Nineteen

Ava

News of Otto's death followed Ava through the rest of the day, the envelope like a weight in her bag. She didn't take it directly to the embassy, but instead brought it home. There, she sank onto the chair and withdrew the thick letter with trembling hands.

There is no one to whom I can entrust this as I can with you, my dear Ava, for you are the only one who has taken the effort to see me.

Its contents detailed a life of drive, of success and of incredible loss. His story was powerful in its poignancy as he recounted the horror in his sister's letter, the desolation of being in that cell in Spain when he'd been arrested with no food and a pervasive rattle of fear in the air.

Perhaps most impactful to her was his description of being in Lisbon where every day was another wall closing in on him, how the PVDE hovered over him like vultures, waiting for his papers to expire, which would have happened by the end of the week. The final rejection of his American visa, one he knew wasn't possible with his immediate German heritage, was the slip of his fingertips from the ledge of sanity.

He had nowhere else to go, nowhere to turn. No one to trust.

By the time she finished the letter, tears dotted the bottom of the page, and she was gripped with the profound understanding of her own powerlessness. Maybe she couldn't have done something to help, but he could have told her. She could have tried.

Tenderly, she wiped her eyes and folded the pages once more. She hadn't had the opportunity to save Otto, but now she had the chance to aid the mother and child who were traveling from France. No matter what it took, no matter whose office she had to set up camp in, she would not fail.

Fortunately, acquiring a place for them to stay was far easier than the issue with the visas, and by that afternoon, Ava had secured an apartment near Rossio Square. The landlady was a kind older woman whose family had opened the building to lodgers for two generations, and the current occupants were to leave in a week aboard one of the ships already waiting in the dock.

The melancholy of Otto's loss was like a fog around Ava and followed her every action. She had been tempted to cancel on James for the dinner party. He even offered when he found out about Otto, but in the end, she did not want to let James down when he was counting on her. Thus far, she had failed too many people.

Not knowing what to expect and mildly intimidated by visiting a palace, she dressed as she would for a night at the Palacio with a midnight blue gown that draped low at the back, and paired it with white gloves that stopped just above her elbows. A few pins to elegantly draw her hair off the nape of her neck and a swipe of Victory Red on her lips later, she was ready to go.

James picked her up in the late afternoon and drove toward Sintra, arriving just as the sun was going down. The sky was awash in an ombré of rainbow pastels amid the distant mountain, its peak so high, it was obscured with a veil of mist.

"There's a castle up there," he said.

She peered harder, straining to see through the thick gray clouds. "Is there?"

James's brows rose in surprise. "You didn't know?"

It had been her intent to research Sintra prior to their arrival, but she'd been so consumed with Otto's loss that it had slipped her mind.

"It's a medieval castle built by the Muslims who inhabited the land here until the thirteenth century," James explained, bypassing a rare opportunity to tease her for her lack of preparation. "Construction started around the eighth century. There was some damage after the earthquake, of course, but recently the government began efforts on repairs." He gazed up at it. "On clear days, you can see those ancient crumbling walls, but otherwise, it's hidden beneath the mist."

"There's something magical about that." Ava spoke the wistful thought aloud, then her cheeks flared with heat immediately after at having done so.

Except that James didn't laugh at her. Instead, he nodded and turned to her with a crooked half smile. "Just wait." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

A damp chill touched the air, but the warmth of his body against her side kept her from being cold as they strode together.

Lush foilage grew up on their side of the gravel path with glossy green leaves dotted with small white flowers. Large trees were interspersed throughout, stretching up to the layer of mist that clung to their tops like fine cobwebs, giving off the sense of being entirely one with nature.

Such places always made her recall the works of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau.

"If you've read Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Lord Byron, the poem was about this very estate." James tilted his head and added, "Before the current updates by the new owner."

Ava looked at the vegetation around them through the lens of Byron's narrative, awed to be walking the same steps he once had. There was a natural look to the landscape that cast away the rigid, boxed-in appearance of the plants and lent the area a wild beauty. She could easily imagine it overrun as Byron had described as she breathed in deeply, relishing the fresh, verdant aroma of prevalent flora and rich, wet earth.

"What does it remind you of?" James asked. "Aside from Lord Byron, of course."

She looked around, flexing her mind to account for the many books she had consumed in her life. "Robinson Crusoe with some of the junglelike trees. And, of course, Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden."

James nodded. "The latter is what I anticipated you'd say."

"And you've read it?"

"I have."

She looked at him with fresh eyes, reconsidering this man who knew Byron and spouted sonnets by moonlight and had read The Secret Garden.

"I believe my mother read it to me in a bid to keep me well-behaved." He put his free hand into his pocket, his gait loose and casual as he chuckled.

"Did it work?"

He shook his head. "Instead, I aspired to be like Dickon and came home so filthy from attempting to frolic about with the denizens of the forest that she swore she'd never let me read it again."

It was a strange thought to imagine James running about in the woods, trying to befriend birds and squirrels, and she couldn't help but laugh. The act felt peculiar somehow after the melancholic fog she'd been in following Otto's death.

"And how about you?" he asked.

"I read it with my mother." Ava recalled how they had discussed the story together over tea when she was a girl and how very grown-up she felt relaying her thoughts and opinions. "I enjoyed the book immensely. I thought Mary was a brat but hated that her parents had died. Even before I'd lost mine."

James pulled his arm from her hand and smacked his palm to his forehead. "What a dolt. Ava, forgive me for not—"

"No, it's fine." She gently tugged his arm back into place and tucked her hand against the warmth of the inside of his elbow. "The truth is that Mary being so awful actually did help me. After my parents died, I had to go live with Daniel, as I told you before."

Their pace slowed during the conversation, and their feet crunched over the gravel path. The sun had quickened its descent toward the earth, leaving a bluish wash over the garden around them, enough to see James's nod.

"What I didn't tell you is how terrible I was to poor Daniel." Ava winced. "All I could think of was how hurt I was, how lonely, how I had to uproot my life to accommodate his. Never once did I think about what he had sacrificed to care for me, a young man with this whole world ahead of him, saddled with a thirteen-year-old sister he didn't know."

"I really do think Daniel is a saint," James interjected.

Ava playfully elbowed him.

He grinned.

"He was though," she agreed. "One night, I was missing my mother and picked up The Secret Garden. In reading it, Mary was suddenly different in my mind. Not a spoiled girl, but a wounded one with a hard shell walled up around her. And I realized in my foul behavior, I was behaving exactly as she had."

"Perhaps that is the draw of books." James put his hand over hers. "To show us the way even when we think the path is too dark to see."

Ava didn't move her hand from beneath his, instead reveling in the connection of their touch as well as their minds.

A fountain came into view before an exquisite building aligned with columns and a grand, arched entrance. The windows were peaked at the top like the main door, all with such delicate carvings, it appeared to be made of fine lace, a combination of Indian influence with Moorish accents.

"It's beautiful," Ava breathed.

"You'll love the inside even more." James led her up the short flight of stairs and through the open door where the subtle notes of a piano trickled out into the night air. They found themselves in an octagonal room with hallways leading in four different directions. To the right and left were most impressive, with corridors of arabesque-engraved arches cascading down its length and what appeared to be pink marble columns running along either side.

James pointed upward. Ava dropped her head back as she gazed to the building's cupola, which was also carved with arabesque and backlit with a glow of red.

"James." A man's voice interrupted Ava's awed exploration as she turned her focus to the gentleman striding toward them.

"Walter." James shook the man's hand. "So good to see you again, old chap." He indicated Ava. "Mr. Walter Kingsbury, allow me to introduce you to Miss Ava Harper."

Walter took her hand and kissed it. "She's even more charming than you said, James."

Ava slid a look at James, who pointedly glanced up at the elaborate ceiling, obviously avoiding her judgment.

"Come, Miss Harper." Walter offered her his arm, stealing her away from James. "My lovely wife will be most eager to chat books with you."

"You have a beautiful home," Ava said, wishing she could stand for an hour in that one spot to fully take in the full opulence of the palace.

"Monserrate isn't mine." Walter chuckled. "I'm minding the property for a friend."

He led her and James into the dining room where a long table was prepared with centerpieces of exotic orchids and set with fine china rimmed in gold. Servers stood by at the ready, hands tucked behind their backs. The savory scents in the air promised a meal as decadent as the venue.

She and James were seated near the end of the table, her beside Walter's wife and him beside a stout man with a German accent. Within minutes of sitting, they were served a delicious soup with bits of sausage and vegetables, then came roasted venison drenched in a thick brown gravy, the meat so tender, it fell apart under her fork. This was followed by a delicate cream meringue that was just sweet enough to be satisfying.

Walter was correct in that Ava did enjoy conversing with his wife, who was very well-read and told about her life at the palace. The building was far too much for their family of four, so they only used a few rooms, and she shared how Walter created a place for their sons to swim by damming the large body of water outside with sand brought in to make it shallow and safe.

It was such an enchanting way of life that Ava almost missed it when James's voice shifted from a conversational tone to something low and nearly imperceptible. She used that very moment to take a sip of her wine and strain her ears to what he said. The word wolfram was mentioned, along with contract and this week.

It took everything in her not to stiffen. Most especially wolfram—or tungsten as it was called among the Allies. One couldn't be in Portugal without being keenly aware of its power over the Allies and the Axis.

The metal was necessary for creating bullet casings and other arms integral to the war effort. Portugal was its chief manufacturer, an asset that allowed them to maintain their neutrality.

Whatever James was saying sounded more like espionage and less like proper dinner conversation. Worse still, when the man lifted his own glass to drink, a gold swastika cufflink peeked out from beneath his black jacket sleeve.

The rich food soured in Ava's stomach.

What sort of gathering had James taken her to?

Whatever it was, it sounded as though he had just shared pertinent Allied secrets with a Nazi.

She set her wine down and turned to Mrs. Kingsbury once more, no longer hearing what the woman was saying.

"Do excuse me," James said abruptly in Ava's ear.

Before she could protest, he was already out of his chair, his cloth napkin abandoned on the cushioned seat as he headed toward the door and pushed into the corridor. The servants swept in once more, their backs ramrod straight with decorum as they cleared away the dessert plates. That was when Ava caught sight of a familiar face among them: handsome as a Greek statue with short cropped blond hair.

Her head spun.

Had Lukas been with the other servants all night? Did James know? Was that why he brought her?

"Are you well, Miss Harper?" Mrs. Kingsbury asked.

"Forgive me, I think I need to use the powder room." Ava pushed up to stand on weak legs.

"Of course. You'll find it down the hall."

Ava nodded her thanks and exited from the room, pausing outside the door to gather her errant wits. Or try to. They seemed to be scattered in every direction.

Had Lukas known she would be there? Was James in league with the Nazis?

Her thoughts whirled.

If James was feeding the Germans Allied secrets, she was obligated to share that information with the embassy. Soldiers' lives depended on it. Like Daniel's.

But if James was removed from his duty, would she still have help in saving the mother and child being transported from Lyon?

Despite it all, she didn't want to believe he might be in league with the Nazis, that he wasn't the good man she thought him to be.

Voices sounded somewhere nearby, muffled by a closed door. Without questioning what she was doing, she slid off her shoes and dashed soundlessly across the cold marble floor. She stopped before a set of double wooden doors carved with a handsome couple lounging beneath a large tree, the woman naked as was often the case with goddesses. Most likely Orion and Artemis based on the hunting motif.

"I best be getting back before my absence becomes prolonged." It was James's voice on the other side of the door.

Ava pulled in her breath and held it.

"Before you leave," another voice said. "Does Miss Harper know?"

"Of course she doesn't," James replied with a confidence that slapped Ava in the face.

Was she so gullible that she would believe anything he told her? A protest rose in her mind, but she quashed it.

She had spent so much of her life with a book in front of her face that she knew written characters better than real people. Yes, she could recite dates of events and names of philosophers and authors long since dead, but she also knew that there was a maddening naivete about her that she could not seem to overcome.

It led to careless mistakes, like trusting James.

"Be sure that it remains that way," the voice said dryly. "Having her find out could be dangerous."

Footsteps clicked over the floors, and she realized in a heart-stopping moment that the discussion was done. Frantic, she whisked back to the other side of the hall, slid her shoes on as fast as was possible, and slipped into the dining room with an air she hoped was casual.

"Did you find it?" Mrs. Kingsbury asked politely.

Ava blinked, her mind devoid of any thought other than the conversation she'd overheard. "What's that?"

Mrs. Kingsbury's pleasant smile remained on her face, but a mildly confused furrow tightened across her brow. "The powder room."

"Yes," Ava said quickly to make up for her own folly. "Yes, thank you."

She was saved from having to add anything further by James rejoining her at the table. Now would be an ideal time to offer up some witty comment that would encourage the table into a lively discussion so she could consider her next steps. Except nothing came to her.

The silence grew around Ava, pressing at her with urgency even as her pulse pounded, pounded, pounded in her ears.

"Dinner was wonderful," she said.

"It was," James agreed, his demeanor easy and relaxed.

That nonchalance dug at Ava, that he would so readily exploit her trust and then not even exhibit a shred of guilt. She didn't bother trying to speak with him for the remainder of the evening. When it was time to depart, she rose from her chair and strode ahead of him toward the exit, ready to be away from the ornate palace and all the ugliness its beauty could never compensate for.

There was a strangeness to her shoes as she walked, as though her footing was not balanced correctly. James looked down and raised a brow. "Are your shoes on the wrong feet?"

She glanced to where the rounded toes of her black heels were pointing out slightly in the opposite direction. In her haste to return to the dining room, she had indeed put her shoes on the wrong feet.

The drive back from Sintra had been stifling as Ava tried to avoid any sort of light chatter with James, a difficult feat when it had once flowed so easily between them. Before she knew he'd betrayed her.

She meant to wait until she'd spoken to Theo and Alfie, the two librarians James worked with, to see if they would still help the mother and child coming from Lyon. But as the car drew to a stop on Rua de Santa Justa in front of Ava's building, James turned to her, concern sharp in his eyes. "Did something happen at Monserrate?"

She shook her head.

"Ava, I know you," James said patiently. "Ever since I returned to the dining room, you have been acting strangely."

It became a little harder to breathe.

Dang it. He did know her, and it would be to her disadvantage now.

Suddenly the truth couldn't stay inside her anymore, not when it was clawing to be free.

"My brother is out there in the war." She glared at him. "Do you know that?"

"Of course I do." James had the temerity to appear offended.

Ava refused to allow her overinflated sense of guilt to plague her. Anger exploded inside her skull. "Yet you were talking to a Nazi at dinner. Sharing Allied secrets with him."

"I was not."

"I heard what you said to that man with the swastika cuff links." She put her hand on the door handle, ready to jerk it open and be free from the enclosed space with James. There wasn't enough room for them both inside that small cab.

"It isn't what you think, Ava."

"Were you sharing Allied secrets, James?" she demanded. "My brother is out there somewhere. Along with other brothers and fathers and husbands."

"My brother is too," he said sharply.

Ava quieted, stunned. In all their times speaking to one another, he had never mentioned having a sibling.

"It isn't something I care to discuss." James cut the engine and silence fell over them. "It's better that I don't think of him out there, worrying that he might be cold or hungry or in danger." His level gaze found hers. "I would never jeopardize his life."

She turned her attention to where her shoes peeked from beneath the glossy hem of her gown, now on the correct feet. As much as she hated to admit it, she could understand not wanting to think about one's brother in battle. If her mother had been alive and corresponded with Daniel, would Ava even have done so at all?

An ache in her chest gave her the answer she already knew. But then, if her parents hadn't died, she and Daniel would never have been close, especially with him living in DC and them being in Chicago.

"What did you tell the German?" She looked up at him once more.

James sighed. "I'd rather not say."

"Because, apparently, I'm not supposed to know?" The bitterness of her hurt found its target. "I heard that too. When you were behind the door with Artemis and Orion."

"How did you know they were Artemis and Orion?"

"The hunting bows," she said distractedly. "I heard you in there, James."

Church bells tolled in the distance.

James's lips pulled downward. "It's dangerous."

"That was said as well."

He regarded her for a long moment, as if considering whether to tell her or not. "Misinformation," he said finally.

"What?"

James ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I fed him misinformation. Something he thinks is true but is actually a falsehood. It was the actual purpose for my being at the dinner party. The last time I went, I was alone and thought doing so again would call attention."

She considered him, weighing the words to determine his candor and trying to quell the rise of her own anger so she could think properly.

"It's quite common," he continued. "The spread of false information. Rather than tell many, you only tell one and it is like a flame to dry tinder."

"If that's true," she said softly, "you used me as your cover."

"I personally did not mind." He offered a hesitant smile. "I hope you did not."

"I would have preferred to know beforehand." Certainly, a forewarning would have avoided the ugliness in which they were now embroiled.

If he was even telling the truth. The events all crowded together, making it impossible to decipher between what might be true and what might be a lie.

"I was not sure how you would act around everyone if you knew." His mouth thinned in a hard line. "But there's more to it than that. Ava, it is not safe to meddle with spies. If you didn't know, you wouldn't be in danger."

"Is that why Lukas was there?" An uneasiness snaked through her at the memory of having seen him.

"Who?"

"The Austrian," Ava replied wearily.

But rather than agree with her suspicion, the skin around James's eyes tightened. "He was there?"

"Yes, pretending to be one of the waiters. I didn't see him until you slipped from the room."

A muscle worked in his jaw. "You're certain?"

"Yes," Ava said with exasperation. "I wouldn't have mistaken him."

James nodded slowly. "I see."

She frowned. "Is that something I should worry about?"

"Of course not. Come, I'll walk you in." James got out of his car and saw her to the door. But despite his usually courteous manners, there was something else amiss, something that left him distracted.

And something they could likely discuss the next time they met, after she'd had a night to sift through everything he'd said and compose new questions. For the time being, exhaustion pulled at Ava, encouraged by the heavy meal resting in her stomach and the rich wine she'd consumed.

The following morning, however, it was not James who waited on the street in front of her building, but Alfie. The young man was wearing a coffee-brown coat with a matching fedora pulled over his red hair. It was such formal dress for the youth and made him look like a child dressing up in men's clothing. Especially when he offered her a shy wave.

"Good morning, Alfie." She smiled as she approached, ignoring the disconcerting nip at the back of her mind. "Is James all right?"

"Of course he is," Alfie quipped. "He's been sent away on a special task and will likely be gone for several months. I was told to see to you in his absence." He gave her a hesitant wince. "If that's well and good with you."

"Why was he sent away?" Ava asked, pressing the issue. "Did he know he would be leaving?"

"James receives different missions than we do." There was a finality to the way he said it that told her she'd get nothing more from him.

But Ava could not stop puzzling over James's sudden disappearance. Where had he gone and what was he doing that he would not return for some time?

And what—if anything—did that have to do with Lukas?