He would have pressed, but another couple was joining them on the bench, the woman babbling about not getting to see the ending of the opera now. Of all the things to worry about. He stood and moved to stand at Lily’s side, more out of the way of the bodies still pushing in. The din was soon too great to really allow for conversation with the height difference, so he made no attempt to say anything. Just kept one of her hands in his.

The slight tremors continued, along with the muffled booms. Based on the mutterings of their new neighbors, a raid had never gone on more than a few minutes. Many consisted only of a single bomb, perhaps as many as half a dozen. But they had far surpassed that already.

They had been there half an hour when a new note among the voices snagged his attention. An older woman, well dressed, was pushing through the crowd, calling for an Estevan. She paused about ten paces away to ask a cluster of people if they had seen her husband, but she asked it in Greek. They all shook their heads in confusion more than in answer.

Zivon squeezed Lily’s hand. “I should—”

“Of course you should.” Color had returned to her cheeks, and she looked up with a muted smile. She returned the squeeze of his hand and then released it. “Go and help her.”

With a collection of pardon-mes, he squeezed through the crowd and intercepted the woman. “Perhaps I can help you,” he said in Greek. “You are looking for your husband?”

Pure relief washed over her face. “Oh, bless you! I know so little English, even after all these years. Estevan has always translated for me. He said he would be right behind me, but these crowds!”

And when one couldn’t communicate with them . . . Zivon nodded and offered his arm. “Come, we will search for him together. What does he look like?”

She described him down to the color of his waistcoat. Zivon didn’t recall seeing anyone of his look pass by, so he aimed her back toward the entrance and then past it. He spotted many of the wedding guests among the crowd, but his colleagues from the OB merely grinned and shook their heads when they heard him carrying on a conversation in Greek about the woman’s grandchildren.

“Estevan! There you are!” With a thanks to Zivon, the matron hurried to her husband’s side.

Zivon turned with a smile, glad that the search, at least, had a quick and happy resolution. He nearly ran headlong into another smiling man—the last one in all of London he’d hoped to see.

“Zivon! Zivon Marin, of all the surprises!”