Beneath the Dover Sky (16 page)

Dover Sky

Catherine looked out the window as the February sleet turned the ground white. It wouldn’t last, but she found herself thinking about mountains—snowcapped mountains with sunlight flashing off the peaks. Then she found herself daydreaming about long stretches of ocean with curling whitecaps.
I thought you would at least write. Are you so angry you won’t even drop me a line or wish me happy birthday? I know I hurt you, but I thought you were a bigger man than this. I honestly did, Terry
.

The Bible was open in Catherine’s lap as she sat on the window seat in her room. She flipped a few pages and her eyes fell on Nahum 1:15: “
Behold upon the mountains the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace!
” Catherine had scarcely read it before there was a knock on the door.

“Lady Catherine? There is a telephone call for you.”

She frowned at the interruption but kept the annoyance out of her voice. “Very well, Skitt. I’ll be right down. Who is it?”

“Baron von Isenburg, m’lady.”

“Baron? Hullo?”

“Yes? Lady Catherine?”

“Yes, this is she. How are you keeping, Baron?”

“Ah, very well, thank you. This year has been good to Germany in terms of less inflation and much more employment.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

“Listen, Lady Catherine, Professor Hartmann has been given leave from the university to complete his book. Do you know about his book?”

“I remember him mentioning it.”

“In any case, he asked specifically if you might join us in Switzerland to help him write it.”

Catherine felt heat rush into her face. “What?”

“We are going to his family’s chateau in Pura, Switzerland. It’s quite lovely and peaceful. Cool in February with plenty of snow. The mountains—astonishing and magnificent! We truly wish you to join us and see them for yourself.”

“That’s…that’s gracious of you, Baron. But I have my boy—”

“Naturally he will be most welcome as well.”

“He just received a pony for Christmas. I don’t think I can tear him away.”

“Nonsense. The pony will be at Dover Sky when he returns. There is a stable by the chateau filled with beautiful horses your son will find fascinating, I’m sure. That will certainly take his mind off his pony. They have Lipizzans there. Do you know that breed?”

“No.”

“Dark-colored at birth but milky white at maturity. They are strong, noble creatures who are great jumpers and often trained in dressage. I’m sure we can persuade Herr Salzgeber to let Sean ride a stallion or two under supervision.”

“A stallion?”

“Under strictest supervision, I assure you.”

“I don’t know, Baron. How long of a trip are you planning?”

“Six to eight weeks. You could return in April or May. The chateau is fully staffed, and you would, of course, be assigned your own servants.”

“I’m grateful you’ve thought of me, but I’m not sure why you or the professor would want me along on an occasion like that. I’m no writer or scholar.”

“You are extremely intelligent and strong-minded. Herr Hartmann values that. He believes your opinions would ensure his book
had adequate depth, was thorough, and was…
harten Gleichgesinnten
…how do I say this in English? Ah, tough-minded.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

After a moment, the baron added, “You appreciate how important this book will be to Germany?”

“Yes, yes.”

“That subversive, that man Hitler, was released from prison just before Christmas. His autobiography will be published in July.”

Catherine put a hand to her forehead. She felt warm and flushed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered Professor Hartmann thinks so highly of me, but it is a lot to take in. I should like to think about it.”

“Naturally. May I call this evening? We intend to set out tomorrow.”

“This evening would be fine.”

“We would, of course, come to Dover Sky and escort you and Sean to Pura.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Baron. I’ll consider it carefully.”

“Okay, then. I’ll phone you tonight. Good day.”

“Good day, Baron.” Catherine set the phone in its cradle and leaned a hand against the table it rested on.
What’s the matter with me? It’s a simple request. And the reply is also simple: No thank you
. She opened the door and left the parlor. Skitt was standing by the staircase.

“Everything all right, m’lady?” he asked.

She gave him a quick smile. “Fine, Skitt. I wonder if you could get Nancy to bring me up a spot of tea?”

“I’ll take care of that personally, Lady Catherine.”

“Thank you. How is Sean? Do you know?”

“Still with Harrison and Holly.”

“Good. Very good.”

In her room she sat and waited for the rap on the door. When it came she called, “Enter.” Skitt came in and she nodded toward her writing table. He placed the tray with tea and biscuits there before leaving. Catherine set herself up at the table near the fireplace. She poured her tea and watched the rain slide along the windowpane.
Mountains. Sun on the snow. How lovely
. She’d scarcely thought of Albrecht
Hartmann since she’d met Terrence Fordyce. Now, at the mention of Albrecht, not only her mind but her entire body had reacted just as it had when she first met him in his red sports car the summer before. His golden-brown eyes, light-brown hair, and dark tan stormed her senses. She could almost smell the eau de cologne on his body. She drank her tea quickly and poured another.

The book. Yes, the book to offset this Hitler fellow’s book. But was the invitation really about the book? Or was it about Albrecht and her? About them as a couple?
She picked up a pen and opened the journal she’d named Cornelia.

My dear Cornelia, my diary,

I was just sitting here thinking how dreary the weather is in February. I was also thinking about Terry and wondering why he hasn’t sent even a birthday card. At the back of my mind I was admitting a long line of escorts is all good and well, but that loses its charm after a while. What I want is a man I can really speak with and listen to and explore absolutely everything in heaven and earth with.

I suppose that is why I was pining after Terry and moaning about the rain and sleet. By chance—chance?—my Bible opened to the book of Nahum, and I read about someone on the mountains bringing good news just when I had been longing to see sun on the snow of a tall peak. How amazing of God is that? Then to complete the string of unusual events, the phone rings and it’s Baron von Isenburg asking me to spend two months in the mountains of Switzerland with him and Professor Hartmann. Mountains! Sunshine! And a stable of white stallions too!

But here is the tricky part. The baron says the invitation is for me to help Albrecht write his book. My opinion is valued apparently. Rot or not? It may well be my opinion is valued. It may also be the professor values my womanhood just as much. After all, he came on very strong when we first met—saying how lovely I was, how sweet I was, how beautiful my eyes were. But we never saw each other again.

Then it was all Terry, Terry, Terry.

Now, eight months later, the baron mentions Albrecht Hartmann in a phone call, and I blush like a schoolgirl. Either this is all in my head or even over a phone line I’m picking up on something between the handsome academic and myself. Do such feelings cross land and sea and know no loss of force due to time and distance?

I want to jump in one of their German Mercedes and go with them to Switzerland! Sean would adore riding a white horse. But another part of me just wants to stay squirreled up in my room and wait on Terry Fordyce. Will he write, send a telegram, post a gift, show up at the door, come to call in April or May?

Catherine put down the pen abruptly.
Why, I
have
become the sea widow yearning for her sailor after all!
She stood up and pressed the buzzer. Skitt was at the door in minutes.

“M’lady?”

“Skitt, please get Nancy and Harriet. I’d like them to help me get packed. Sean and I are going to Switzerland for a few weeks, and we will need the warmest clothing we have.”

“Switzerland! Why Switzerland? Aren’t you comfortable here, m’lady?”

She patted him on the cheek and then quickly withdrew her hand. “I’ll be back, Skitt. I’m sure you’ll keep Dover Sky clean and cozy against my return.”

Parliament, Westminster, London

“Ah, Lord Danforth, there you are.” Tanner Buchanan approached Edward on the busy street outside the Parliament buildings where politicians and automobiles and carriages were rushing back and forth.

Edward kept his hands behind his back and his top hat on his head. “Mr. Buchanan.”

“Lord Buchanan actually. My dear old papa’s earldom finally made it through the gates and chutes.”

“Earldom?”

Buchanan tugged on his black leather gloves while he gripped his silver-headed walking cane under his arm. “Indeed. You never knew much about my father up in Scotland, did you? He has benefactors and allies who are now my benefactors and allies.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. What did you think of my maiden speech today?”

“About the same as what you thought of mine the other week.”

Buchanan barked a laugh in the chill gray air. “True! We are met on the field of battle and neither shall be the first to cry ‘Hold! Enough!’ How will it play out in the end, Lord Danforth?”

“Since you are fond of
Macbeth
, I expect with you yielding ‘to kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet and to be baited with the rabble’s curse.’ ”

“Do you think so? And who will this young Malcolm be? You? Do you intend to be the ruler of the realm?”

“Here’s my cab.”

The driver got out and opened the door for Edward.

“Tell me, Lord Buchanan, do you really think you will bless England and these islands by scrapping our capital ships and securing relations with Moscow as a bulwark against a resurgent Germany? Or was your speech merely crafted to be in direct opposition to my own?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters to me if you mean it. I’d rather you actually meant it, to tell you the truth, than to hear you were making speeches as part of an ongoing duel with me and my family. Governing Britain is no place for personal games.”

Buchanan smiled and shook his head. “On the contrary, the House of Commons is the perfect place for games. It always has been. Fox and hound. I being the hound who shall rend you limb from limb.”

Edward got into the hack, and the driver shut the door.

Buchanan stood tall and dark on the sidewalk, tapping the silver head of his cane in a gloved palm and nodding. “Limb from limb, Lord Danforth. How I enjoy blood sport.”