He left the taller commercial buildings and shops of the main road behind, making his way along the adjacent streets, and his thoughts turned to home and the difficult conversation he’d had with Virginia the night before. It was hard enough to make an international call, let alone limit their conversation to five minutes, and six days had gone by without any contact. Last night she’d told him how much she missed him, but when he’d echoed the words they hadn’t rung true. Why hadn’t they felt sincere? He reached for a recent memory of being with Virginia: at the waterfront, where they often stood hand in hand as they watched trading ships and passenger boats weave across the harbor.

By the time he reached Russell Square, the rain had stopped, the sun leapfrogging through the clouds. His imaginary walk with Virginia had taken them along the wooden boardwalk as fishing boats unloaded their hauls and transatlantic planes skimmed the surface of the Hudson as they landed. He could see the sunlight dance across the rippling water, the ships and lighters crisscrossing on their inter-harbor runs, but to his surprise he wasn’t hand in hand with Virginia anymore—it was Alice by his side.

Theo stopped walking and ran a hand across his face, the roughness of one day’s stubble already coming through. What was he thinking? He told himself he had briefly mistaken his professional admiration for something more. He now understood why the team had fought to get Alice back: her clear-eyed honesty was helping them to create finely nuanced books that made a positive difference in these turbulent times.

As he looked at the brass plaque bearing the Partridge name, something caught in his throat. He was finding it increasingly difficult to contemplate Walter’s threat to shut the office down when it really felt as if they were close to turning things around. Hopefully they would soon accomplish that, and then he would return to New York and put Alice out of his mind.

Twenty-two

Olive had left the Daily Mail office by the time Alice arrived, so she hurried straight down to the basement, nearly tripping on the stairs in her rush. The luncheon had dragged on far too long, and even with Graham Greene as speaker Alice would have gladly passed it up. A note had been delivered to her office from Olive just before she’d left, saying the journalist had news but not giving any other details. There had been no progress for nearly a week, and no communication from the wardens either, and now this. Olive had asked her to come in after the luncheon, but it seemed she might be too late.

The underground library was darker than usual, the overcast skies creating deeper shadows in the sparse rooms, and the desk was unattended. Alice waited anxiously for Elizabeth to appear, desperately hoping Olive had good news.