“I heard something about a clambake,” Donovan said. “I’m responsible for that,” Canidy said.
“Guarding this place is really lousy duty for the white hats. I feel sorry for them. I thought they would probably like a clambake, and I showed them what had to be done.”
“A pit on the beach?” Donovan asked.
“Lobsters? Clams? Corn on the cob? Beer?”
“The works,” Canidy said. “Who’s paying for the beer and lobster?”
“I am.”
“Well, turn in a voucher for it.” Canidy was surprised.
“Thank you,” he said. “You won’t get to drink any of the beer, since you’ll be flying, but I can’t see any point in letting all that food go to waste by sending everybody to Washington right now. And Mrs. Donovan and I love clambakes.”
“Considering what I feared was going to happen to me, I can cheerfully do without the beer,” Canidy said. Donovan nodded. “How close was I to St. Elizabeth’s, Colonel?” Canidy asked. “It was a close call, Dick,” Donovan said.
“As close as I’ve made lately. I hope it was a good call.
THE SECRET WARRIORS 0 a0l “Yeah,” Canidy said after a moment, thoughtfully, but as if he was thinking of someone else.
“So do I.” As Donovan began to move toward the door, Canidy asked, “What about Bitter’s wife and the birdbrain?”
“I’ll have Ann Chambers drive their car back in the morning Donovan said.
“If she thinks that’s too much to ask of her, you can see about getting someone to drive the car.”
“Oh, she can drive it,” Canidy said.
“She can even fly. I mean, really. Not just a Piper Cub. She’s got a commercial ticket, an instrument rating, and five hundred-odd hours.
She’s really a very capable young woman.”
“Not bad-looking, either,” Donovan said. “Yeah,” Canidy said noncommittally. Maybe it’s chemical, Donovan thought. Maybe as there is a chemical attraction between young people of opposite sexes, there is also a chemical repulsion. Obviously, Ann Chambers does not ring bells in Dick Canidy.
TWO I Summer Place Deal, New Jersey 0015 Hours July 5, 1942
Ann Chambers had not been asleep, although she had pretended to be when Charity had finally, about eleven, returned to their room. Charity had been spending considerable time with Doug Doug lass in Canidy’s room above the boathouse during the clambake. And Ann-in her current state of mind-did not want to listen to Charity’s impassioned rhapsodies about it. The problem was that, unlike Charity’s dashing hero, hers, rather than leaping enthusiastically into her bed, seemed oblivious to her very existence. How could she look soulfully into his eyes when she couldn’t get him to look at her?
When the luminous hands on the traveling alarm clock lined up at midnight, Ann was really faced with doing what she had decided to do that afternoon. It was different now. It was not an intellectual exercise.
7@
She thought some more, and when the hands of the clock reached fifteen minutes after midnight, she finally made up her mind. She would forget she was a nice girl, a virgin, an Episcopalian, and that good Episcopalian virgins who find themselves awake at midnight roll over and go back to sleep. Opportunity knocks but once, she told herself quietly as she swung her legs out and searched for her shoes under the bed with her toes. If not now, then probably never There is absolutely no chance I’ll ever get invited back here, and where else would there ever be the opportunity again? There was enough light in the room for her to see Charity clearly. She was on her stomach, with her nightgown up to her waist. She was in a deep sleep. Ann pulled a high-collared cotton robe over her baby-doll pajamas, buttoned it, and then, her lips tight in determination, reached under it and pulled the cutesy-poo balloon-leg pajama pants off. The one thing she didn’t want Dick Canidy to think was that she was a cutesy-poo college girl. Though it was a little wicked to leave her bedroom half naked under a thin robe, it gave her determination. There was no turning back now.
She went down the stairs to the foyer. A civilian security guard was sitting in an upholstered chair by the door to what had been a closet but now held a switchboard. Presuming everyone had gone to bed, he had pulled down his tie, removed his seersucker jacket, and hung his shoulder holster over the back of his chair. He looked up from his copy of The Saturday Evening Post, his face expressionless. “Can’t sleep,” Ann said.