Aleida transferred to the Bakerloo Line, and she held on to a leather strap overhead as the train swayed down the tracks deep beneath the city.
On a seat near her, a woman in a dark green hat held a little girl on her lap. So many photos showed smiling evacuees playing games in flowery meadows. But how many mothers and children had struggled as the families in Stepney had?
If only Aleida could find out.
At Oxford Circus, she emerged into the sunshine and headed up Regent Street.
Everyone always welcomed her at the Hart and Swan, even though she wasn’t a reporter. The conversations reminded her of living with her parents, who had encouraged her to read the papers, to know what was happening in the world.
Sebastiaan had said such knowledge was beneath a woman’s comprehension and only stoked hysteria.
Aleida squared her shoulders, bought a copy of theTimesfrom a newsstand, and entered the Hart and Swan. Without a hint of hysteria.
In the back room, Collie sat with a middle-aged man Aleida hadn’t met.
Only the two of them, and Aleida paused.
If it were only Guy Gilbert, she’d turn and leave.
Gil flirted. Despite her cool rebuffs, he flirted. Despite Louisa chiding him for pursuing a widow of only three months, he flirted.
Collie didn’t flirt, but hewascharming. And charm made her leery.
He laughed with the voice Louisa had called golden. Caramel fit better—not just golden, but thick and rich. And sweet. Charmingly so.
He sat turned in profile to her, with caramel-colored hair rippling back from his forehead. “Every morning, Lennox leaves a gift at the foot of the bed. I must take care. It is mostunpleasant, in my early-morning fogginess, to tread upon a dead mouse.”
His companion chuckled. “That cat has taken a shine to you.”
“In his own disturbed way, he—” Collie spotted Aleida, and he grinned and rose. “I hoped you’d come today. I brought my uncle, Elliott Hastings.”
His uncle—the Member of Parliament who had offered to help. She dashed over and shook the man’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Ah, no, Mrs. Martens. The honor is mine in meeting you.” Hazel eyes sparkled, much like Collie’s. Charm apparently ran hard in the family.
Collie held out a chair for her. “Uncle Elliott said you haven’t come to his office yet. I realized your hours must coincide with his, so I brought him here.”
Aleida sat, set down her purse and newspaper, and studied Collie as he returned to his chair. He’d done that for her. “Thank you.”
Mr. Hastings sipped amber liquid from a tumbler. “Hugh already told me your story.”
Aleida raised an eyebrow at Collie. “Hugh?”
“Itismy name.” He leaned closer and cupped his hand beside his mouth. “Don’t tell the others, but I much prefer it to Collie. I’m always afraid they’ll toss a stick and ask me to fetch.”
Aleida smiled at his joke. Humor and cheer formed the pillars of charm. Along with feigned interest in others.
But Collie’s—Hugh’s—interest seemed genuine.
Mr. Hastings pressed his hands together and pointed them at Aleida. “Before my nephew runs off to herd sheep and before we discuss the search for your son, I wanted to ask about your situation. Do you have a safe place to live? Does your job pay enough to cover your needs? Have you been treated well?”
“Forgive my uncle’s impertinence,” Hugh said. “He’s quite concerned with the plight of the refugees.”
“Oh.” Aleida’s gaze shifted from uncle to nephew, from charm to charm, from kindness to kindness. “I’ve been treated very well. And I have family in England, a flat in town, and plenty of money.”
“Good.” Mr. Hastings’s mouth bent down. “Too many refugees don’t, and far too few people care.”
“You do.” Hugh’s eyes shone with pride. “If refugees could vote in your constituency, you’d win in a landslide.”
