said.
Suddenly the flying boat was no longer a boat but an airship and she was suspended in the sky, surrounded by blue, soft clouds floating within arm’s reach.
Alex stepped in closer to her. “Look over there. You can see the Chrysler Building. And you can just make out the Statue of Liberty.”
Estella smiled up at him. “It’s amazing.”
“It is,” he said, and for the next couple of hours, while Lena slept, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the bridal suite of a flying boat, staring out the window, not speaking, reveling in the wonder of passing over the ocean, of migrating, birdlike, from one country to another, of soaring into the blue, of almost touching the sun.
I’m coming, Maman, Estella thought as her palm lifted to touch the window. Looking out at the blue promise of sky, Estella knew that, as well as wanting to ask her mother about Lena, she wanted, more than anything, just to feel her mother’s arms wrapped tight around her once more.
The flight was long—twenty-seven hours Alex had told her, including a stop at a place called Horta in the Azores, which she’d never heard of—but Estella couldn’t settle enough to sleep. She tried once or twice but after an hour she’d be up and about and back at the window, staring out, suddenly realizing, in a way she hadn’t on the ship from France, how vast the world was, how small she was, how insignificant her place in everything. As she watched, she imagined dresses in all of the colors of the sky: an optimistic morning-blue, an almost white, gold-shot midday hue, the deeper blue of the afternoon, the violet-gray of dusk, the silvery ripple of early evening and then the fathomless inky black of night.
She pulled out her sketchbook and began to draw, unworried by the relentless moan of the engines, the sudden lurches, the ceaseless vibration that Lena said rattled her teeth and which had made her ill several times. Estella had helped her as much as Lena would let her, which wasn’t a lot. Lena was asleep now, pale, looking childlike and artless in a way Estella had never seen.
She glanced across at Alex once or twice, marveling at the transformation that came over him in sleep. His face looked even more handsome in repose because it was unarranged, that schooled, expressionless countenance suddenly relaxed, open, not hiding anything. She smiled as she watched him, knowing he’d hate for her to see him like that, enjoying having the upper hand on him for once even if he didn’t know it. Estella wondered for a moment how she looked in sleep, what worries left her, what dreams blessed her face with an expression different from that which she wore in life.
She lost all track of time, glad to think of nothing other than her pencil on the paper, glad to discover that, while her first showing might have been an unmitigated disaster, she still loved to draw. And that, even if nobody else thought so, she could draw designs she believed were worthy of adorning a woman’s body.
The sound of movement made her lift her head; Alex had woken and was checking on Lena, who seemed utterly diminished by the flight. “What can I bring you?” Estella heard him ask.
“I don’t think my stomach can take any food right now,” Lena said.
“Coffee?”
“No. Just sleep.” Lena smiled at Alex.
He touched Lena lightly on the shoulder and it occurred to Estella that she’d never seen any gesture pass between them that moved beyond close friendship—like Estella’s with Sam—and into passion. She’d never seen him kiss Lena, never seen him embrace her the way a lover would, never seen him do more than touch her back or her shoulder or her arm, never seen him reach out to her out of need or hunger or want. She felt her hand move up to her own lips, lips Alex had most definitely kissed, and she wondered how Lena could be so restrained when she had the chance to feel, every day, the way Estella had when she’d kissed Alex.
She realized Alex was staring at her with curiosity written all over his face, was watching her hand on her lips. “Sorry,” she said, startled. “I was daydreaming.”
“I hope it was pleasant,” he said dryly and she felt herself blush from her forehead right down to her toes. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I am,” Estella said. “Starving in fact.”
He put his head through the doorway and, within a few minutes, a steward brought in a tray of food.
“Should I take some over to Lena?” she asked Alex.
He shook his head. “She doesn’t want anything.”
“What time is it?”
Alex checked his watch. “It’s almost four in the afternoon in Paris,” he said.
“So we’re having afternoon tea,” she said, grinning at the plates of lobster, cold smoked salmon, spears of asparagus, the steaming tureens of soup.
“Sorry, I forgot to order scones,” he said, dropping seamlessly into a very aristocratic English accent, and she laughed.
“You know, you’re actually quite funny when you try,” she said.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said conspiratorially as he sat across from her. “Besides, they’d never believe you.”
“I suppose being funny isn’t in the spy handbook.”
“It isn’t, as a matter of fact.” He pointed to her sketchbook. “They’re beautiful.”
She went to put her hand over them but he sounded so sincere she was touched. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever make them up though.”
“Don’t let Harry stop you. That’s what he wants.”
“Well, he got what he wanted. I don’t think I’ll do another fashion show any time soon. I can’t afford to.” She helped herself to the lobster, then offered him the plate but he shook his head.
He sipped his coffee. “If I didn’t think I would offend you so utterly that you’d throw yourself out the window, I’d offer you the money you need.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you have the sense not to,” she said, closing her sketchbook with a snap. “I’m not a charity project you can fly around the world and splash money on when you feel like it.”
“And that’s exactly why I didn’t offer.” He smiled at her and she caught a glimpse of what she’d seen when he was asleep, of the man who might once have emerged from the skin of Alex if only his mother hadn’t died, if only he’d had a different father.
“I’m being prickly again, aren’t I?” she said, smiling a little too.
“Nobody would ever dare call you prickly, would they?” he said.
“Not if they want to live a long life.”
They were both quiet a moment after that, enjoying a rare moment of conviviality.
“I should let you get back to it,” he said at last. “Tell me, do you ever sleep?”
She laughed. “I forgot that you always tend to see me after midnight. But yes, I do sleep. Just not well or for long stretches.”
“I know what that’s like,” he said. Then, “Estella.” He stopped.
“What?” she asked, fear pressing against her throat at the way he was looking at her, as if he was about to hurt her and was trying to find the right words with which to do it.
“France is a very different place from how you left it. Be prepared for that. And thank you for coming.”
Estella chewed on a mouthful of delicious lobster, as well as the fact that he’d thanked her. “What happens next? Can you tell me that much at least?”
“We land in Lisbon, then take a train to Perpignan, then on to Marseilles. The flying boats can’t land at Marseilles anymore because of the Germans, which makes the journey take twice as long as it should. We need to push on, to get to Paris as soon as we can, before…” He stopped and she knew he must be thinking about the man he needed to help. “I have Ausweis for us all, passes that allow us to cross the demarcation line into the Occupied Zone. Your pass has your name on it. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone other than who you are, which is always easiest. And you’re French, so being a translator for me, the incompetent American, shouldn’t raise an eyebrow.”
“So you’re American now?” Estella asked.
“Of course. If the Germans knew I was British, I’d be interned. That’s another secret you have to keep.” Alex shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know it’s all half-lies and untruths. But I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Oh, and you’d care about that,” she joked and was utterly taken aback when Alex said, very low so she almost didn’t hear. “I would.”
Because she looked like Lena. He cared about Lena, and, by extension, Estella. Although after her earlier realization about their lack of intimacy, she wondered for the first time what exactly was the nature of his care for Lena. He had once said that he loved Lena though.
She shrugged. It wasn’t a line of thought that was worth pursuing. He’d kissed Estella once by accident and she’d enjoyed it, more than enjoyed it; she’d been utterly capable of removing her clothes and his at that moment. But he’d only kissed her because he thought she was Lena. So, despite the fact she hadn’t witnessed any obvious affection—which probably meant he was more discreet than she’d given him credit for—he and Lena were some kind of oddly entwined item. He thought of Estella as Lena’s annoying sister. All of this was for Lena; he wanted to find proof for Lena that she had a sister—one family member who wasn’t a lunatic—and Estella was simply a means to the end of that, and of finding his agent.
“I don’t seem to remember you telling me before we left that lying would be part of my job,” she said somewhat testily.
“Because then you’d never have come.” He grinned at her, that goddamned heartbreaking grin that she knew women across the country must fall for because it was so seductive, so charming, and she made herself look away because he didn’t need any more women prostrate under his spell.
He picked up his coffee and walked back to his seat. She reopened her sketchbook, her pencil flitting over the pages, adding in another detail, loosening or lengthening a line, changing the fit of a sleeve. Within an hour there was nothing left to fix; everything was perfect. Yet the only breathing she could hear was Lena’s. Alex’s face was as blank as it always was, betraying the fact that, while his eyes might be closed, he no longer slept.