“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through them all,” she said, head turned away as she gazed out the window.

Theo had been delighted when Ursula suggested Alice accompany him, but she didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic. Either that or she was nervous about the event, since she hadn’t stopped fidgeting in her seat, folding one leg over the other and then uncrossing them again. Not that he minded admiring her long legs; it was difficult not to stare, especially when she was gazing off in the other direction.

“The speaker can go on for hours,” he said, forcing himself to look away.

“You sound like you’ve been to one of these before,” she said, finally turning toward him.

“They hold similar events in New York. That’s where I met Christina.”

“Is she as eccentric as people say she is?”

Christina Foyle was the daughter of William Foyle, co-founder of Foyles bookshops, and she’d started holding the luncheons more than a decade earlier to bring together readers, writers and thinkers. It was well known that she’d written to Hitler to offer to buy books written by Jewish authors after the Nazis burned thousands, and apparently she’d received a reply.

“She brings together remarkable and unusual people. I think that speaks for itself.” He smiled warmly, very much doubting that Alice had met anyone like Christina; or that Christina had met anyone quite like Alice.

As they neared Park Lane, the Dorchester came into view, its pale stone exterior transformed into an unexpected waterfall of flowers, wrought-iron balconies cascading with red and white. The entrance was a crescent of verdant shrubs, the drive lined with topiary, and urns of ivy sat on either side of the lobby doors. Only the sandbags stacked against the windows gave an indication that the times were anything but ordinary.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Theo said, noticing her stare.

“Yes . . . and somewhat of a surprise.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, most Londoners are getting rid of their flowers in favor of edibles, but this place looks like it’s growing enough for everyone!”

Theo laughed. “It’s magnificent, though. And a lot like the architecture in Manhattan. These great concrete monoliths are everywhere you look now.”

“George told me it’s hard to impress an American, so I’m glad we’ve managed to do that,” she said with a straight face. “You know Eisenhower stayed here last year. Tommy said they’re considering naming a suite after him.”

“Gee, that’s really something. I read that almost half the hotel is underground, the perfect shelter.” His gaze locked on the building. “Must be one of the safest places in London,” he said, remembering the reason he was there—to meet important figures in the trade and the government; to work out how to improve Partridge’s position and supplies.