“Miss Sharma?” a woman called from an office in the back. “Where’s the report?”
“Soon, Miss Granville.” Miss Sharma gave Aleida an apologetic look. “I wish I could help. We’re extremely short-staffed. Now that France has fallen, the government has ordered anotherround of evacuations—for the children who returned home during the Bore War.”
“Oh.” If only she could peek in those filing cabinets.
“Perhaps you could work here.” Miss Sharma tipped a smile.
“Work here?” Aleida already had a job—finding her son—and the Ministry of Health was only twenty-fourth on her list. But learning how the system worked might create leads.
“Would you like to?”
She could still search in the evenings and on Saturdays. “Why, yes, I would.”
Miss Sharma bolted to the office door. “Miss Granville, a lady would like to work here.”
“Oh?” A woman in her thirties came out, tall and big-boned, with dark red hair and a friendly smile. She extended her hand to Aleida. “I’m Miss Granville.”
“How do you do? My name is Mrs. Martens.”
Miss Granville snatched her hand from Aleida’s. “You’re German?”
“No, ma’am. I’m Dutch. I fled from the Germans.”
“Yes,” Miss Sharma said, “and she was tragically separated from her young son. As a mother, she’ll have compassion on the evacuees and rapport with the mothers.”
Miss Granville looked as if she’d swallowed bad mustard. “Mothers belong at home.”
“I’m a widow,” Aleida said, “and I have no other children. What better way to fill my time than helping other women’s children?”
The mustard remained. “This position requires a certain knowledge of the special needs of English children and an understanding of English ways.”
“I am not deficient in that area.” Aleida would need to appeal to the woman’s snobbery, and she named the elite boarding school she’d attended.
Sugar replaced mustard. “That’s my school too.”
In British society, school ties were everything, and yet the woman’s eyes narrowed again.
Miss Sharma’s eyebrows rose, then she turned to Aleida. “Do you do your bit for Britain? I volunteer at an Air Raid Precautions post with Miss Granville.” She inclined her head toward her boss in a deliberate way.
Was that how Miss Sharma had overcome Miss Granville’s dislike of foreigners? “I’d planned to volunteer after I became more settled,” Aleida said.
Miss Sharma pressed one finger to her chin. “After you found a job, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” She gave Miss Granville her most innocent look. “Do you need more volunteers at your ARP post?”
She did. Aleida received the job.
Twenty-four was a good number indeed.
TUESDAY, JULY9, 1940
“On this day, our illustrious government banned the spreading of rumors. Are we to fight censorship in occupied lands by practicing it here?” Hugh fastened his necktie in a Windsor knot. “My dear Lennox, you are the only creature who shall hear that speech.”
Across the room, Lennox sat on an armchair, unimpressed.
Although the cat acted annoyed by Hugh and the household staff, he never escaped through open doors, possibly due to the bounty of mice in the attic. Since he hadn’t aggravated Hugh’s asthma, Lennox remained, as sour as his namesake, but no devil cat.
After Hugh buttoned his suit jacket, he donned his gray fedora. “And now, Lennox, you are about to witness broadcasting history, in which Hugh Collingwood actually pleases his editor. Wish me the best.”
