In the lobby, Jouveau gave her a sympathetic frown. “I’ll keep asking. Collie—will I see you tonight at the Hart and Swan?”
“Indeed.”
Aleida plunged one hand into her coat pocket to prevent tapping. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll see you later.”
Jouveau departed, but Hugh stayed, a slight frown on his face. “Do you have further appointments today?”
“I need to ring these other hotels.” Her voice wavered.
“Not yet.” He set his hand in the small of her back. “Let’s walk.”
Did she want to walk? She had appointments to make. Yet she was in no state to do so, and the gentle pressure of his touch slowed her breathing. “All right, then.”
After Hugh guided her outside, he lowered his hand.
Aleida clenched her purse strap with one hand and her pocket lining with the other, trying to keep the two magnets from colliding and tapping and luring her with false hope of control.
“Let’s go to the river.” Hugh led her across the street toward the Savoy Hotel, down a lane, and to the Thames.
Trees lined the embankment, and Aleida and Hugh headed to the walkway alongside the gray waters.
The Waterloo Bridge stretched incomplete across the Thames, its reconstruction slowed due to the wartime shortage of labor.
Beyond it, black clouds billowed from fires from the previous nights’ air raids.
Hugh led her west, away from the worst of the bomb damage. “I have a suggestion. I’d like you to list all your fears about your son.”
Aleida’s step faltered. “List them?”
“You like lists. List your fears. Name those monsters, so you can fight them.” A fierce light burned in Hugh’s eyes.
Her pocketed hand stretched toward her purse-clenching hand, straining her coat.
Hugh slipped to her left side. “Hold my arm, walk, and list.”
She stared up at him, breathing hard. She didn’t want toname those monsters. Yet their names howled inside her mind, all day and all night. Named or unnamed, they howled.
With a sudden inhalation, she wrenched her hand from her pocket and gripped Hugh’s arm.
“Name them.” Hugh proceeded down the concrete embankment. “What’s your worst fear? That Theo is dead.”
Aleida slammed her eyes shut. “Yes.” So many ways he could have died—strafing, starvation, accident, illness.
“What else?” His voice managed to be both strident and calming.
“That he—he’s abandoned. Alone. Wandering.” Her fingers dug into fine wool, into Hugh’s solid arm. “That he’s still on the continent, in an orphanage, living under the Nazis. That the British couple brought him here but left him in an orphanage or a refugee camp. Or they’re beating him. Or neglecting him. Or they sent him to an even worse home in the country. Or they didn’t send him away, and he’s living through the bombings.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hugh covered her digging hand with his. “What can you do about those?”
Her eyes burned, and her breath snagged on her airways. What indeed could she do?
“You can do what you’re already doing.” Hugh squeezed her hand. “Keep searching in your diligent way. What else?”
Clouds filled the sky, but on the horizon ... a band of pale blue. “I can pray.”
“Yes. What does the Bible say? ‘Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.’”
So many cares, and her chin quivered. She put all her effort into firming it. The Lord was strong enough to carry her burdens. Certainly stronger than she was. So why did she cling to her cares as if the clinging connected her to her son?
