She smothered an appalled laugh. “And you choose to wear it?”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “It’s a daily reminder for me. I’ll catch them someday.”
Oddly, learning of his professional failing and his sense of humor about the tie clip made him even more attractive. She liked his old-school formality, especially now that they were outdoors and he had dropped the stalking cat demeanor.
“Why do you scrutinize the tourists so intently? There are plenty of ushers keeping watch.”
“I’m educating myself.” At her quirked brow, he continued. “When looking for counterfeit bills, you don’t study fake currency, you study the real thing. Thousands and thousands of authentic bills of different denominations, age, and wear. Only by being intimately familiar with what the real thing looks like can I spot the fakes.”
“And the tourists?”
“Same principle. None of them look alike, but I’m studying how they behave. Some are excited to be here, others look hot and tired. Some are distracted by fussy children. Some gawk at the ostentation while others are moved by patriotic emotion. All these things are normal. I need to observe thousands of examples to get it engraved in my mind so that when someone who isn’t really a tourist shows up, I’ll spot him.”
He went on to explain that the notes he compiled would be provided to the rest of the security guards. Most of the guards had worked here for decades but probably had no formal training other than some fighting and shooting experience. Nathaniel was going about things much more methodically.
“Who is the guest you’ve asked to visit the White House next Monday?” he asked.
As requested, Caroline had submitted a short list of personal guests along with the lengthy list of official visitors. This was the first time he’d asked about her personal guests.
“Petra Stepanovic is a close friend,” she said carefully. Petra had always been the most daring of her friends, a turban-wearing fifty-year-old widow of a Serbian diplomat who’d traveled the world, had affairs with Russian aristocrats, and perfected the art of holding a slender cigarette holder as she smoked. “Petra and I will be appealing to the first lady for her help supporting a school for immigrant women and girls.”
“She’s from Serbia,” he said. “Why didn’t she return home after her husband died?”
Because Petra’s free-thinking ways were not a good fit for Serbia, but that probably wasn’t what Nathaniel was driving at. Serbia was known as a hotbed for anarchists, and it might be enough to set off his alarm bells.
“She likes the cafés in Washington,” Caroline replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “If you’d like to know if she associates with anarchists, why don’t you just ask?”
“I’m sorry if this line of questioning makes you uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I ignored this.”
Her jaw tightened as she moved away to stare out at the lawn. She wasn’t angry on Petra’s behalf so much as fearful for her brother. What would Nathaniel say if he knew her twin brother was currently being held in a Cuban prison, suspected of plotting treason against the United States?
Luke’s arrest had been a stunning shock. As always, thinking about him caused a crushing weight of sadness to settle on her chest. This time last summer, she and Luke had been indulging in outdoor picnics and long afternoons sailing on the Potomac. She had been teaching him to play lawn tennis, while he’d been tutoring her in Spanish. How long ago those memories seemed now.
“Petra is seeking funding for a girl’s school,” she said, trying to mask the defensiveness in her voice. “You have nothing to fear from her.”
She retreated into the coolness of the house, unable to bear Nathaniel’s scrutiny any longer. At all costs, she must ensure that he didn’t learn of Luke’s dilemma, or he would boot her from the White House without ceremony.
Five
Caroline was still worried about her tiff with Nathaniel as she headed to afternoon tea with Petra the next day. Despite her Bohemian ways, it was Petra who first suggested the idea of establishing a school as a means of lifting immigrant girls out of grinding poverty and into a respectable profession.
Caroline’s hope was that Ida might help raise funds for the school. Last month the first lady had visited a factory of female lace makers in Baltimore, and the associated publicity had garnered hefty donations from as far away as San Francisco to improve the working conditions. Caroline hoped for similar success with Petra’s school.
Tea had already been set up in the back garden of Petra’s townhouse when Caroline arrived.
“Darling,” Petra drawled, although in her thick Serbian accent it sounded more like “daaahlink.” They embraced and kissed on both cheeks as the Europeans did, and then Petra gestured to the table set beneath cherry trees. “Come try this new tea. It’s imported from the Himalayas.”
Petra poured tea and sliced an almond cake with the elegance of the diplomat’s wife she once had been. Caroline gamely took a sip of the Himalayan tea and winced.
“It’s not very good, is it?” Petra asked.
“You taught me better than to answer a question like that.” Caroline had learned much from Petra, everything from how to flatter a disgruntled bureaucrat to carefully navigating a minefield of politically charged conversations.
After finishing their almond cake, Petra launched into the reason for their meeting today. She had already leased a building close to a streetcar stop so students could get to it without difficulty. Rooms would be designated for English language instruction, typing, and switchboard skills.
“I also want the school to help the students find jobs,” Petra said.
Caroline nodded. “I can help there. I know plenty of people who own businesses in Washington, and my brother knows even more.” Her brother Gray employed hundreds in his spice business and had connections all over the East Coast.
Petra opened a petite jade box filled with loose tobacco and began rolling a cigarette. Caroline looked away, focusing on a squirrel gathering acorns for the coming winter. Anything to distract her from the craving for a cigarette. It had been twelve days since she’d given in to temptation.
The strike of a match startled the squirrel, and a moment later Petra released a long sigh as she drew on the cigarette. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”
“I’m sure.”
Nathaniel wouldn’t like a woman who smoked. Not that she would ever change to suit Nathaniel Trask. It was merely that he knew how hard she was trying to quit, and she refused to be a failure in his eyes. She wanted his respect.
“There is a new head of security in the White House,” she said, hoping the topic would divert her from the tense, tingly desire for a cigarette. She stood and paced in the small garden. “He’s completely irrational. He won’t even permit men to have their hands in their pockets if the president is nearby.”
Petra shrugged. “What sort of person would act so casual when the president is in the room? That sounds like good manners to me.”
“It’s paranoia. He’s afraid any given person might have a gun or a knife in his pocket. It’s embarrassing.”