Betty gave the pot on the stove another stir before turning her attention back to the pie on the drainboard. She was so intent on her task that she didn't hear the front door closing or notice when Scott came into the tiny kitchenette and leaned casually against the door jamb. For a moment he watched her silently as she hummed to herself, enjoying the feeling of security that came with the picture of simple domesticity Betty made as she moved around the room. He could almost believe there was no war, that they were safely in their own apartment in Pittsburgh, home after another long day at WENN. He only wished that was the case.
"I haven't seen anything that looks that good all day," he observed softly.
"Scott!" Betty looked up, a surprised smile on her face, before starting across the room. "I didn't hear you come in," she said as he pulled her into his arms for a long kiss.
"How are you feeling?" he asked huskily, his mouth next to her ear.
"Fine," she smiled reassuringly.
"And the baby?" he asked, with an expectant father's anxious concern.
"He's fine, too," Betty answered with what almost looked like an impish grin as she turned back to the stove to give the pot another stir.
"He?" It was the first time she'd referred to the baby as a specific gender. "Do you know something I don't, Betty?" he asked with amusement.
"Mmmm, it's just a feeling," she returned with a mysterious smile and a shrug.
"Any feelings about what we should name him? My Aunt Aggie would be thrilled if we named him after her husband," Scott suggested.
"That's a good idea. What was his name?" Betty asked interestedly.
He grimaced. "Aloysius."
Betty bit back a smile. "And I have an Uncle Mortimer who would be just as thrilled to have a namesake."
Scott groaned. "You're right. No uncle's names. But what then?" He leaned on the counter, lost in speculation.
"Scott."
"Hmmm?" He looked up at her expectantly.
"Scott." She repeated the name as if it were the answer to all the world's problems.
Comprehension suddenly dawned. "As in Scott Sherwood, Jr.? No way," he said emphatically. "The next thing you know, people would be calling him Junior, and that would always remind me of Randall Parsons, Jr, and I have nothing but bad memories of that night."
"Really? I have some very good memories of that night," Betty smiled softly in reminiscence.
Scott considered that for a moment. "I guess it was sort of the first time we worked together on something. You made a sacrifice to save my hide," he allowed. Then his eyes narrowed. "Immediately after which you went out on a date with Doug. Exactly what good memories are you referring to, Betty Sherwood?" he asked, hands on his hips as he advanced nearer the stove.
Betty laughed. "I think that should be my secret," she teased him. "You aren't really jealous, are you?" she asked, observing the frown line on his brow.
His face relaxed into an easy grin. "No, but I was. At least I won in the end." "
Won?" Betty stifled the rest of her indignant reply, seeing he was teasing her. "What did you find out today?" she asked, inwardly praying there was no news of a transport plane returning to America. It was two weeks since they'd moved into the little flat and Betty's determination to stay had never wavered.
Scott sighed defeatedly. His determination hadn't wavered either. "You're in luck. There isn't another plane bound for the US for another month...at least, not one they can fit you on."
Betty concealed a grin. "Oh, that's too bad." She tried to sound as subdued as possible while inside she was cartwheeling with happiness. Another month was enough time to produce several more articles.
He answered her with a sardonic grin before leaning over to sniff the pie. "That wouldn't happen to be an apple pie, would it?"
"Dried apple," she corrected him.
"How did you-?" He let the sentence trail off, knowing she understood the question. Fruit was in short supply in wartime London, having enough for a pie was almost unheard of.
"Oh, you'd be surprised what you learn from gossiping with the neighbors all day," she smiled craftily. "Actually, our next door neighbor has some cousins who just happen to live on a farm in the country. They came to London for a visit and brought along some fruits and vegetables. They needed some more of what's passing for tea these days," Betty and Scott both wrinkled their noses at the thought of the noxious brew, "so we made a trade. Voila! Apple pie."
Scott inhaled deeply. "This beats the heck out of k-ration. What am I going to do when I have to go back to that?"
She sobered instantly. "Did they say when you'd have to go back?"
He moved his shoulder experimentally, feeling only the slightest twinge. "No, which is odd. You'd think they'd need every man they could get." Scott wondered for the hundredth time exactly what they had in mind for him and once again fought the urge to tell Betty everything. She was worried enough as it was. He didn't want to add to it.
"They probably just want to be sure you're completely healed before you go back," Betty reasoned practically. "Besides, I'm going to be in London for at least another month. You wouldn't want to leave before then, would you?"
"No," he began, then realized what she'd said. "What do you mean 'at least another month'? You'll be gone on the first plane out..."
"Not if I don't have enough material for articles..."
"You'll have plenty," Scott said through gritted teeth. Under his breath he added, "I could have married anyone. A nice woman who would have done whatever I told her to. Then I would have been..."
"Bored to death," Betty finished for him decisively.
Scott smiled again, his frustration vanishing as he realized the truth of her words. He held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. You're right. I wouldn't change you for anything. But if you'll recall our marriage ceremony, you did swear to obey me..."
Betty's mouth dropped open. "Scott Sherwood!" For a moment, she sputtered helplessly. "I may have sworn that in the ceremony, but it doesn't count when you're being..." she groped for the right word, "unreasonable!" She stopped short when she caught sight of the teasing grin he was doing his best to hide.
Scott's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "At least now I know what not to say to you in the middle of an argument." He approached her slowly, his expression suddenly serious. "I don't think it's unreasonable to want my wife and child out of what's practically a war zone."
Betty sighed, relaxing as his hands moved to gently cup her upper arms. "I know. And you're right. It's not unreasonable. I just never thought I'd hear you bring up the word 'obey'."
Scott gave her a crooked grin. "I never thought I would, either. I guess marriage and impending fatherhood are getting to me. I just want what's best for you and the baby, Betty. London doesn't have a good supply of food and most of the doctors are focusing on military duty. You could probably get much better care in Pittsburgh."
"I'm only here for a few more weeks, and I'm sure I'll be fine. Besides, I can't be the only pregnant woman in London," Betty reasoned.
"I know, but he difference is, they don't have the choice to leave. You do." A sudden knocking at the front door broke into their conversation. Scott looked at her quizzically, but Betty only shook her head. "I'll go see who it is. We can finish this later." With a quick kiss for the tip of her nose, he left to answer the door.
The knock was just starting again when Scott pulled the door inward. He immediately snapped to attention with a sharp salute.
"General," Scott greeted the older man. "What are you doing here? Begging your pardon, sir," he added, recovering from his shock.
The general returned Scott's salute smartly. "At ease, Lieutenant. May I come in?"
"Of course." Scott stood back from the doorway to allow the head of his division to enter the apartment. He scowled momentarily at the general's back. Why did he have to come here?
"Well, this is certainly nicer than the barracks," General Hopkins observed as he looked around the room appraisingly, though he was clearly uncomfortable with the small talk.
Scott nodded his silent assent, knowing the pleasantries were merely for Betty's sake. Although he couldn't see her, the general had to know she was here. His business was information, after all. Scott had the distinct impression that he was about to find himself put into a very tight spot.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
The general grinned slyly, determined to play the game to the last, no matter how hard Scott tried to force his hand. "Well, for a start, I've heard your wife is in London. I'd very much like to meet her," he kept his expression bland.
Scott kept his own face carefully blank, though his eyes hardened. He had the feeling the one thing he'd been truly fearing since Betty's arrival in London was about to happen. "I'll get her for you...sir." The word held a hint of irony. Scott crossed the small room and stuck his head in the kitchen. "Betty, would you mind coming out here a minute? There's someone I'd like you to meet."
Betty looked at him questioningly for a moment, noting the discomfort in his tone. "Of course," she finally answered him, reaching across to turn off the element on the stove. Scott grabbed her hand as she came towards him and she winced slightly at the tightness of his grip, wondering what their guest had done to unsettle him so.
"Betty, this is General Hopkins. General Hopkins, my wife, Betty." Scott made the introductions brusquely.
"How do you do?" Betty nodded politely and extended a hand.
"Very well, thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Betty, and to see that your husband didn't exaggerate your charms." The general bowed over her hand and placed a kiss there.
Scott moved uncomfortably, but Betty blushed prettily. "Thank you," she said, casting a quick, puzzled glance in Scott's direction. "Will you be staying for dinner?"
"It smells wonderful, but I don't want to impose," the gaze he turned towards Scott let him know he'd be imposing in other ways. "We actually have some business to conduct, then I'll be on my way. My own wife will be waiting dinner for me."
"Oh, so your wife is in London, too," Betty observed with a sideways smile at Scott.
"Yes, I'm fortunate to have her here for the next few months," the general agreed amiably, the entire force of his not-inconsiderable charm turned towards Betty.
Betty smiled a bit thinly at the general, having had plenty of experience in the past with too-charming men. "Well, I'll let you two get to your business." She moved to leave the room, but the general stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"Wait a moment, Mrs. Sherwood. I'd actually appreciate it if you'd stay with us. This business will concern you quite closely." He motioned towards the sofa with his other hand.
Scott made a small sound of protest. "Is that really necessary, General?"
"Yes, I believe it is," Hopkins answered decisively.
Betty looked at Scott, frowning, and he wrapped a possessive arm around her waist as they headed for the sofa. The general settled himself in an armchair across from them and cleared his throat.
"I realize you're probably both curious as to why I should be disturbing you at this hour of the evening, so I'll get right to the point. I'm the head of a highly sensitive and classified division of the military known as Section N. We work under cover of darkness. You might call us a spy ring," he smiled with amusement. Betty turned a puzzled glance towards Scott, but his expression was unreadable. "We've investigated both of you thoroughly. We know that you're loyal Americans and that you aided in the capture of Nazi sympathizers while employed at radio station WENN in Pittsburgh."
"Why would you be investigating us?" Betty asked.
"The answer is simply this, Mrs. Sherwood. We're recruiting. This is a critical phase in the war. We need people undercover on the continent to act as couriers and operatives. Frankly, we think you're ideal." The general leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"Ideal for what?" Scott nearly growled.
"An undercover operation set to begin one month from now. I'm afraid I can't go into more detail until you've accepted the assignment. Security issues, you know." The general smiled ingratiatingly. "Let me assure you, the danger on this first assignment will be minimal. We don't like our new agents to get in over their heads. You're interested?" His tone and the look he sent Scott implied it wasn't exactly a question.
Scott's eyes locked with the general's for a moment, his expression stern. He grinned suddenly, though his eyes remained cold. "General, you have no way of knowing this, but my wife is pregnant and will be returning to Pittsburgh on the next available plane. I'm afraid she won't be here for the operation."
Betty was intrigued, and not a little confused. She sensed undercurrents between her husband and General Hopkins, but couldn't discover where they came from. Not only that, but she was also curious about the assignment...and why Section N thought they were capable of carrying it out.
"Scott, you said yourself it would be at least a month before I could get a plane out of here. If we can help the war effort by doing this, don't you think we should at least talk about it before we decide?"
Scott was momentarily nonplussed as he tried to discern the best way to deflect Betty. The general took full advantage of the lapse. He nodded with satisfaction. "Yes, I think you should discuss it." He rose from the chair and Scott and Betty followed suit. "Let me offer my congratulations before I forget. When you've reached a decision, just contact me. I believe you know where to find me." General Hopkins looked knowingly at Scott.
"Let me see you to the door, General," Scott said through gritted teeth, a fake smile plastered across his face. "How dare you do this to my wife," he hissed under his breath, his eyes boring into the other man's as he opened the door.
"You had your chance, Lieutenant. We gave you ample opportunity to approach her yourself. Just consider this a favor." The general smiled a warm smile as fake as Scott's own as they shook hands. "I'll see you soon, Sherwood."
Scott closed the door and turned towards Betty with a bright smile. "Well, do you suppose dinner's ready by now? I'm starving," he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Betty was staring absently at the wall behind him, clearly deep in thought. "Scott," her eyes suddenly met his. "What's going on?"
"Oh, would you look at the time?" he offered weakly. She continued to stare at him, the gravity in her expression unnerving. He sighed deeply. "I was hoping that you'd never have to know about this, Betty, that you wouldn't have to be involved."
"Involved in what?" she asked, coming closer to him. "Why would General Hopkins want to recruit us as spies? It seems strange, doesn't it?"
"Well, not all that strange," Scott muttered under his breath.
"What do you mean?" Betty asked, her eyes looking for answers in his.
Scott found himself sighing again. "I have something to confess, Betty. I've been lying to you."
Betty's arms crossed over her stomach and an eyebrow lifted wryly. "More so than usual?"
He shrugged. "It isn't the amount so much as the length of time," he extemporized.
"How long?" Betty demanded, pinning him to the spot with her eyes.
Scott tried his best charming smile on her. "Well, only," the smile suddenly disappeared and he cleared his throat, "since the day we met."
"Since the day we..." Betty broke off, stunned. "What was the lie?"
Scott swallowed and took a deep breath before looking her straight in the eyes.
"Betty, I'm not who you think I am."
Far From Pittsburgh
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