“I’m a witness.” Hugh blew out a hard breath. “I saw him attack Zielinski. I need to tell the police straightaway.”
He headed back south along Regent Street, then stopped in his tracks. “The charity banquet!”
The story he’d persuaded Fletcher to let him broadcast. How could he let Fletcher down? He’d tarnish the reputation he’d worked so hard to polish. Irresponsible worthless toff in his top hat and tails.
And Aleida? How could he simply not go? She’d think he’d forgotten her.
He turned back to Gil and MacLeod. Perhaps he could send Gil to the police. Except Hugh had witnessed the attack, heard the threatening words, knew about Uncle Elliott and the affair, and pieced together the case against Ridley for all three murders.
Telling the police took priority over his career, over his romance, over the approval of man.
A sour taste filled his mouth. “Gil, are you free tonight? Do you own white tie?”
“Yes.” Gil’s voice rose in excitement. “Would you like me to cover the story? With Aleida?”
“Yes, please.” Hugh pulled out his notebook and tore out the relevant pages. “Here are my notes. The banquet is at the Dorchester Hotel, in the ballroom. Tom Young is waiting at Broadcasting House with a light mobile recording unit. Go there first, tell him you need to change into evening dress. You’ll be late to the banquet, but it can’t be helped.”
“Yes. I’ll do that.” An eager smile lit up Gil’s face.
Would Gil cross Hugh with Fletcher as he’d done before? Would he cross him with Aleida as he twirled her around the dance floor?
Hugh clamped off a groan. “Please tell Aleida about Zielinski, about Ridley’s lack of alibi. She’ll want to know.”
“I will.”
“And please tell her how much I wanted to be there for her.” He turned away from all his lovely plans and ran down Regent Street toward the police station.
Aleida politely turned down a request to dance. Mrs. Collingwood’s dress hung half an inch too long, even with Aleida’s high-heeled shoes, and she had to hold herself tall and walk with care.
Perhaps she’d take a chance and dance when Hugh came.
If he came.
She frowned and continued her stroll around the ballroom of the Dorchester Hotel. Although Hugh often ran late, he’d improved lately, especially when he cared.
Maybe he no longer cared, now that the romance was over. Maybe he’d forgotten her.
She huffed. If he was late, he had good reason. She trusted him.
Brilliant crystal chandeliers illuminated couples dancing in white tie or in elegant gowns. On the walls, crystal sconces hung on mirrors framed by blue-veined marble, while drapes flowed down the walls between the mirrors.
She knew no one in the room other than Beatrice Granville and Mr. Armbruster. Today, of all days, she could use a friend.
Aleida gripped her evening bag, and her grandmother’s sapphire ring glimmered.
A year ago today, the Nazis had invaded the Netherlands. A year ago today, she’d last seen Theo.
Three hundred sixty-five days.
With dizzying pain, her heart crumpled. She treasured Theo’s photographs, the images of how he’d looked a year before. How did he look now? Did his voice sound different?
A wail built inside, threatening to erupt, but she shoved it down. She’d made the right choice. Theo—Teddy—was happy. He’d be all right. In time, she would be too.
“Mrs. Martens.” Beatrice Granville approached in a long emerald gown, her hair swept up with diamond-encrusted combs. “How charming you look.”
“Thank you, Miss Granville. You look lovely.”
Beatrice dipped her chin, then rounded her eyes. “I want to apologize. I dismissed your report without due consideration. Upon reading it again, I see the welfare of the children transcends merely evacuating them from danger. We must address their deeper needs, and we must care for all the children, even those who aren’t English.”
