Aleida buried her fingers in gray fluff. She didn’t want the evening to end, but at least they’d have a long walk. “Yes, please.”
After she planted a kiss on Lennox’s soft head, she dislodged him from her lap and followed Hugh to the entry. He helped with her coat, and while she pinned on her hat, he put on his own hat and coat.
Outside, they raised umbrellas. Only the patter of raindrops broke the silence. No sirens, no bombers, no antiaircraft guns. “Dare we hope this lasts all night?”
“I dare.” Hugh grinned at her, and they headed south through Mayfair.
On the way, Aleida asked what he liked to read, other thanThe Secret Garden. They chatted about books and shared childhood stories, some of which Hugh said he’d never told anyone before.
Simmons had said Hugh could use a genuine friend. He meant it.
All too soon, they turned onto Aleida’s street.
Hugh stepped into the vestibule of her building. “What do you have on tomorrow’s schedule?” His voice sounded funny again, not thin—but tight.
“I’m visiting two orphanages.” Why was he asking? He’d seen her diary.
“Is that all? You should check.”
He spoke with such certainty, she pulled out her diary. Hugh aimed his torch at the page. Someone had written in it. Hugh—and his handwriting was horrendous.
Her lips twitched. “I’d forgotten. I’m having lunch at the Savoy with Itush. At a quarter past noon, Itush and I will discuss a myriad of topics—it says so here. And at half past one, Itush is taking me to the London Zoo, where we’ll laugh with great merriment at precisely 1:48.”
“Itush?”
“Yes.” She turned the diary to him. “AnIand at—see how the line crosses only the second line, not the first? Then au, and this is hard to read, but it must be ans. It can’t be ag—the loop isn’t closed. And anh.”
Standing close in the vestibule, Hugh tapped the page. “What if Itush fails to show?”
“He won’t. It’s written in the diary.”
“But if he should fail to show and if I were to meet you—”
“He’ll come.”
Hugh chuckled. “If he didn’t and I did, would you have lunch with me?”
Warmed by his nearness, her face lifted to him. “Only if you take me to the zoo afterward.”
“I will.” He swayed closer, and his gaze drifted to her mouth.
Did she want him to kiss her? Was she ready? Her heart shifted back and forth, yes and no, and the shifting lowered her chin a notch.
Hugh inhaled, stepped out of the vestibule, and raised his umbrella. “Good night, Aleida.”
She gripped the doorknob for support. “Good night, Itush.”
20
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER19, 1940
“I’m sorry,” the secretary said in French. “We have not seen Monsieur Jouveau for a fortnight.”
Hugh tapped his foot on the tiled floor of the office in Broadcasting House, and he gritted his teeth. “He isn’t at his flat, and none of his neighbors or friends have seen him.”
“Jouveau?” A thin-faced man stormed out of the office behind the secretary. “Have you seen him?”
He had to be Jouveau’s editor, Pierre Chastain. Hugh extended his hand. “I’m Hugh Collingwood. I haven’t seen Jouveau since the third of November, and I’m worried. No one—”
