Ulster Scarlett rose from his chair and looked down at the aging German general. “What would you say if I told you that we have financial resources surpassing those of any political organization in Europe? Possibly the Western hemisphere.”
“I would say that you exaggerate.”
“Or if I told you that we possess territory—land—sufficiently large enough to train thousands upon thousands of elite troops beyond the scrutiny of the Versailles inspection teams.”
“You would have to prove all this to me.”
“I can do just that.”
Rheinhart rose and faced Heinrich Kroeger.
“If you speak the truth … you will have the support of the imperial German generals.”
CHAPTER 36
Janet Saxon Scarlett, eyes still shut, reached under the sheets for the body of her lover. He was not there, so she opened her eyes and raised her head, and the room spun around. Her lids were heavy and her stomach hurt. She was still exhausted, still a bit drunk.
Matthew Canfield sat at the writing desk in his undershorts. His elbows were on the desk, his chin cupped in his hands. He was staring down at a paper in front of him.
Janet watched him, aware that he was oblivious to her. She rolled onto her side so that she could observe him.
He was not an ordinary man, she thought, but on the other hand neither was he particularly outstanding, except that she loved him. What, she wondered, did she find so attractive about him? He was not like the men from her world—even her recently expanded world. Most of the men she knew were quick, polished, overly groomed and only concerned with appearances. But Matthew Canfield could not fit into this world. His quickness was an intuitive alertness not related to the graces. And in other respects there was a degree of awkwardness; what confidence he had was born of considered judgment, not simply born.
Others, too, were far more handsome, although he could be placed in the category of “good-looking” in a rough-hewn way.… That was it, she mused; he gave the appearance both in actions and in looks of secure independence, but his private behavior was different. In private he was extraordinarily gentle, almost weak.… She wondered if he was weak. She knew he was deeply upset and she suspected that Elizabeth had given him money to do her bidding.… He didn’t really know how to be at ease with money. She’d learned that during their two weeks together in New York. He’d obviously been told to spend without worrying about sums in order to establish their relationship—he’d suggested as much—and they’d both laughed because what they were doing on government funds was, in essence, spelling out the truth.… She would have been happy to pay the freight herself. She’d paid for others, and none were as dear to her as Matthew Canfield. No one would ever be so dear to her. He didn’t belong to her world. He preferred a simpler, less cosmopolitan one, she thought. But Janet Saxon Scarlett knew she would adjust if it meant keeping him.
Perhaps, when it was all over, if it was ever to be all over, they would find a way. There had to be a way for this good, rough, gentle young man who was a better man than any she had ever known before. She loved him very much and she found herself concerned for him. That was remarkable for Janet Saxon Scarlett.
When she had returned the night before at seven o’clock, escorted by Derek’s man Ferguson, she found Canfield alone in Elizabeth’s sitting room. He’d seemed tense, edgy, even angry, and she didn’t know why. He’d made feeble excuses for his temper and finally, without warning, he had ushered her out of the suite and out of the hotel.
They had eaten at a small restaurant in Soho. They both drank heavily, his fear infecting her. Yet he would not tell her what bothered him.
They’d returned to his room with a bottle of whiskey. Alone, in the quiet, they had made love. Janet knew he was a man holding on to some mythical rope, afraid to let go for fear of plunging downward.
As she watched him at the writing desk, she also instinctively knew the truth—the unwanted truth—which she had suspected since that terrible moment more than a day ago when he had said to her, “Janet. I’m afraid we’ve had a visitor.”
That visitor had been her husband.
She raised herself on her elbow. “Matthew?”
“Oh.… Morning, friend.”
“Matthew … are you afraid of him?”
Canfield’s stomach muscles grew taut.
She knew.
But, of course, she knew.
“I don’t think I will be … when I find him.”
“That’s always the way, isn’t it? We’re afraid of someone or something we don’t know or can’t find.” Janet’s eyes began to ache.