Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ginger
“Well … I have good news and bad news,” Alastair said as he came into the dining room of Ginger’s home in Cairo for dinner.
Ginger looked up expectantly, then exchanged a glance with Victoria. “Go on, then. Holding either of us in suspense right now is just cruel.”
Alastair smiled. “I’ve found Noah.” He sat in the chair across from Ginger, then removed his napkin from beside his plate. “He’s outside of Jerusalem.”
A servant hurried toward him with the soup that Victoria and Ginger had already eaten.
Pausing mid-cut into a piece braised chicken, a hopeful look came into Victoria’s eyes. “With Fahad?”
“No. Not with Fahad. He’s been working at a dig at Khirbet Qeiyafa. But it’s Fahad who confirmed his location. They’ve seen each other. But what he’s doing there … it’s hard to say.”
Oh, thank God. Noah.
The news that Alastair had found him—and that he was alive and well—brought more relief to Ginger than she’d expected.
She had no real reason to be worried about Noah’s safety, but after everything they’d been through during the war, a part of her always remained fearful every time he left home.
She’d made herself a promise to never let him go away without kissing him and telling him how much she loved him—but that did nothing to make her feel better.
“And Jack?” Victoria asked.
“He has no idea where Jack is.” Alastair grimaced.
“Apparently, they aren’t traveling together.
However—I did just pick up some chatter about a fugitive from British authorities, who had escaped from Lydda station in Gaza.
One Jack Darby, traveling under forged papers—just this morning.
” Alastair’s eyes twinkled as he reached for his soup spoon.
Before Alastair could get a bite in, Victoria stood, nearly knocking her chair down in the process. “Then we’re going to Jerusalem. Fahad must be mistaken—Noah has to know where Jack is. And if we can find Noah, we can find Jack.”
Ginger frowned at her, then gave Alastair a cautious look, unease simmering in her gut. “Why would Noah be in Jerusalem and not send word to me? I sent a telegram to Fahad that I needed to speak to Noah urgently.”
“Well, you’re here of course. He probably has sent word—to Penmore. He can’t know what’s happened with Ivy and Alex.”
Victoria set both hands on the table and leaned toward Alastair with a determined look on her face. “Send word to Fahad. Tell Noah that we’re coming and he’s to meet us in Jerusalem. We can’t afford to waste a moment.”
In moments like this, Ginger was reminded of the way Victoria’s father, Lord Helton, had taught her to take command of every situation.
Of the socialite who had wrapped all of Anglo Cairo around her finger during the war.
All those qualities had made her a formidable ally in running the hospital the last decade—and a calculating foe when the two women had been antagonists before they’d become friends.
Alastair leaned back in his chair, his expression growing darker.
Yet his gaze remained sympathetic. “We risk leading Prescott to Jack if we’re not careful, Victoria.
And since—for now—that seems to be what Prescott wants most, not only could we lose our leverage by acting rashly, we could do more harm than good.
Delivering a message to Jack from Prescott is one thing.
But only Jack can decide what to do with that information.
He has good reasons to want to avoid Prescott’s surveillance. ”
“And I have even better reasons to see Prescott’s demands satisfied,” Victoria gritted through her teeth.
“All he’s asking is that Jack contact him, after all.
But we’re running out of time for Jack to do that.
It’s already been a full day. By the time we get to Jerusalem and find Noah, it could be another two more—and that’s if Noah can contact Jack immediately.
I’m not waiting until the last moment to do whatever is possible to save my daughter.
” She leveled a fierce look at Ginger. “Frankly, I’m appalled you don’t agree. ”
The stillness that followed Victoria’s outburst wasn’t silent.
Ginger steadied her breathing, her gaze flicking to the blank expression of the servant who’d been serving their dinner—the stiff demeanor, the bowed head that expressed embarrassment.
Ginger gave him a smile and dismissed him, then set down her fork, her appetite gone.
“I know you’re scared,” she said gently, glancing from Victoria to Alastair. “We all are. But rushing into Jerusalem without a plan isn’t brave. It’s reckless. And we’ve all lived through enough war to know what that leads to.”
Victoria opened her mouth to argue, but Ginger raised a hand. “Let me speak.” Her words weren’t sharp but formed with the quiet firmness that had calmed wounded men in field hospitals and stubborn patients in sick wards.
A chastened expression crossed Victoria’s face. Thank goodness for that. When Victoria felt strongly enough about something she didn’t back down easily.
“I’m not saying we wait around and do nothing,” Ginger went on. “But we must proceed with caution. Go carefully. We can’t allow ourselves to be driven by fear. We have to be smarter than Prescott believes we are.”
Alastair folded his arms. “I’m intrigued. What are you suggesting?”
“How many times did I travel in disguise—and in plain sight—as a nurse during the war, Alastair? If we can get the proper documents, we can get past inspection quietly enough. Say we’re traveling to Jerusalem on a humanitarian mission for the Red Cross or something of that sort.
Surely, you’ve got a friend or two that can help you obtain what we need for the paperwork. ”
A corner of Alastair’s mouth lifted. “I can work on the travel papers tonight.” He paused, then added, “But that still leaves Prescott.”
“We can’t let him follow us,” Ginger said flatly. “Not if it leads him to Jack. Alastair is right, Victoria—we don’t know the lengths Jack has gone to remain invisible to Prescott. What sort of allies would we be if we exposed him?”
“Then we don’t let him follow,” Victoria said, her eyes narrowing. She tilted her head at Alastair. “Is there any way to draw him off? And make him believe that Ginger and I are still here in Cairo? Just to give us a head start?”
Alastair considered, drumming his fingers against his upper arm.
“If I plant a few misleading pieces of information—drop hints that Jack’s heading toward Alexandria, maybe boarding a ship—Prescott might bite.
I’d need to move fast. I’ll think of something to convince him you’ve stayed put. Maybe Lucy could help with that.”
Ginger swallowed, a wave of emotion washing over her. Lucy wanted to help, but thus far they’d mostly kept her in the dark—for her own safety. But, yes, Lucy might be useful here. She was known in Anglo Cairo society. She might be able to make a show of some sort of decoy.
She nodded tightly at Alastair. “Then let’s do it. If we can buy even a day or two, it could make the difference.”
The ticking clock from the end of the dining room marked the seconds too loudly. Ginger reached for her water glass. The condensation had left a ring on the table and she dabbed at it with her napkin, her hands steady despite the tension humming beneath her skin.
This was not the life she had chosen. She had left the war behind, or tried to. She was a wife. A mother. A physician and hospital director. But none of that mattered if she couldn’t help save her son.
And Ivy.
The thought of the two of them, so young and so helpless, stung in a way she hadn’t expected.
Victoria stared down at her plate, untouched since Alastair had entered the room. She sank slowly into her chair, her fingers gripping the arms as if she needed to anchor herself to something solid.
“It still won’t be enough,” she murmured. “I don’t know much about him, but I know enough. Prescott is perceptive in a way that takes my breath away. I’ve gone up against men like him a few times. He terrifies me.”
Ginger exchanged a glance with Alastair. What is she getting at?
Victoria’s voice was softer now, but no less desperate.
“Even if we make it to Jerusalem, even if we find Noah—what then? We’ll need help.
Jack will need help if he wants to survive Prescott’s game.
Someone with authority. Connections we don’t have—maybe once I knew men with that sort of power … but not anymore.”
Ginger hesitated for a few moments, Victoria’s words sparking an idea.
A mad one.
And Victoria might hate me for suggesting it.
Victoria had once told her that she didn’t dare tell Ivy’s biological father about her—not just because Ivy could lose her inheritance from the Fishers—but because the repercussions would shatter that man’s life.
But Victoria had been become pregnant while her father had still controlled her work—sending her to seduce powerful men in Anglo Cairo society. If Ivy’s father was one of those men, and the information could be used to sway him, maybe …
“There’s someone else we could reach out to,” Ginger said quietly.
Victoria lifted her brow. “Who?”
“You’ve never said who Ivy’s father is,” Ginger said, not unkindly.
“But if he’s someone powerful, someone in Anglo Cairo with influence …
he might have a reason to care about what happens to her.
Or we could induce him to help, if it comes down to it.
And that could be a kind of leverage we haven’t tried. ”
Victoria gripped the arms of her chair more tightly.
Alastair didn’t speak, but he leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest.
“I’m not saying we involve him directly,” Ginger added. “But if he has resources—friends, political favors, money—maybe it’s time to ask.”
A long pause. “We can’t,” Victoria whispered.
“I know it’s a frightening prospect, but—”
“You don’t understand. It won’t help. He’s the reason Ivy’s in this mess in the first place. I don’t know how Prescott knew—I didn’t think it was so obvious, but he knew.” Victoria’s hand trembled and she lifted her glass, then set it down again without drinking.
What on earth? “I don’t understand,” Ginger said, her unease growing. She shifted, a startling idea, one maybe that she’d been too blind to see, starting to bloom before her eyes.
Victoria’s eyes were bright with tears. “Ivy has someone,” she said in an emotional voice. “Someone who would burn the world down to keep her safe. But he doesn’t know—I never knew how to tell him. And now it’s too late … I’m certain Prescott kidnapped Ivy to destroy him.”
Ginger’s breath caught, the pulse in her ears growing loud.
Alastair’s spoon stilled halfway to his mouth.
Victoria didn’t look at them. Her eyes were fixed on some distant memory, something too old and too tender to speak of easily. She looked at Ginger then, the truth stark in her expression.
“Ivy’s father,” she said, “is Jack.”