Page 44 of The Vanished

“And how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty-eight last month. I was a turkey baby.”

“I beg your pardon?” Geneva exclaimed.

“I was born on Thanksgiving. The date varies from year to year, but my birthday always falls around Turkey Day.”

Geneva had no inkling what he was talking about but didn’t ask him to explain for fear of sounding simple. He clearly expected her to know what he meant.

“How is your sandwich?” she asked.

“Not too bad. Should tide me over until dinner.” Jesse’s expression turned serious. “How is your father, Geneva?”

She felt the pricking of tears and didn’t know why she suddenly felt so emotional. This man didn’t know her father and was only being polite. And the sooner Douglas passed, the sooner Jesse would inherit.

“Thank you for asking. He’s as well as can be expected.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Might the doctors be wrong?”

“I doubt it. But I think he will breathe easier now you’re here.”

“I expect that largely depends on what his expectations are,” Jesse replied. He seemed a little happier with his tea now, and took another sip.

He expects us to marry, Geneva nearly said, but managed to refrain from mentioning her father’s plans. Revealing the truth would make her sound pathetic and desperate.

Jesse applied himself to his sandwich, but Geneva had quite lost her appetite and couldn’t manage more than a few bites of a scone. Eager to leave, she reached for her reticule and took out her change purse.

“Please, allow me,” Jesse offered.

“I can still pay for my own tea, Mr. Bellamy.” She didn’t mean to sound defensive, but that was how it had come out, and he raised his hands, holding them palms out.

“By all means, Miss Bellamy.”

“That’s Lady Geneva,” Mrs. Lynley said haughtily as she accepted Geneva’s money.

“Forgive me,” Jesse said as he paid for his own meal. “I’m naught but an ignorant American.”

“Shall we go?” Geneva asked and stood to put on her coat.

“Whenever you’re ready, my lady. May I give you a hand with your parcel?”

“I can manage, thank you.”

“Do you have a chauffeur, Lady Geneva? And is the poor chap waiting out in the cold?”

“I’m quite capable of driving myself,” Geneva replied and headed to the door once Jesse was ready.

“A lady after my own heart,” he said as he grabbed his case and followed her outside.

“Do you drive, Mr. Bellamy?”

“I do, indeed. I own a sweet Model T Ford back home. But I also fly.”

“You do?”

“I was with the Royal Air Corps during the war. Flew an Avro 504 on raids that took off from an airfield in Kent. An army buddy keeps his plane at Mitchel Field in Long Island and lets me take it out from time to time. I had engine trouble the last time I went up. I thought that might be the end of me,” Bellamy admitted with a sad smile.

“That sounds rather terrifying.”