On cue, Gregory makes a series of desperate sobs that culminates in a howl. Ruth climbs to her feet and lifts him out of the pram to cradle him against her shoulder. Iris stares not at her son, but at the ring on her sister’s left hand, a plain gold band. She first noticed it a week or so ago. She didn’t say anything to Ruth, but she mentioned it to Philip. Why don’t you ask her? he said reasonably, and Iris recoiled. If she wants to tell me, she’ll tell me, she said, and Philip rolled his eyes just a bit and told her she was supposed to be a spy, for God’s sake.

Iris decides to speak up. “What about Sumner?”

Ruth whirls to face her. “Have you heard anything?”

Her blue, terrified eyes tell Iris everything she wants to know. She breathes out a zephyr of relief and considers whether she should tell Ruth what she knows, or whether such a tender fact would only make things harder for her sister if—well, Iris refuses to consider the If. There’s always hope, isn’t there?

“No,” she says. “But Philip’s in close contact with the Americans. He’ll give us any news, the instant he gets it.”

Ruth turns away to face the sea. Over the edge of her shoulder, Gregory’s red face stares amazed at Iris. She rises from the grass and comes to stand next to her sister, who vibrates with energy or emotion or something, Iris isn’t exactly sure what. Like a dam struggling to hold fast against a weight of mighty floodwater. Gregory’s clean, puppy scent gathers them together.

“You didn’t have to do it,” Ruth says. “You could have let Digby defect on his own. Washed your hands of him. You knew by then what the bastards were capable of. You could have stayed behind and married Beauchamp. You were already pregnant—you had the boys—you had every reason to stay safe in England.”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same, though?”

“God, no. Take the children and walk straight into the jaws of the lion? When I had a fellow like Beauchamp madly in love with me? You’re crazy.”

Iris runs her index finger along the perfect crest of Gregory’s ear. “Ruth, I spent most of my life just trying to be safe. Trying to hide from what scared me. Letting other people control what happened to me. Then I realized the idea of safety itself is just a delusion. Life is risky. And hiding isn’t living.”