“But if you’re more than one step above or below their class, most won’t associate with you. Come—we foreigners can stick together.”
Aleida picked up her purse and smoothed the skirt of her short-sleeved summer dress, sprigged with blue flowers like Delft china. “Still warm outside?”
“For London, yes.” Louisa wore a lightweight suit of medium gray with a plum-colored blouse and matching hat. “Come, child. Chips only taste good hot.”
Aleida and Louisa headed out of the Ministry of Health and toward St. James’s Park. Silver barrage balloons hovered above the government buildings to force enemy aircraft to higher altitudes and decrease bombing accuracy.
“I’ve always found it interesting,” Aleida said, “about the differences between English and Dutch society. The English have horizontal layers of class. We Dutch have vertical layers—verzuiling, we call it—pillarization.”
“Pillarization?” Louisa’s close-set green eyes brightened. “I haven’t heard about that. Tell me.”
Aleida passed the Treasury Building, hemmed by sandbags and armed guards. “There’s a Catholic pillar, a Protestant pillar, and a nonreligious pillar. Each has its own political parties and schools and newspapers. They even have their own unions and shops and clubs. Most people never meet people outside their pillar.”
“Fascinating.” Louisa forged across Horse Guards Road, stopping a black taxi with the power of her gaze. “Awful, but fascinating. The human race is bound and determined to sort ourselves into categories and exclude people outside our own category.”
“What do you have in America?”
“Race and nationality, of course. In Chicago, everyone has separate neighborhoods—the Irish, the Poles, the Negroes, the Chinese.” Louisa picked up her pace as she entered the park. “But come, we’re not here to mourn the pettiness of our fellow human beings, but to celebrate.”
A bounce entered Aleida’s step. “What are we celebrating?”
Louisa headed down a tree-lined path. “President Roosevelt announced he’s trading destroyers to England in exchange for military bases in the Western Hemisphere. That’ll keep those convoys afloat, bring more food to this island.”
“Thatisgood news.” Shortages had arisen, even though food rationing regulated necessities from meat and butter to sugar and tea. “Will the United States enter the war?”
“Not until after the election in November.” Louisa winked at her. “Roosevelt may favor the Allies, but he’s a canny politician.”
Weren’t they all? A yellow-and-black sign stating “To the Trenches” pointed to the trench shelters dug in the park, a place to hide if caught outside during an air raid.
Aleida settled onto a bench overlooking the meandering lake, and she took a packet of fish and chips from Louisa. “Tell me about your assignment this past week.”
Louisa snorted and unwrapped her meal. “The Battle of Britain is raging. The RAF fighter pilots are heroes. And all my paper wants from me is the woman’s angle. Talk to the ladies in the towns near the airfields. See what they think about the raids and the pilots. At least one of those flyboys was home recovering from combat wounds when I was interviewing mother dear, so I sneaked his story into my article.”
Blue skies arched above the trees, empty but for the barrage balloons. “Other than the alarms, it’s hard to believe a fierce battle rages all around us.”
“Fierce, yes. And deadly.” Louisa’s voice sank to a murmur. “And we’re losing.”
“Losing?” Aleida whispered. “But the papers—”
“The papers say what the people need to hear so they keep their spirits up.” Louisa gnawed on a chip. “Yes, more German planes are falling than British, and the factories are churning out plenty of fighter planes. But the men are exhausted. And they’re dying.”
Aleida shuddered. If the RAF were defeated, the German army would cross the Channel. She had to find Theo before they did. Searching for him now was hard enough. How could she do so in the turmoil of invasion? In the oppression of occupation?
“But we’re here to celebrate.” Louisa slapped the park bench. “Tell me something good, something funny. I’ll even settle for gossip.”
Settle? She lived for it. Aleida took a bite of tender, flaky fish and searched her thoughts for something light. “The other day, Jouveau and MacLeod were teasing Hugh about his jumbled notes, and—”
“Hugh? You mean, Collie?”
Aleida shrugged. Was she betraying a secret? “He told me to call him Hugh.”
“Did he now?” A smile exploded on Louisa’s face. “I knew it. He’s sweet on you.”
“Sweet on me?” She hadn’t heard that term, but she could figure it out. “I don’t think so.”
“Open your eyes, child. He looks at you as if no one else was in the room.”
“That’s his way. That’s how he talks to everyone.”
