Mr.Churchill's Secretary(53)

Paige smiled grimly; after years in London, she was under no illusions of English politesse.

He swept open a door. “And here, my dear, is the bedroom,” he murmured, putting his arm around Paige and turning her toward him.

Without warning, there was a loud knock on the suite’s door. “Oh, damn it all to hell,” he said. As he bent to try to kiss Paige again, there was another knock, followed by loud and steady pounding.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, going to the door and opening it.

“You?” he exclaimed when he saw Sarah and Maggie, his face reddening.

Sarah quickly walked over to Paige. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Paige said, looking confused.

“Paige, there’s something you should know,” Sarah continued evenly.

“Why don’t you two”—Simon spluttered—“meddling bitches mind your own goddamned bloody business!”

And then the air-raid siren began its low moan of warning.

The four looked at one another and froze.

The forlorn tone of the siren rang out again, and they heard scrambling and doors slamming as people evacuated their rooms.

“There’s a bomb shelter in the basement,” Sarah said. Without another word, they all filed out of the room and down the stairs.

Down in the basement, it looked as if the party had simply moved. People had brought their bottles and glasses with them, and the hotel staff had set up groups of tables and folding chairs. The candlelight from long wax tapers lent the proceedings a falsely festive air. A large family, sleepy-eyed and in their pajamas, were applauded as they made their appearance.

Maggie spied Chuck, Nigel, David, and the twins huddled at a table in the corner and led the way over to them. Maggie noticed John wasn’t with them.

“There you are! We were wondering what happened to you,” Chuck said, pulling Maggie down next to her and Nigel.

“No matter how many times we go through this, it’s still just horrible,” David said, sighing. “More champagne?”

Maggie and Sarah looked to Simon, but he’d noticed a man in the throng. He went to meet him, and they shook hands with vigor, obviously old friends. Paige’s face was inscrutable.

“John went to Saint Paul’s—he’s one of the Watch, you know,” David said as Maggie observed Paige’s face, looking after him. “Helps keep the damn cathedral from burning down.”

With a tap on the shoulder, Sarah pulled Paige and Maggie aside. As they walked to a small empty table, she said, “Paige, love, I know Simon’s charming and handsome—but he’s just not good enough for you. He doesn’t think much of women. Sure, he’s fun to flirt with. But believe me, he’s like a child in a toy store, always wanting the newest and shiniest bauble. You can do better. Believe me, I know.” She gazed in Simon’s direction, her face etched with regret.

“You—and Simon?” Paige asked.

“Long time ago.” She laughed. The sound was bitter and hard. “Didn’t quite work out.” She laid a hand on Paige’s arm. “Look, he only wants what he can’t have. And once it’s done, he’s on to the next conquest.” She took a sharp intake of breath. “When I was with Simon, we—I—” She dropped her eyes. “He raped me, and I got pregnant. I was so ashamed, somehow got it in my head that it was all my fault. When he heard through the grapevine, he gave me some money and told me to take care of it.”

Sarah? Simon? Maggie thought, finally putting the pieces together. Simon’s a rapist?

“I knew I couldn’t support a baby on my own. I’d ruin my body and my career. If I came forward and accused him of rape, no one would believe me—it would be my word against his. And as an unwed mother, I’d be a leper. I don’t even know if my mum, my own mum, would have forgiven me if she knew. Going home to Liverpool was out of the question. So I took the money and did what I had to do.” Sarah raised her head, and her eyes challenged Paige and Maggie to pity her.

Maggie didn’t. “That must have been an incredibly hard decision.”

“What made it better was that I had friends who stood by me. David and John. They found a doctor—a good one, not one of these back-alley butchers. He had an office in Knightsbridge. They took time off work to go with me. Went with me to the appointment, helped me home afterward, got me hot soup and fresh flowers. Let me cry. They both wanted to kill Simon, but I managed to talk them out of it.”

“Ah,” said Maggie. She looked at Sarah. Above the red rose in her décolletage, her shoulders were narrow, her collarbones sharp and fragile.