“Hugh,” Mrs. Collingwood said. “Have you given further thought to your position?”
The muscles under his jaw went taut. “Not now, Mother.”
Couldn’t his parents see what good he did with the BBC? But Hugh said his parents listened to the wireless only when necessary. How could they have seen?
After everything Hugh had done for her, couldn’t she do something for him?
Aleida turned a bright smile to her hostess. “Hugh’s position at the BBC? You must be so proud of him.”
All three Collingwoods gaped at her.
“His broadcasts are brilliant, yes?” Aleida released a sigh. “Insightful, intelligent, and moving. He’s too humble to tellyou, but he won fine praise for his report last week after the Second Great Fire of London.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Collingwood’s mouth bent in a pensive frown.
“Yes,” Aleida said. “He interspersed recordings made during the air raid with commentary written afterward, after everyone saw St. Paul’s Cathedral rising above the smoke. What was it you said, Hugh? ‘Her buildings may have burnt, but London still stands.’”
A wide-eyed pause, then Hugh nodded slowly.
Aleida pressed her hand over her heart. “Then he closed with interviews he’d conducted with people on the street hours before the raid. Interviews he’d been tempted to scrap, he said. But he didn’t. They reflected the determination and good cheer that have helped us through so far and will help us through whatever the new year brings.”
Mrs. Collingwood stared at the table, her mouth tight.
Aleida folded her hands in her lap. “Radio correspondents like Hugh are one of the reasons England keeps carrying on. You must be very proud of him.”
Mrs. Collingwood gave her a little smile, twitching with English propriety. One mustn’t disagree with one’s guest, after all.
Hugh cleared his throat and pushed back his chair. “Please excuse us.”
“The car will be ready for you,” Mr. Collingwood said. “We have petrol.”
“Thank you.” Hugh escorted Aleida out of the breakfast room and to the entrance, where he helped her on with her overcoat. “Thank you for what you said to my parents, but you won’t change their minds.”
Aleida faced him and buttoned her coat. “I didn’t expect to, but I wanted them to hear that most people disagree with them. I wanted you to hear it too.”
So many emotions flickered among the colors in Hugh’seyes, and he reached for her hand. Then drew back, whirled around, and grabbed his coat and hat.
Her fingers flexed, eager for his. His affection for her was more than apparent, and he’d been patient while she hesitated.
Life had taught her that hasty decisions ended in disaster, but choosing Hugh wouldn’t be hasty. She’d known him six months, cared for him, and trusted him. Genuinely trusted him.
In front of the house, the chauffeur had parked the car, black in a sea of snow. Hugh opened the door for her, then took the wheel and drove away.
Barren trees rose dark under a sky cobblestoned with clouds.
In a few miles, Hugh nodded to the right. “This is my Uncle Elliott’s estate—my cousin William’s estate now.”
Aleida peered into the trees. “Still no arrests. Such a dreadful affair.”
Hugh slowed at the driveway. “The house is a mile that way, over a rise.”
“And the murder?” Aleida said in a hushed voice.
“Do you want to see the location?” Hugh’s jaw firmed with a sad resolution. “We won’t find anything the police missed, but...”
But he needed to see it. “Yes, let’s. We’re early anyway.”
Hugh drove up a rise and down into a hollow, and he pulled over. He led the way through several inches of snow, and Aleida trod in his footprints to keep her feet dry.
