“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, MAY4, 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 alwaysloved 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.
