I must admit, everything about this meeting seems straight out of the silent films I grew up watching, all the spy and detective adventures that provided escape from the clutches of my tragedies.

But then, I can think of nothing more tragic than war. It’s a veritable reason to steer clear of such turmoil. Sure, plenty of entertainers do their bit, through USO shows and propaganda reels. Yet by that reasoning, it could be said I already contribute by boosting morale on the home front, performing to American troops on their breaks from training. What’s more, the suggestion of my jaunting off to Europe, plumb into the thick of things, is altogether ludicrous.

Just now, another groan of thunder sends a timely message: When a hurricane makes landfall, who in their right mind races toward the storm?

“Mr. Hutton, it’s a fascinating opportunity, and I’m terribly honored. But I already have a good many obligations. By this time tomorrow, Monsieur Bouchard and I will be on a train headed for our next series of performances.”

The fellow’s brows dip, forming a pleat between them. It’s a look of perplexity that quickly gains a layer of abashed reluctance. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion. Backstage at the theater, I happened to overhear a discussion. It left me with a strong impression that you might…be in want of a fresh pursuit.”

The reference takes me a moment to dissect. He must have been among the admirers waiting in the hall and caught my quarrel with Charles. Another way he learned of my role behind the curtain.

My crossed arms tighten. Even if at no fault of his, I prefer my private affairs to stay private. “Charles and I have a long-standing partnership. These sorts of professional squabbles are minor and meaningless.” This much is a lie; I taste its bitterness even as the words tumble out. “Therefore, I will have to pass on your offer, generous as it is.”

He opens his mouth, clearly to persist, but refrains. “I am very sorry to hear that.” The pattering of shallow puddles fills the silence. “Well. It was a pleasure nonetheless.”

This time, I accept his handshake, genial if brief. While he replaces his glasses, I proceed to leave.

“Miss Vos.”

I twist back only partially.

“Should you change your mind, I shall be at the Waldorf Astoria until my evening flight tomorrow. If you so desire, I would be obliged to save you a seat.”

Before I can decline, fixed in my stance, he starts away and fades into the darkness.

Chapter 6

Though muffled, the noise upstairs is utterly maddening.