Chapter 4

Clay had made a dinner reservation for seven o'clock, so they waited at the bar until their table was ready. Francine had a glass of house white wine, and Clay had a draft beer. A few minutes later, the headwaiter came to tell them that they could move to the main dining room, which was featuring their 'Surf and Turf' special. As they cracked their fresh-caught crab legs and dipped them in the drawn butter, Clay said, "I like living in Dayton, but I don't like snow and I really miss fresh seafood."

"You're there because of the museum, you said. Have you considered moving back this way once you finish your book?"

"I hadn't before, but now that Lee and Amanda are going to be a real family, I think I might like to live closer to them. I've never met Amanda's boys, you know. The one time I was at her house, the mother and the boys weren't there."

"I'm sure they'd like it if you were closer than Ohio."

"I hope so. Lee and I haven't always gotten along well, too much alike, I guess, but today – today was good."

"I'm glad to hear it. Tell me about the book. What made you choose Hoyt Vandenberg?"

"Because there are already too many books about Hap Arnold and Carl Spaatz," he said, naming the head of the Army Air Forces during World War II and the first Chief of Staff of the newly created separate Air Force.

"I'm sure there's more to it than that, Clay."

"Well, there is," he admitted, and went on to talk at some length about General Vandenberg. About the time they finished their meal, the band started to play. "Ah, that's my kind of music," he said. "Call me an old fossil, but I like music that lets me hold my lady in my arms. Care to dance?"

They danced for two hours, until ten o'clock; when the band took its second break, they went out for a walk in the fresh air. The moon was almost full and the air had cooled from the summer heat. Clay tucked Francine's arm into the crook of his elbow so she wouldn't stumble and led her over to a bench under a tree. They sat down, but he didn't let go of her hand. "Francine, have you ever been to West Point?"

"No, I haven't; Lee was up there several years ago on a case, but I've never been there."

"It's lovely in the summer. I can borrow a small plane from a friend, if you'd like to fly up there with me. We'll go up and tour the place and come back in time for dinner with Lee and Amanda. What do you say?"

"I say it sounds wonderful."

"Good. Dress for walking, nothing fancy; the place is built on some rather impressive hills. I'll make all the arrangements. Can you be ready by eight tomorrow morning? It will give us more time on the ground, since it will take us about two hours to get there – a hour and a half in the air and another half hour to drive down from Stewart Airfield, where I can land the plane."

"I can be ready at eight, but if we're starting that early, I'd better go home."

"I agree."

He drove her back to her apartment, walked her to her door, but didn't kiss her. After he'd left, she closed the door and leaned against it with a happy sigh. "Robert Clayton, you are one smart man," she said. "Eight in the morning on a Saturday – wait 'til Lee and Amanda find out I agreed to that!"

He arrived exactly at 7:45, as she'd expected, carrying two cardboard cups of coffee and a bakery bag. "I come bearing edibles," he said. "I wasn't sure if you ate breakfast, but these chocolate croissants would even make a breakfast eater out of Lee."

They ate the croissants, which were just as good as he'd said, and then he drove them to small corporate airfield in Fairfax County where he checked in and led her over to a Cessna 172 and helped her into the passenger seat before getting into the pilot's seat. "Ever flown in something this small before?" he asked as he went through his pre-flight checklist.

"Many times, sometimes when someone was shooting at us."

He laughed. "Well, relax; no one will be shooting at us this time."

The trip up took just over an hour, thanks to a good tailwind. Once they cleared New York City, they followed the Hudson River north to Newburgh, with Clay pointing out landmarks, like the Bear Mountain Bridge and West Point itself, along the way.

"Look across from West Point – see a little island in the middle of the river? That's Constitution Island. When the Continental Army stretched the Great Chain across the Hudson to keep the British from sailing all the way up to Albany, the eastern end was anchored on that island. Later, it became the home of the Warner family. The two Warner sisters were famous hymn writers in the nineteenth century, and their uncle was Cadet Chaplain at West Point at one time. The island belongs to the Military Academy now, and it's a popular destination for excursions, only accessible by ferry from West Point. "

"There's another island down there."

"Yes, that's Bannerman's Island. Those ruins you see are what's left of Bannerman's castle; it burned in the late '60's."

"So it was still standing when you were a cadet?"

"Yes. Bannerman was a munitions dealer, and this was his private retreat, only accessible by boat. We'll be over Newburgh very soon."

He touched down at what had been Stewart Air Force Base and taxied to a stop. As he went through the post-flight checklist, Francine said, " Clay, there's someone standing beside a Triumph Spitfire over there and waving at us."

"Yes, that's my classmate, Jack Gaffney; the Spit is our ride while we're on the ground today. I'm borrowing it."

"How did you arrange that?"

"Old buddies, old favors. I coached him through plebe math so he didn't flunk out or spend five years getting his commission. He runs a real estate development company here in Newburgh."

Clay introduced Francine to Gaffney and his wife Maureen, who had driven the couple's Mercedes to the airfield because, as she said, "I simply had to meet the woman Clay would bring up to West Point for a tour."

"Also, I needed a way to get home," Gaffney said, "but that's secondary."

"Yes, it is. Did you bring a scarf, dear? I can tell you from experience that these overgrown boys of ours like to take the curves on 218 at speed, and with the top down," Maureen, who was probably in her mid-fifties, but looked younger thanks to expert hairdressing, makeup and expensive spa treatments, asked Francine. "I didn't, Maureen. Someone forgot to mention that I'd need one."

"Typical male; they never think of these things. Well, not to worry; I brought you one," Maureen said, producing a Hermes silk scarf. "You'll still be a bit windblown, but you won't look like you put those gorgeous blonde curls through a wind tunnel. Just leave it in the car when you bring it back."

"Thank you, Maureen. "