A smile flickered under Cecil’s quite responsible mustache. “Of all the jobs for you to take seriously.”
Hugh pressed his notepad over his heart. “Anything to elevate my dear brother’s star in the family constellation.”
“It’ll take more than a rakish brother if Joan and I don’t produce an heir.”
Hugh managed not to roll his eyes at the antiquated notion—because a sad wistfulness emanated from his brother. Cecil and Joan had been married eight years.
“Then what are you waiting for, old chap?” Hugh knifed his hand toward theCrested Eagle. “Board that ship and fulfill your familial duty.”
Cecil’s smile hinted at the shy little boy he’d once been. Then his face turned serious. “Get on the first ship you can. Understood?”
With a flourish and a click of his heels, Hugh saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Cecil marched off after his unit, and Hugh ambled along the shore, where the receding tide had left the sand flat and dark and firm.
His brother’s tall form headed down the mole and up thegangplank. He stopped, silhouetted against the gray sky, and waved.
After Hugh waved back, Cecil stepped onto the ship, and men swung away the gangplank.
Hugh’s heart stuttered. If he’d followed medical orders and boarded that steamer, Cecil would have been left behind.
He sat on the sand, in no mood to find dinner or return to the van.
A lark for bored gentry, Cecil had said.
His shoulders bowed, and his heart bent low.
He flipped open his notepad. Scattered notes told of soldiers plucking cheer and courage from the cauldron of defeat. Hugh would write the story and record it in London, exactly the sort of broadcast that the BBC desired most, that the British people desired most.
Their approval would have to do.
With a sigh, Hugh stood and brushed damp sand from his coat. TheCrested Eaglehad already sailed partway across the harbor.
He trudged over the beach, nudging detritus with his toe. Dozens of shoes from men who had waded out to fishing boats and yachts and barges. Kit bags. Rifles. Tins of bully beef. All spoke of an army escaping with naught but their lives.
Booms rose in the distance, and the racket built, closer and closer. Yellow flashed on the ships in the harbor as their guns opened up.
For the fifth time that day, Hugh threw himself to the sand and covered his head.
A terrific explosion at sea.
Hugh twisted his head toward the water. A fireball roiled over a large ship.
Please,not Cecil’s.
Hugh sucked in a breath and pushed up to his knees. “Not Cecil’s ship. Please no.”
But it was.
A starburst of metal and flame and black, black smoke.
“No!” Hugh staggered to his feet and plowed down to the water, into the water. Frigid. Up to his waist. “Cecil! Cecil!”
Icy water tugged at Hugh’s trousers, his coat, his heart, and he suddenly felt very alone.
3
HADDENHAM, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, ENGLAND
