“The government speaks for the public.” Gil’s complexion had returned to its usual pale tone. “And the BBC speaks for the government.”
Disgusted grunts circled the table, and Hugh shook his head. “The BBC Charter clearly states we are independent of the government.”
“In times of war, they have the right to take over the BBC,” Gil said. “They haven’t, but they could. They should.”
Hugh kept shaking his head, and his chest tightened. Thesmoke was too thick. He had to leave before he had an attack, but he couldn’t let words like that go unchallenged. Recently, the director-general of the Ministry of Information had proposed taking control of the BBC, but Duff Cooper, the Minister of Information, had refused, thank goodness.
Gil slapped the table. “The government should control the news for the good of the nation.”
With a cough, Hugh cleared smoke from his shriveling lungs. “For the good of the nation?”
Louisa lifted a sardonic smile. “Whatisthe good of the nation?”
“To defeat Germany,” Gil said.
“We all agree on that.” Louisa raised one eyebrow.
Hugh followed her train of thought. “How does the news affect the war effort? We spread necessary information about blackouts and sheltering, about doing our bit by volunteering and taking factory work, yes?”
Everyone nodded and murmured agreement.
His airways clenched, and he coughed to loosen them. “What about war news? When Britain prevails, we all agree on truthful, detailed reporting.”
More nods, more murmurs of agreement.
“But when Britain suffers defeat, what then?” A whistle entered his voice. He needed to leave. But how? The conversation promised no lull.
Jouveau smashed the stub of his cigarette in an ashtray. “We should hold to the same standards in defeat as in victory.”
Hugh agreed, and the BBC agreed in principle. But on not too rare an occasion, the War Office, Admiralty, or Ministry of Information had interfered.
However, speaking would elicit an unmistakable wheeze.
“We cannot report defeats in such a way.” Gil made a slashing motion with his good hand. “People will lose heart and lose the will to fight.”
“Will they?” Aleida inclined her head. “London has been pummeled by bombs for fifty-seven nights in a row. Over ten thousand have died. Even more have lost their homes. But the will to fight is as strong as ever. Stronger, I believe.”
“Smart girl.” Lou nudged her friend with an elbow. “I, for one, want to know what’s really happening, even the hard stuff. No matter what, don’t lie to me.”
“Yes,” Aleida said. “When does glossing over the truth become lying?”
With each breath, Hugh’s lungs tightened more. But he needed an opening, an excuse. Why hadn’t he left as soon as Barn unloaded his stinking treasure?
MacLeod waved his cigarette in a circle. “Exactly. Sometimes being vague is necessary. For example, reporting where bombs fall would help the Luftwaffe improve navigation. But from what I’ve seen, the public is hungry for the truth.”
“I disagree.” Gil’s face blurred in the haze. “We must keep up morale.”
“Morale?” Jouveau wrinkled his nose. “Is that the sole purpose of our work? To create a happy and deluded populace? Or an educated populace, braced for action?”
Hugh couldn’t breathe. He needed his medication. By waiting too long, he’d forfeited the opportunity to leave without making a scene.
He shoved back his chair, grabbed his notebook, and fled into the night.
19
“Hugh?” Aleida stared after him.
“What got into Collie?” the man called Barn said in his American accent.
