Free Mrs. Roosevelt's Confidante by Susan Elia MacNeal

eased herself down next to him, one gloved hand playing with her golden necklace. “And all alone.”
    He closed his notebook. Writing time was obviously over. “I’m waiting for someone,” he explained.
    “It speaks!” the woman in red exclaimed, and the rest of her party chuckled in amusement. “And with such a lovely British accent. We American girls adore that accent, you know. Did one of ours stand you up?”
    “Yes. I mean, no. I mean—”
    “I can’t believe someone would leave a man as handsome as you alone in a hotel lobby, can you?” she said, looking into John’s eyes.
    The woman in yellow peered from over the top of her glasses. “Shocking. Absolutely shocking.”
    “What’s your name, sir?” the first woman purred.
    “Flight—” He cleared his throat. “Flight Lieutenant John Sterling.”
    “Oooh, a lieutenant!” The men in the party began to look uncomfortable, their dinner jackets paling in comparison to John’s uniform, regardless of bespoke Jermyn Street origins and tailoring. “We honor you.” The woman in red made a mock hand salute. “Did you see battle, Lieutenant?”
    John didn’t like her manner, and he didn’t like her tone. He was brusque. “Yes.”
    The woman in red snapped her fingers, and a concierge appeared. “Drinks all around,” she commanded. “Brandy for this young war hero and for the rest of us to toast his good health.” More chairs were procured, and the rest of the party took seats. They realized when their leading lady’s attention was captured.
    “You must forgive me, Lieutenant,” she said, her husky voice soft in his ear, “but I insist. You see, we’ve only heard about the war in Europe There’s no—ah, what’s the word?—‘rationing’ here. So to see an actual war hero in our midst—”
    John felt his ears burn. “Ma’am, I’m not—”
    “My name is Mrs. Regina Winthrop Wolffe,” she interrupted, still playing with her jewelry. “And this lovely creature is Mrs. Evelyn Astor Thorne.” Then the brandy appeared, in heavy cut-glass snifters, and they all drank, raising their glasses in John’s direction.
    He couldn’t help but stare at the gigantic diamond dangling from a gleaming chain around Evelyn’s sagging neck. She caught him looking. “Don’t touch it—bad luck, you know.”
    John tried not to laugh at her brashness. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”
    “Oh you’re adorable.” Evelyn turned to Regina. “He’s absolutely adorable! I’d like to put him in my pocketbook and take him home with me.”
    “I saw him first,” Regina said, pouting her crimson-painted lips. “A toast to our new friend, Flight Lieutenant John Sterling,” she declared.
    They all raised their glasses again. One man, pasty and thick through the middle, with thinning hair, began in a querulous voice, “Although I’ve said and said again I was always against this war—”
    They’d obviously heard this line before. “We know, but since Pearl Harbor, all bets are off,” another man said.
    The first man persisted. “Churchill’s in town now, you know—glad-handing with Roosevelt. The British scare me.”
    “I work for Prime Minister Churchill,” John said, emphasizing the title. “That’s why I’m here.”
    “How perfectly splendid,” crowed Regina, smoothing over the edges. “Even Lindbergh’s come around since Pearl Harbor, you know.”
    “Well, good for Lindy,” came the man’s sarcastic reply, “but
I
haven’t. I’m against the British now, yesterday, and tomorrow. And I’m for America first, last, and all the time.” The brandy gave his voice strength and too much volume. Other guests in the hotel’s lobby turned to stare. “And I resent that Roosevelt is using Pearl Harbor as an excuse to drag us into this damn war! Sorry for swearing, ladies.”
    John had endured enough. “So says Goebbels,” he retorted.
    “Ooooh, he got you,” Regina cooed. “Nicely done, Lieutenant Sterling.”
    But the man