“A wee gravely,” Bertie said.

“Need anything?”

Bertie shook his head.

Ollie paused, then asked, “What was your friend William like?”

“A good man. Loved racing pigeons as much as me. We used to place bets, usually a pint at the pub, on who had the fastest bird. Despite having to buy most of the ale, William never missed a race.” Bertie rubbed his knees and changed the subject. “How are the lofts?”

“Cages are stacked. Lofts are cleaned.”

“Splendid.”

Ollie turned to a collection of old pipes displayed on the fireplace mantel.

“Antiques,” Bertie said. “Agnes liked to buy them for me. More for looking than for smoking.”

“Your wife?” Ollie asked, picking up a pipe.

Bertie nodded.

“What was she like?”

A smile spread across Bertie’s face. “Lovely. Smart. Witty. A lot like Susan. I met Agnes as a young lad. She worked the counter at her father’s bakery. Spent all my shillings on her pastries, simply to get a glimpse of her. Nearly gained enough weight to bust out of my trousers before I got up the nerve to invite her for tea.” Bertie patted his tummy.

Ollie chuckled.

“She was wonderful. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.”

“Sounds like you had a good life together.”

“Indeed.”

Ollie recalled the photo in his bedroom, the one of Bertie, Agnes, and a young couple holding a baby. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Bertie lowered his glasses, a glisten of water in his eyes. “I simply outlived her, my boy.”

Seeing Bertie’s sadness reminded Ollie of his parents. An ache grew in his chest. He wondered how long it took to recover from losing a loved one. One year? Ten years? A lifetime? Ollie returned the pipe to its place on the mantel, then retrieved a cold towel from the icebox.

“Thank you, Oliver,” Bertie said, changing a wrapping. “Perhaps you could check on Susan.”

Ollie found Susan sitting on the porch steps. The creak of the door spring caused her to turn. He noticed Duchess on her lap.

“Mind if I sit down?” Ollie asked.

Susan slid over.

Ollie sat, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Susan stared at the dark clouds rolling over Epping Forest. “Do bombers fly in the rain?”

“Yes,” Ollie said. “They can fly above the clouds, but it may be difficult to find their targets.”

“Pigeons can fly in the rain.” Susan ran a finger over Duchess’s wing. “They have oily feathers that repel water.”

Duchess turned her head, a golden eye staring at him.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and a windstorm will ground the Luftwaffe,” Ollie said.

“That would be lovely,” Susan said.

Ollie played with the frayed end of his bootlace. “Are you worried about Duchess?”

“Not Duchess. It’s the other pigeons.”

Ollie looked at Susan.

“Duchess isn’t part of the mission.”

“Oh,” Ollie said.

“Raised her myself. She’s quite the pet, even pecks at my window every morning.”

“I see.”