“Yes,” Mother said. “That would do.”
“That would most definitelynotdo.” Uncle Elliott brandished that finger at Hugh. “Stuffing a vibrant young man like Hugh in a stodgy desk job would kill him.”
“That’s quite enough.” Hugh bolted from his seat and marched to the window. “I have no intention of leaving the BBC.”
“You must.” A pleading tone drew out Mother’s voice. “Parading the Collingwood name on the airwaves alongside those of crass entertainers.”
“Crass entertainers?” Uncle Elliott said. “Like the BBC Symphony Orchestra?”
Hugh pressed his forehead to the window. A soaking and the risk of a lightning strike appealed far more than this conversation.
“You, Elliott.” Mother’s voice trembled. “You, of all people, should know the dangers of radio broadcasts. Receiving death threats.”
“Death threats?” Hugh spun back to his family.
Uncle Elliott glanced over his shoulder with a chagrined expression. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard?”
“You introduced me to François Jouveau.” Uncle Elliott draped his arm along the back of the sofa. “He interviewed me in a broadcast to France. We discussed the French refugees in Britain and the repatriation of French soldiers to Vichy France.”
Hugh nodded. The French soldiers who had been rescued from Dunkirk in the last days of the evacuation.
Uncle Elliott cringed. “I’m afraid I mentioned the date a repatriation ship was leaving. It was sunk by a German torpedo boat.”
Hugh’s breath caught. TheMekneshad been lost with over four hundred French soldiers. The number had been censored in the press, but Hugh knew.
Uncle Elliott’s pained expression said he knew too.
“Oh dear.” Hugh sank down to the window seat. “But it might not be related to your interview.”
“Not to hear young Ridley talk.”
“As I told your uncle, this wouldn’t have happened in a proper newspaper interview.” Mother gave Hugh a pointed look. “He and Albert Ridley almost came to blows.”
Hugh’s jaw dangled. “He threatened you?”
“The death threat was an anonymous letter.” Uncle Elliott shrugged. “The police think it was an angry Frenchman.”
“And you ...?”
“I think it was someone who wants to shut me up.”
“I could investigate,” Hugh said.
“Hugh, please.” Mother patted her chest. “Haven’t you caused us enough embarrassment?”
Hugh turned to the window. To the relative peace of the rain. The lightning. The thunder.
7
LONDON
THURSDAY, AUGUST15, 1940
At the school in Stepney, thirty-seven women jeered at poor Edith Fuller. Aleida sat beside her on the stage, lending silent authority as a mother, according to Miss Granville.
“I did what your lot said last year, took your train into the country with my little ones.” A woman shook her fist at the lectern. “That farmer woman treated me like a servant. ‘Fetch this, scrub this, don’t steal anything.’ Never gave me a night off neither.”
