His image sprang to mind—amused eyes, ready smile, knotted nose. The evidence suggested he hadn’t discovered her name before he left, but he’d certainly have no difficulty now that she’d volunteered it to his sister. Margot tore off a bite of bread and cheese and grinned. “Your brother? The one who brought you here last week?” She popped the food into her mouth.

Dot nodded as she chewed a bite of her own. “It seems I’ve scarcely seen him since the war began. And before that, he was attending university in Spain. But he’s always been attentive, as brothers go.”

“I know just what you mean.” Lukas, too, had spent much of Margot’s childhood traveling on tour with the orchestra. Of course, he was quite a bit older than her too, already practically grown by the time she came along. Still. He was her brother. He had always been one of the dearest people in the world to her, and she was glad they lived so near to each other now.

Silence fell for a moment as they both took another bite, interrupted only by the sounds of the busy street before them and the coo of the pigeons feasting on their crusts.

Then Dot drew in a long breath. “It isn’t the work. It isn’t even all the strangers I’m expected to remember. It’s . . . I hate leaving the house. It hurts. No one understands that, no one can grasp how my chest gets so tight at the very thought of needing to go out. I can manage it one day a week without too much stress. Twice, if someone is with me. But every day? Every day.” Her hands shook again as she lowered her sandwich to her lap. “I don’t expect you want to be burdened with such a friend, so I won’t take it personally if you keep your distance. I’m a wreck. Aunt Millie declared it completely irrational of me to prefer to stay here in the flat I’ve made my home rather than flee to safety. I couldn’t explain to her that it feels safer than somewhere new.”

Margot kept her attention on a car sputtering its way along the street. “I get itchy. So itchy it hurts—not when I need to leave the house, but when something doesn’t make sense, including people and their faulty reasoning, which means I’m itchy more often than not. Wanting to stay at home is a rather reasonable inclination, in my opinion. I’ll never judge you for it.” Now she looked over and found Dot looking at her. “I’m not a secretary—I’m one of the cryptographers. I hate fashion, I hate gossip, and I absolutely cannot stand girls who giggle over every man who sends a smile their way. So if you want to walk the other way, I won’t begrudge it.”