He wasn’t at all surprised when he received a telephone call from someone he knew he could trust that Durant was a front-runner for a Pulitzer Prize for Telegraphic Reporting. He was stunned, though, when he was also told that Dan Hallworth was leading the pack for a Pulitzer Prize for Reporting.

* * *

“You’ve taken us where we want to be, son.” Walter Hallworth clapped Dan on the back when he returned home that night to find his father waiting for him in his study. “I’m proud of you.”

Dan was used to his father appearing in his study on an evening when some particularly toothsome story had broken and the newspapermen of the town had been vying for the disclosure nobody else had. Used to his father’s need to chew over the news like a Sunday roast meant for savoring. But he wasn’t used to his father complimenting him. Even after he’d been made Lieutenant Colonel, Walter Hallworth hadn’t seen the need to write to congratulate his son. Obviously Dan’s source had seen fit to telephone Walter too and spread the report, even though nobody would know for sure until the Pulitzers were announced next month.

“Thanks,” Dan said awkwardly and was saved from having to accept any more unexpected compliments by the bizarre appearance of his wife.

He’d seen as little as possible of Amelia since that awful night when he’d tried to do the right thing and had almost destroyed himself. But he’d done enough—buying her jewelry and flowers and kissing her cheek—to keep her, he’d thought, reasonably happy. Victorine had certainly not sported any more red cheeks.

“Amelia,” he said, recovering from the surprise and chastely and automatically kissing the upturned cheek she offered him. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“How could I not wait up to congratulate my husband?” she said.

Dan shook his head at his father’s loose tongue. Who else had Walter told of what was only a rumor at best or gossip at worst?

He saw his father grimace at Amelia’s invasion of the study, a space Walter held as sacred and meant only for men. But still Amelia crossed to the sideboard and poured three whiskeys. “Cheers,” she said, passing the glasses around.

“Cheers,” Dan said, sipping, although he felt like downing his in one go, a thought intensified by Amelia’s next words.

“Your mysterious correspondent is a contender too?” she inquired.

Dan was thankful for his father’s brusqueness. “Mysterious?” Walter said. “All correspondents are damn slippery creatures. Never where you want them to be but so long as they send in the goods, which this fellow delivers in spades, then they can be as mysterious as they like.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Amelia said smoothly. “I’ve only ever known one correspondent: Jess. Was she mysterious?” Amelia arranged her features to make it appear as if she was thinking. “She never gave me that impression. She always had a face that was far too easy to read. Unlike mine now, of course. Nobody can read anything under this mess.” She gestured to her face and Dan felt a sudden need to sit down, which he resisted. Amelia couldn’t know who Durant was. But if Victorine had worked it out…