There’s more to it than that. Although, whittling it down to the barest essence, he’s not wrong. Respecting his wishes, the very least I can do, I give a nod. His willingness to speak to me at all is a blessing.

He sheds a breath. “So this job with Major Hutton, I’m glad it panned out.”

The diversion is plain, but it does bring forth a question. “How did you know where I was? And about my work?”

“My folks—partly. They reached out, worried, a few days after you rang me. Combined with what you said, it added up.”

I should have figured. I phoned them before shipping out and have sent a couple letters since, disclosing what I’m able. “I’m guessing your mother said the same to you as she did to me—that I’m completely out of my tree for accepting the job?”

“She did,” he admits.

I can’t help but smile, and his eyes gain a glimmer. The warmth in them is just enough to melt a layer of tension. He adds, “Things are going well, then?”

“They are.” I consider my day, a welcome contrast to recent weeks. “Particularly well, actually. Not to say I haven’t had my fair share of foul-ups.”

He nods along, then asks, “You mean like the flaming pea soup?”

I stare at him, befuddled. “But…how? How’d you hear?” Imagining just how far word has spread, I sink into the bench, a flush heating my neck. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

His lips curve upward, almost a grin. “Not to worry. The razzing isn’t about you, just the officer at the Ministry. Scuttlebutt has it he’s a pompous heel.”

I relax only a fraction. “Honest?”

“Honest to goodness,” he says. “Moretti tells me you’ve been doing a real keen job, what with your contraptions and special inks and all that.”

“Moretti. As in the wing commander?”

Arie winces and falls mute, the mention apparently unintended. Even more reason to arch my brow and wait, unblinking despite the breeze.

He relents while glancing away. “Every so often, the fella makes it across the pond, ferrying Brit bigwigs. So we’d pal around some. Then back in the fall, I offered him a heap of Lucky Strikes for keeping an eye on the new American gal working with Hutton. A real sport, he insisted on doing it for nothing.”

“Wait,” I jump in. “That’s why he pays me visits? Not to bum gadgets for his passengers?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d wager it’s both.”

I shake my head, taking this in. Moretti’s fatherly manner now seems more targeted than habitual. “You’re saying, all this time, you’ve been keeping tabs on me.” It’s not an accusation or even teasing; it’s a comforting revelation. An awareness that I was never as alone here as I thought.