Hugh held out a chair for her and returned to his seat.
Irwin entered, brought Gil a fresh beer, and took Aleida’s order for tea.
Gil pulled the pint closer. “Nothing stronger, Irwin?” His words slurred.
Hugh frowned. He’d never seen Gil drunk before.
“Nothing but beer today.” Irwin gathered two empty pint glasses from Gil’s place. “I serve what I get.”
Kensley pulled a draft from his cigarette and let loose a gray stream of smoke. “If the Royal Navy sank more U-boats, more liquor could get through.”
“Don’t criticize our Navy.” Irwin shoved past Kensley’s chair, bumping him, making beer slosh. “You don’t write that in your paper, do you?”
Kensley wiped beer off his chin. “I write the truth.”
Hugh spread his hands and a smile wide. “Ah, Irwin. Kensley trumpets the Admiralty’s successes, but he also mentions weaknesses.”
Irwin glowered at Kensley. “The government ought to shut down your paper like they did the communist papers.”
“Quite right.” Gil raised his beer glass high—it was already half-empty. “Under—undermines the war effort.”
With her hands folded in her lap, Aleida tapped on her knuckles.
Hugh winced. She needed a more peaceful conversation tonight, and a virulent shade of red flooded Gil’s face. The last time Hugh had seen that shade of red, Gil had almost come to blows with Jouveau.
“Speaking of the war effort,” Hugh said, “isn’t it smashing how our troops are advancing in Libya? An entire Italian army surrendered to our boys.”
“Indeed.” MacLeod tipped his head toward Gil with a conspiratorial lift of his eyebrows.
The conversation spun in the new direction, Irwin left the room, and Hugh set his hand over Aleida’s tapping fingers to still them.
With a mild smile aimed at the room, she freed one hand, slid Hugh’s grip up to her forearm, and resumed the relentless tapping.
Hugh’s heart plummeted into his stomach. She didn’t even try to stop anymore.
The search for Theo had taken a toll on her the last month and a half, especially the past fortnight since Beatrice ordered her not to visit billeting officers in the country. No fruit had come from the Warwicks’ letter to Julian Randolph either.
Although tempted to speak with Randolph himself, Hugh had no desire to spend a night in jail.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hugh studied the woman heloved. Her face drawn. Her eyes too bright. Her hair pulled back tighter than usual.
There was an emptiness within her that he couldn’t fill.
An ache throbbed inside, and he stroked her arm with his thumb.
What options remained for her? Even if she found Theo and he recognized her, would that be enough to convince the Randolphs without physical proof? After nine months apart, it seemed unlikely that little Theo would leap into her arms.
That was the only hope she had, and it grew thinner each day.
Bleak darkness swamped his heart. Would a time come when she would need to give up the search?Shouldshe give up?
His chest tightened, but not merely from Aleida’s dilemma.
Everyone was smoking except Hugh and Aleida, and a toxic haze filled the room.
He leaned close to Aleida to whisper in her ear. “The smoke’s bothering me. I need to leave. Would you like to come with me or stay?”
She turned to him, and her gaze strengthened with an affectionate challenge. “What if they knew?”
