“I hope so.” She couldn’t see the trip taking longer than that.
“Good.” He smiled. “’Cause I’ve gotten kinda used to having you around.”
Grace smiled inwardly at the begrudging admission that Frankie had come to depend on her. “Thank you,” she replied. It was more than just the time off for which she was grateful. It was his making a place for her here and holding it. His understanding. “I’ll hurry back. I promise.”
The train, a sleek blue Congressional Limited, whooshed across the wide expanse of the Chesapeake. Grace looked around the railcar. The seats were straight-backed, but made with a comfortable leather. The gleaming plate glass windows offered a splendid view of the sun-dappled water. A boy came through with his cart, selling coffee and snacks. Grace shook her head; she was cautious with money, not knowing how much things on the trip would cost. Instead, she pulled out the egg salad sandwich she’d packed.
As she unwrapped the sandwich, Grace peered out the window at a Maryland suburb, freshly built ranch houses in neat culs-de-sac. Manufactured towns like this one seemed to be springing up like weeds everywhere since the men had come home from the war and couples moved out of the cities to start families. Grace imagined women in each house, doing dishes and straightening up after the children had gone to school. She was mixed with equal parts guilt and longing and relief at not being one of them.
When she finished her sandwich, Grace balled up the wax paper. She took out the photographs of the girls, studying the mystery their eyes now seemed to hold. Each had a name written on the back in the same flowing script. Josie. Brya. Grace wondered if it was Eleanor’s handwriting or someone else’s.
It was after eleven o’clock when the train pulled into Union Station. Mark met her on the platform, freshly shaven in a crisp white shirt and sport coat, holding a smart gray fedora rather than wearing it. Seeing her, he seemed almost surprised. He had thought she might not come, she realized, as he kissed her cheek in a gesture that was at the same time too familiar and yet not at all enough. She savored the familiar scent of his aftershave in spite of herself. “Smooth trip?” he asked.
She nodded, stepping away from him with effort. “So what’s our plan?” she asked as he led her across the vast marble lobby of the station. She marveled at the high-arched ceiling, which was adorned with an octagonal pattern, gold leafing in the center of each plaster coffer.
“I did some checking on the SOE files,” he replied. They walked outside the station. The air was a hint warmer than it had been in New York. Above a cluster of bare trees, Grace could make out the dome of the US Capitol. She had seen it only once before as a girl on a trip with her family. She paused now, admiring its quiet majesty.
He led her to a waiting taxi and held the door. “Tell me,” she said, when he had climbed in and closed the door behind him.
“Remember we discussed that SOE was a British agency that sent its people into Europe undercover during the war?”
“I do. What were they sent into Europe to do? Were they spies?”
“Not exactly. They were deployed to help the French partisans, supply weapons, sabotage German operations, that sort of thing.” Whatever could Eleanor have to do with that? Grace wondered. Mark continued, “Anyway, I did some checking. An old army pal of mine, Tony, has a sister who works at the Pentagon. She confirmed what the consul said—some of SOE’s files were transferred here after the war.”
“That seems odd.”
He shrugged. “Not a whole lot was making sense right after the war ended. But maybe there’s something about Eleanor in those files.”
“Or about the girls in the photos,” Grace added. “Perhaps they had something to do with SOE as well.” The whole thing had become about something larger than just Eleanor now. She pulled the photographs from her bag.
He moved closer to have a look. “May I?”
She handed him the photos. “If we can find out who they were...” Doubts nagged at her. “But how can we get access to the files? Surely they won’t just let us walk in...” She exhaled sharply so that her breath blew her bangs upward.
Mark smiled. “I like it when you do that.” Grace could feel her cheeks flush. This was about Eleanor and the girls, she reminded herself sternly. Otherwise, she would not be here at all.
“No, it’s true the records have not been made public,” he continued. “But Tony said his sister can get us access.”
“You think she can do it?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
The taxi navigated the wide circle in front of Union Station, weaving between the streetcars as it merged onto a wider thoroughfare. Though the war had been over for months, the signs around the city were still visible, from sandbags stacked against the base of a building to bits of blackout tape still clinging to the windows. Men in tired suits smoked on the curbs in front of nondescript government buildings. There were boys in winter coats playing baseball on the wide expanse of the Mall, tourists walking between the museums—little signs of the city coming back to life.
The cab began to climb the expanse of a long bridge across the Potomac, carrying them into Virginia. The Pentagon came into view. Grace had seen pictures of it in the newspaper, built to accommodate the massive Department of the Army that had grown out of the war. As they drew close, she was awed by the sheer size: each side was the length of several city blocks. A construction crane still hovered over scaffolding on one part of the building. Did they really need all of this now that the war was over?
The taxi pulled through the massive parking lot and stopped close to the door on one side of the Pentagon. Mark paid the driver and stepped out of the car. Looking up at the American flag waving high over the entranceway, Grace faltered; she had no business being here. But Mark came around and opened her door. “Do you want to know about Eleanor Trigg or not?” He had a quiet confidence about him, a sure-handedness that made her feel more certain of herself. She stepped from the car.
Inside, Mark took off his hat and gave his name to the soldier standing behind the desk. Grace peered around the official-looking entranceway and wondered if they would be turned away.
But a few minutes later, a shapely brunette in a pencil skirt appeared. Maybe a year or two younger than Grace, she was impossibly chic, in a way that Grace herself could never quite manage. She wore her dark hair in a sleek cap, the latest style. Her mouth was a perfect red bow. A curvier Ava Gardner. As she brushed past Grace to extend her hand to Mark, there was a faint hint of jasmine.
“I’m Raquel. You must be Mark.”
“Guilty,” he quipped, with the same twinkle in his eye that Grace had seen the night they met. “Tony has told me so much about you.”
“He lies,” Raquel quipped back. Good Lord, Grace thought, with a tug of jealousy she had no right to feel. Were they flirting right in front of her?