“And yet?”
His face darkened. “They never bomb airfields en masse, always in small groups.”
Hollow booms rose from the east. Shafts of fire and smoke.
“They’re hitting the East End.” Hugh pointed toward the Thames. “I should be there.”
“Be where?” Where bombs were falling?
He slapped on his hat. “The bombers will be gone by the time I arrive.”
But the stories wouldn’t. Something strange stirred within her. “May I come with you?”
Hugh met her gaze for the first time since the raid started. “You should go to the shelter.”
How could she explain it? “For four years I was isolated. I—I want to be in the middle of things.”
His expression shifted. It was faint, but it was a smile. “Let’s go.”
They hurried downstairs and down the street to Knightsbridge Station.
A Home Guardsman stopped them at the entrance. “I’m sorry. No sheltering in the Tube.”
Hugh pulled out his wallet and flashed a card. “I’m with the BBC. I need to report on the air raid. She’s with me.”
Aleida offered a feeble smile.
“Hugh Collingwood?” The Guardsman’s mouth dangled open. “Me and the wife love your stories.”
“Thank you, sir.” Hugh gestured to the entrance. “May I? Are the trains running?”
“Yes. Yes, they are.” He stepped back and let them through.
Hugh and Aleida paid their fare and trotted down staircaseafter staircase to the almost-deserted platform and onto an almost-deserted train.
She sat beside him. “Why won’t they let people shelter down here? This seems safer than the layer of tin in an Anderson shelter.”
Hugh rested his hands in his lap. “I interviewed a man from the London City Council. They’re afraid we’ll become a city of cave dwellers. If they let us in, we’ll never come out. It’s rather absurd, in my opinion.”
That didn’t make sense. “What about neighborhoods without gardens for Anderson shelters? I didn’t see any gardens when I visited the East End with the Ministry of Health.”
“That’s where the bombs are falling.” Hugh frowned out the window as concrete walls swished by.
Aleida tapped her knuckles. Of all the places in London, the East End would tempt the Germans most, with docks and shipyards. And of all the places in London, the East End would be the most vulnerable, with working-class citizens crammed into poorly constructed tenements.
In half an hour, they arrived at Stepney Green Station.
With his hand to the small of Aleida’s back, Hugh guided her up the stairs. “Stay close. Let’s not get separated.”
His protectiveness felt chivalrous, not controlling, so she nodded.
On the ground floor, they headed outside.
Aleida stopped short. A few streets ahead, flames roared, orange and angry and devouring. Buildings lay crumpled. Jagged spires of masonry pierced the twilit sky. Red embers floated on the wind, winking, taunting, eluding. Menacing.
Beside her, Hugh stood motionless. While stories whirled around him.
Time for his first lesson in organization, and she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Your notebook, Hugh.” Her voice sounded small. “Open to a fresh page. Date it at the top.Start interviewing, and don’t change pages until you fill the first one.”
