Authors: Rebecca Dean
They weren’t, but the residential area of the air station was. On either side of a hill that sloped gently toward the bay was a scattering of white-painted bungalows. The Ford drew up outside one that was slightly bigger than the others.
“This is home,” Corinne said as a maid hurried out to welcome them. “I hope you’re goin’ to be happy here, Skinny. Don’t worry about the constant noise of airplanes taking off and landing. You’ll soon get used to it.”
Wallis didn’t see how anyone could get used to such a roar, but she had no intention of letting it worry her.
As they stepped into an elegantly furnished sitting room, Corinne added, “There is only goin’ to be the three of us for dinner this evening. Henry thought you’d be too tired after your long rail journey to want to socialize. I told him no Montague is ever too tired to socialize, but he’s much older than I am, and when he gets an idea in his head it’s hard to move it. Tomorrow night—and every night afterward—will be a lot more lively.”
T
hough she had met Henry Mustin only a couple of times, Wallis liked him. He was in his midforties, an attractive man deeply suntanned from long hours spent in the open air either aboard ship—he was master of the battleship USS
Mississippi—
or, since his appointment to establish the air station at Pensacola, in the open fuselage of an airplane.
“It’s a treat to have you here, Wallis,” he said to her over dinner that evening. “Corinne loves it in Florida, but she misses her family. Your being here is going to be a great boost to her spirits.”
“It’s already a great boost to mine.”
Her depth of sincerity was obvious.
He smiled across at her, liking what he saw. She wasn’t a belle in the way Corinne, who was blond, blue-eyed, and voluptuously curvaceous, was. Like all Montagues, Wallis possessed a great sense of fun, but in looks she was too much a Warfield to be a head-turning beauty. Unless he was very much mistaken, she also possessed the fierce intelligence that was such a predominant characteristic of the Warfields. He wondered if she would be interested in knowing how and why the air station had come into being and rather thought she would.
As if reading his mind Wallis said, “Tell me about the air station, Henry. All I know is that it is the first of its kind.”
Gratified that his assumptions had been so correct, Henry lost interest in his beautifully cooked local lobster.
“It is—and it’s growing fast. When I was first posted here to help establish a center for naval flight operations, I had only six trained pilots, twenty-three enlisted men, seven seaplanes, some spare parts, and a few canvas hangars. Those numbers have already doubled and will soon, thanks to a very vigorous pilot training program, quadruple. My main task in coming here was to prove to the Navy that airplanes have a place in the fleet.”
“Was there doubt, then?”
“There was a lot of doubt—but not much of it now lingers.”
He eased himself back in his chair, his hands clasped across a hard-muscled belly. “You have to remember how new a thing flight is, Wallis. That airplanes could be used by the Navy simply wasn’t immediately obvious—and it wasn’t a Navy man who made the Navy see things differently. That was up to a civilian pilot, Eugene Ely.”
“And what did Eugene Ely do?” Wallis was now so interested in the conversation that, like Henry, she was no longer paying any attention to the food on her plate.
Henry grinned, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Eugene landed his airplane aboard the USS
Pennsylvania
, which was, at the time, in the middle of San Francisco Bay. The Navy promptly built its first aircraft carrier, and before the year was out we had our first seaplane.”
Corinne, who was interested only in the social side of Pensacola and not interested in anything else to do with it, yawned.
Wallis and Henry ignored her.
“So Pensacola is really a training station for seaplane pilots—and a bit of a training station for seaplanes as well.”
“You’ve got it in one, Wallis. With every few months we produce another first. A Pensacola pilot holds the first altitude record, and a Pensacola pilot was the first to be catapulted in an airplane from the deck of a ship.”
“And a Pensacola pilot died in the Navy’s first fatal air crash,” Corinne added drily.
Henry’s face tightened. “That, I am afraid, is also true. The pilots in training here are extremely courageous young men. Every day they are in the air is a day filled with danger.”
Corinne, realizing she had brought a somber tone to the conversation, tried to lighten things. “What Henry didn’t tell you, Skinny, is that Henry was the pilot who was catapulted from the ship.”
“Land sakes!”
Henry laughed, pleased at how startled and impressed she was. “The danger can’t be left to the young ones all the time, Wallis.” He refilled his wineglass. “I was in the cockpit of an AB-2 flying boat and the ship was the USS
North Carolina
. It was, to say the least, an interesting experience.”
Later that evening, just as she had gotten into bed, Corinne knocked on her bedroom door. “It’s only me, Skinny. Come to say good night,” she said, as she entered the room.
Swathed in a coffee-colored negligée lavishly trimmed with lace, she sat down on the edge of the bed. “You were a great hit with Henry tonight. Because I’m so much younger than Henry, all my friends are younger too, and they don’t go out of their way to pretend to be interested in what he’s saying in the way you did.”
Wallis’s eyebrows flew high. “I wasn’t pretending, Corinne. I was genuinely interested. Why wouldn’t I be? I thought everything he said was absolutely riveting.”
“You did?” Corinne stared at her, not sure whether her leg was being pulled. When she realized it wasn’t, she gurgled with laughter. “Gee, honey, if you effortlessly show that level of interest in male conversation, you must make a slave of every man who speaks to you.”
“Oh, I’ve had my failures, Corinne.” Wallis spoke lightly, but her heart ached as she thought of John Jasper. She’d believed John Jasper had—in the most romantic of senses—been her slave.
“Good night, Skinny.” Corinne kissed her on the forehead. “Tomorrow I’m goin’ to begin introducing you to people. We’ll lunch at the San Carlos Hotel. Swim in the afternoon. And Henry has invited some eligible officers to dinner tomorrow evening.”
To Wallis it sounded an ideal itinerary. Certain she had made the right decision in coming to Pensacola, she closed her eyes and, exhausted after her long day of traveling, fell into a deep and blessedly dreamless sleep.
She woke to blissful sunshine spilling into the room. The knowledge that every day was now going to be filled with tropical heat sent her spirits soaring. Putting on a stylish summer dress that hadn’t seen the light of day for six chilly Baltimore months, she hurried out onto the verandah to join Corinne for a breakfast of banana pecan muffins and fresh tropical fruit.
“The first thing on the agenda this morning is a stroll down the hill to the beach and the flying area.” There was a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table, and Corinne poured herself a second glass. “From there we’ll be able to see the preparations being made for the day’s flights.”
Thinking about the aviator who had flown his airplane over their car, Wallis’s interest quickened. He’d had a brilliant smile, but the rest of his features had been hidden by his flying helmet and his goggles. Perhaps this morning she would get a clear view of him.
The way down to the beach led through the officers’ compound, and the interest they aroused, respectful because of whom Corinne was married to, was intense.
“There’s not a man on the air station who won’t be angling for an introduction to you,” Corinne said, pleased at the admiring looks that were coming Wallis’s way.
A few minutes later, they reached the edge of the beach and a huge sign on which was written,
WARNING! NO CIVILIANS BEYOND THIS POINT
.
“On this particular beach, this is as far as we can go, Skinny.”
In front of them was an array of training planes around which a large number of men were milling, some geared up ready to fly, others wearing mechanic’s dungarees.
Beyond them, in the bay, gunmetal gray battleships lay at anchor.
They were a sharp reminder of the bloodbath taking place on the other side of the Atlantic, of the battles being waged at sea between the British and German fleets.
“Is all this training because America might soon be at war with Germany?” she asked, suddenly fearful of what the future might hold.
For once there was no laughter in Corinne’s lazy Southern voice. “Yes. Despite the huge lobby against such a thing ever happening, Henry thinks it’s a strong possibility—especially if the war continues into next year.”
Icy fingers squeezed Wallis’s heart. Until now the Great War convulsing Europe had seemed so far away; it had never occurred to her that it could touch her own life or the lives of people she knew. If America entered the war, it would certainly do so—and every man on the beach in front of her would be in the thick of the fighting.
With great effort she pushed the thought away, wanting to recapture the mood of a few moments earlier.
“I’d never realized how
fragile
seaplanes were,” she said, as one of them set off across the still waters of the bay, struggling to gain height. “They’re nothing more than fabric-covered boxes with struts!”
“Don’t let any of the pilots hear you call their pride and joy a fabric-covered box with struts, honey! And if you’re curious, this morning’s training is all about navigation.”
As airplane after airplane set off across the bay, Wallis failed to recognize the pilot she had waved to so enthusiastically on her way to Pensacola from the station. She didn’t mind. Corinne had told her that Earl Winfield Spencer was a fully fledged pilot, not a trainee, and as there were no more than a couple of dozen fully trained pilots at Pensacola, it wouldn’t be long before their paths crossed.
When they’d had their fill of watching the activity on the beach and in the bay, they strolled in the direction of the San Carlos Hotel to have morning coffee with a group of Corinne’s women friends. Wallis’s easy manner and sparky humor ensured that just as had happened on her first days at Arundell and Oldfields, although the group she was being introduced to was tight-knit, she was immediately welcomed into it with open arms.
“I knew you would be, Skinny,” Corinne said to her an hour or so later as they all headed into the restaurant for lunch. “No Montague ever has a problem making friends. I think a frillier, flouncier dress might be in order tomorrow, though. The one you are wearing is wonderfully made—I guess you’re pretty good at twisting Sol Warfield’s arm when it comes to your dress allowance and only go to the best of Baltimore’s dressmakers—but it is a little on the plain side.”
Wallis linked her arm with Corinne’s.
“That’s because I like plain and don’t like fussy. Plain—if it’s beautifully made out of the very best fabric, like the silk of this dress—suits me.”
“Well, that’s true. But it makes you a little noticeable, honey.”
Wallis grinned. “That’s the idea, Corinne. Being noticeable is something I like. In Baltimore, when I was wearing a Gibson girl skirt and blouse, instead of jewelry I wore a monocle. That made me
very
noticeable. How d’you think a monocle would go down in Pensacola?”
“I think Henry would have ten fits! He’d be terrified the next thing you’d do would be to take up smoking cigars!”
After lunch they headed back to the bungalow for a siesta, and then, when the most uncomfortable heat of the day was over, Corinne took her to the beach she had spoken of that had cabanas. Wallis was a confident swimmer, and as she rolled over on to her back to float lazily in the limpid blue water, she felt as if she had been reborn. Florida wasn’t a different state. It was a different country. Though she would never have believed it possible in so short a time, her agonizing hurt and rage over John Jasper and Pamela’s mutual betrayal was already beginning to ease. They were in the past and she was now in a future she hadn’t, until a few short weeks ago, even imagined.
That evening she took a great deal of time when dressing for dinner. The gown she chose was one of her favorites: a tubular Poiret-influenced gown in shimmering scarlet with discreet but very effective beading. It flattered her flat-chested figure and emphasized her spectacularly dark hair.
“Glory!” Corinne said when she saw her. “You look sensational. In that color and with your hair parted in the middle and drawn back over your ears, you look Latin American!”
“No, I don’t, Corinne. If I look something exotic, I look like an Indian princess. Don’t forget that the Warfield side of me is descended from Pocahontas.”
“Honey, with that line of chat it’s no wonder you stand out from the crowd! How about a cocktail on the verandah before Henry’s handpicked aviators arrive? Have you ever had a pink gin? They’re delicious.”
As Corinne’s all-purpose maid put the finishing touches on the meal Corinne had prepared, they sat on the verandah in the evening sunlight, frosted cocktail glasses in hand.
From there they had a wonderful view of the street as it sloped down to the officers’ compound. Beyond the compound lay the beach where, earlier, they had watched airplanes taking off for a day’s navigational training, and beyond the beach lay the stunning vista of the bay, the water now the color of goldshot indigo.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful,” Wallis said, almost as happy as she had been in the days before she had received John Jasper’s letter.
Corinne took a sip of her pink gin. “It’s certainly an amazing view, but to tell you the truth, Skinny, until you arrived I was getting a little bored with Pensacola. As Henry’s wife—and especially as he is a lieutenant commander—I can’t flirt with the pilots as you are going to be able to do. And at Pensacola, flirting is the best way of passing time that there is.”
There was a pensive note in her voice, as if she genuinely missed being single and able to flirt. For the first time, Wallis wondered if Corinne regretted having married a man twenty years her senior. The benefit, of course, had been that Henry was already a distinguished naval officer, holding very high rank, but he was a serious-minded man and Corinne was as light-minded as nearly all Montagues. There were, perhaps, strains in the marriage Wallis hadn’t previously been aware of.