It was a half-truth. There were days when she’d been distracted, but he’d taken that to be out of concern for her family or anxiety over her book project. On a couple of occasions she’d disappeared with no explanation, but again he’d put it down to her personal circumstances with her cousin’s baby. In any event, while there were lots of rumors of espionage within the media, now that he knew her, Theo didn’t think her capable of any kind of subterfuge.

“I know the research she’s doing for Women and Children First is taking her to some unusual places . . . and into contact with some unsavory characters,” he said, thinking about some of the stories she’d shared with him. “You know what? Somebody should go with her, if we can organize that.”

George crossed his arms and brought one hand up to his mouth, brushing his forefinger back and forth across his bottom lip as he considered Theo’s words. “Hmm, well, we wouldn’t want to put her in any danger, would we, but we don’t really have any spare bodies. It’s just an instinct, Theo, but keep an eye on her, would you?”

“Sure thing, George. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”

He thought back to their time in Hertfordshire a few days earlier. They’d talked long after everyone else had left, sitting close to the fire as it crackled down to embers, mostly discussing work until she’d asked about the council. Her mood changed, and she grew thoughtful then as she spoke about her brother, and so did he when he told her about Howie’s death. They had a shared understanding and were quiet for a time as she rested a comforting hand on his arm, and the fire sputtered, and wind whispered through the trees.

“In Will’s last letter home, he summarized the novel he’d just read,” she told him, her eyes sparkling at the memory. “He was so surprised at the ending that he wanted to dispute it . . . see if I agreed with him.” She turned toward the fire. “I sent him my reply with a new book, one I thought he’d find more satisfying . . . but he never got to read it.”

Her face had looked so fragile in the subdued light; a delicacy to her features that he hadn’t seen before. Even the loose strands of hair that fell across her face looked like fine threads of gold, and he imagined brushing them away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said with a brief smile.

“What was the book you sent him?”

“Oliver Twist. I thought it would give him fond thoughts of home.”

“That’s a coincidence—it’s one of the books we’re including in the ASEs.”

“Really?” Her eyes were alight.

“Yes, I’m sure he’d have liked the ending.”