39

THURSDAY, MAY 1, 1941

Aleida flipped through the filing cabinet. “The cards are filed by county alphabetically. Within each county, by town alphabetically. Within each town, by the child’s last name.”

“I see.” Miss Winthrop, who had taken Nilima’s position, pursed pink lips in her porcelain face as she studied a card in her hand. “Child’s name, date of birth, names and addresses of the parents and of the foster family.”

“We make notes on the back if necessary.” Aleida took the card from Miss Winthrop and pointed to an address crossed through. “If the billeting officer tells us of a change in address, we note it here. And if the child returns to London or another evacuation area—”

“We throw the card away.”

“Never.” Aleida opened another drawer. “We move the card to this file. See—Liverpool, London . . .”

“Ah yes. We don’t want to lose a child.”

“No.” Pain crushed her chest, but each day the pain crushed a bit less.

Even though she’d lost Theo, at least she had his image. She’d framed his photographs and hung them in her bedroom. The photograph of Sebastiaan, however, she’d burned without ceremony.

How kind of Hugh to bring her the pictures. If only . . .

He’d insisted he didn’t want to win her back, and he seemed satisfied with half of what they’d had before. He acted comfortable and friendly with her, with none of the longing looks he’d given her before they’d first kissed.

Aleida, however, had to restrain herself from taking his hand, his arm, from leaning against him.

After she returned the card to the filing cabinet, she and Miss Winthrop sat down at the desk with a stack of letters from billeting officers.

Aleida slit open the first envelope and opened it. “From Bedford. Three children have returned to London.”

Miss Winthrop went to the filing cabinet. “Bedfordshire . . . Bedford . . . child’s name?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Martens.” Mr. Armbruster stood in front of her desk in a black suit that rounded over his portly form.

Aleida stood and greeted the head of their division. “Shall I fetch Miss Granville?”

“You’re the young lady I came to see.” Dark eyes twinkled from deep in his full face. “How is your talk coming along?”

“Talk?”

“Yes. We’re all very interested in hearing more about the status of the refugee children.”

Aleida tilted her head as if doing so might sift missing knowledge into place. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You did receive my invitation, did you not?”

“Invitation? No, sir.”

Mr. Armbruster frowned over Aleida’s shoulder. “Miss Granville?”

“I’ll fetch her, sir.” Miss Winthrop scurried off to Miss Granville’s office.

Mr. Armbruster returned his gaze to Aleida. “I sit on the board for the Refugee Aid Society. We’re holding a charity banquet, and I want you to talk about the refugee children. I’m sure—ah, Miss Granville. It appears you forgot to pass on the banquet invitation to Mrs. Martens.”

Color rose in Miss Granville’s cheeks. “As the head of this department, I shall speak about the matter. I am more informed about the situation than Mrs. Martens. And—I do apologize, Mrs. Martens—but I don’t believe a foreigner would be accepted by this stratum of society. She does have an accent.”

Aleida tensed. How did Miss Granville manage to look prim and contrite while saying such things?

Mr. Armbruster chuckled. “Her accent is charming. And I specifically invited her to speak because her status as a refugee will lend poignancy and authenticity to her talk.”

Miss Granville folded in her lips. “It isn’t proper.”

“Proper?” Mr. Armbruster’s voice dropped a forbidding octave. “Who better to speak about the refugee children than the very woman who wrote that excellent and thorough report?”

“Report?” Aleida could think of only one report that fit—but how had Mr. Armbruster received it? Hadn’t Miss Granville dumped it in the scrap bin?

No joviality remained in Mr. Armbruster’s expression. “The invitation, Miss Granville.”

“Very well.” She turned on her heel and marched back to her office.

“A ten-minute talk,” Mr. Armbruster said to Aleida. “Please summarize the information about the refugee children from your report. Would you like to borrow it so you can prepare?”

“No. I—I made a carbon copy.” Her words came out breathy. She couldn’t believe Miss Granville had passed on the report she despised.

After Miss Granville returned and handed Aleida a creamy envelope, Mr. Armbruster departed.

Aleida followed Miss Granville back to her office. “I didn’t realize you gave my report to Mr. Armbruster.”

At the office door, Miss Granville turned to her with a contorted smile. “Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

Aleida could think of many reasons. The same reasons Miss Granville didn’t want Aleida speaking at the banquet.

“Do be careful to do this department proud.” Miss Granville’s mouth formed a compassionate little moue. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of Mr. Armbruster, but you’re so quiet. I was afraid you’d faint in front of an audience, especially an audience of this caliber—some of the finest families in London. I wanted to protect you.”

“How kind of you.” With effort, Aleida strained the sarcasm from her tone. “But I’ve always enjoyed public speaking.”

Without waiting for a response, Aleida returned to her desk and her letters.

Insufferable woman. But because of her actions, Aleida would have an opportunity to address an issue close to her heart.

SUNDAY, MAY 4, 1941

With long sleeves and a high neck, the pale gray evening gown was elegant but unassuming, appropriate attire for speaking as a representative of the Ministry of Health.

Aleida shimmied out of the silk chiffon and back into her Sunday dress, and she folded the gown into the suitcase she’d brought to Hugh’s London house.

How thoughtful of him to ask his mother if Aleida could borrow a gown for the event, and how sweet of Mrs. Collingwood to agree. Fleeing from the Netherlands, Aleida had brought no evening wear. London shops now had little in the way of luxury items, and Aleida had no time for alterations.

Downstairs, Hugh waited for her with Lennox sitting on the back of the armchair behind him. “Did you find something suitable?”

“I did, thank you. I’m shorter than your mother, but with high heels it’ll be fine.”

Hugh stood and smoothed the front of his dark gray suit. “How is your talk coming along?”

“I’m finished. The difficult part was making it fit in ten minutes. I’m excited to speak about this.”

Hugh cocked his head and grinned. “How would you like to speak about it on the BBC?”

“Pardon?”

“I talked Fletcher into it.” His grin threatened to crack his face in half. “The BBC often features charitable causes. My theme will be that even in times of war, a civilized society continues to care for ‘the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow’ amongst us, as the Bible says.”

Her chest warmed with hope. “Splendid. Maybe listeners will be moved to bring refugee children out of the hostels and into their homes.”

“You’re the woman to persuade them.” His smile held friendly affection but nothing more.

“Thank you.” She dropped her gaze to her suitcase. “Please thank your mother for loaning me her gown. I’ll have it cleaned before I return it.”

Hugh gestured to the suitcase. “Would you like me to carry that to your flat? I could use a Sunday stroll, and it’s a glorious day.”

“That would be lovely.” She spoke too quickly and eagerly, and she resisted the urge to take his arm as they stepped outside into the cool air.

Clear blue skies arched above as they strolled along Brook Street.

Hugh aimed a smile at the approaching greenery. “I’ve always loved Hyde Park on a Sunday. Well, not as a child, of course, banished to the country as I was, and trapped indoors. But now I love it.”

She smiled at his relaxed profile. She loved how he openly discussed his asthma, not only with her, but with his friends at the Hart and Swan.

At Park Lane, they waited for a bus to pass, crossed the street, and entered the park through Brook Gate. Although with the iron railings removed for scrap, it little resembled a gate.

Shouting voices rose before them.

Hugh’s face lit up, and he led her to Speakers’ Corner. Dozens of people stood about, speaking on all manner of subjects as passersby shouted objections.

“This,” he said. “This is why Britain must survive.”

A man called out a pacifist slogan, and several onlookers laughed him down.

Aleida smiled. So much disagreement, so much passion, so loud. Yet it all sounded good-natured.

Hugh shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. “On the BBC, we mustn’t broadcast anything that might give information or comfort to the enemy. The newspapers have more latitude but mustn’t directly oppose the war effort. But here in the very heart of London, people are free to say the most outrageous and ridiculous and incendiary things.”

A small man in his sixties approached, with a bright red scarf tied about his neck, and he handed Hugh a pamphlet. “End this capitalist war,” he said in a thick Eastern European accent.

Hugh smiled at him, put his hand to the small of Aleida’s back, and led her away. “If he wants to end this war, he should talk to Hitler.”

Aleida peered at the pamphlet, titled, “A People’s Peace,” which claimed that suing for peace would save Britain, but that her greedy imperialist leaders preferred to let the nation burn.

She clucked her tongue. “If your government followed this advice, Hitler could sail across the Channel without firing a shot.”

Hugh flipped over the pamphlet to where the man’s name was printed with the date and location of his group’s next meeting. “Ironically, if Hitler came, our friend Mr. Filip Zielinski would no longer be free to print pamphlets or publicly proclaim his opinion.”

Aleida brushed aside a pebble with the toe of her shoe. “In a way, Speakers’ Corner reminds me of Beatrice Granville.”

“End this capitalist war?” Hugh raised his eyebrows in a playful way.

She laughed. “Definitely not. But even though she opposed my report, even though it might lead Mr. Armbruster to make changes she doesn’t want, she passed it on. She respected my right to speak even though she disagreed. That shows integrity, and I admire her.”

The shouting intensified behind them.

A large man in a fine suit grabbed Mr. Zielinski by the collar. “How dare you? You came to our country. You benefited from our generosity and hospitality. You benefitted from our liberties. And for what?”

“Albert Ridley?” Hugh’s eyes stretched wide.

“Your friend from the Ministry of Information?” Why did he look familiar?

Hugh’s mouth twitched. “My brother’s friend. Not mine.”

Mr. Ridley shook the smaller man. “For what? You want to destroy the very liberties you enjoy. You want to destroy the nation that sheltered you.”

Mr. Zielinski struggled to break free. “I want to destroy the capitalist system that enslaves—”

Mr. Ridley cried out in inarticulate rage.

“Bert!” A petite blonde tugged on his sleeve. “Stop at once. You’re making a scene, and in front of the children.”

Two young girls cowered behind Mrs. Ridley.

Aleida exchanged an alarmed glance with Hugh.

Mr. Ridley shrugged off his wife’s grip and shook Mr. Zielinski, causing pamphlets to cascade to the ground. “Those who oppose the war effort deserve the severest punishment.”

“You do take pleasure in embarrassing me.” Mrs. Ridley raised her reddening face high. “I’m going home. Come along, children.”

“See? You’re undermining the English way of life.” Mr. Ridley shoved Mr. Zielinski.

The older man fell on his backside.

Mr. Ridley stood over him and pointed a finger at him. “High treason—that’s what this is.” He kicked at the pamphlets and marched after his wife.

Hugh rushed forward and helped Mr. Zielinski to his feet, and Aleida and other onlookers gathered the scattered pamphlets.

“Are you all right, sir?” Hugh asked.

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” The man straightened his red scarf and uttered what could only be curse words.

After Aleida returned his pamphlets to him, she and Hugh resumed walking.

Hugh drew a dramatic intake of air. “Ah! Nothing like a peaceful spring day in the park.”

Aleida chuckled, then glanced behind her. “I remember where I’ve seen Mr. Ridley. He visited the office a few months ago.”

“Ridley? What business would he have with the Ministry of Health?”

“I don’t know.” Aleida turned down a path shaded by graceful trees. “I remember because it was unusual. He walked on through to Beatrice’s office as if he worked there, but Nilima said he didn’t have an appointment and she hadn’t seen him before. She said Beatrice was annoyed with him. He hasn’t returned.”

“How curious.” Hugh shrugged. “But Beatrice and Bert and William and Cecil were the best of friends, and the best of friends do have rows.”

“With his temper, Mr. Ridley must cause many of those rows.” She shuddered. “I can see why you keep considering him a murder suspect, even though he has an alibi.”

“Yet you persist in saying I see only the good in people.” Hugh bumped her with his elbow, and dappled sunlight danced in his eyes.

Love and affection for him welled inside her. “I’m glad to learn you aren’t completely angelic but have failings like the rest of us mortals.”

Even though he laughed, regret twitched in his cheeks.

Did he feel he’d failed her? He hadn’t.

Hugh folded the pamphlet in half and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Oh yes. This is for you.” He drew something from his pocket.

A small, flat elephant of gray wool felt, held together with large and uneven stitches, with a single button eye. “My sister Caroline made this for me.”

“Oh, Hugh. I couldn’t take it.”

“I’d forgotten about it.” He nudged his hand closer to her. “I found it in the debris and thought of you straightaway. It was good of you to give Theo his stuffed elephant, but now you have nothing to remember him by.”

“I have the photographs.”

Hugh ducked his head to the side. “You do. But I’d like you to have this. It won’t—it can’t—replace Oli or your son. But I hope it can help you remember.”

“Elephants never forget,” she whispered. She took the gift and held it to her heart. “Thank you, Hugh. I’ll treasure it always.”

“You’re welcome,” he said in a gruff voice, and he gestured down the path with suitcase in hand. “Shall we?”

Everything in her wanted to take his face in her hands and kiss him, to be rechtdoorzee and declare her love.

But everything in her also knew he wouldn’t welcome it.

Aleida moved her feet forward and raised a cheery smile.

With each day, with each act of kindness, she loved him more. Never before in her life had friendship seemed insufficient.