“And frustrating. But with your new books, we can do something just as special here in Britain.”

Although they’d gone to their separate rooms shortly afterward, the imprint of her hand still tingled on his skin, and he’d spent most of the night awake, thinking of her.

“Thanks very much, Theo, I’m glad Alice can rely on you,” George said, pulling him back into the present.

“Not a problem at all.”

They reached the top of the steps to the office and were ready to go in when George placed a hand on Theo’s arm. “There is just one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“Sir Duncan said you went to see him recently—I ran into him yesterday. It’s best if we take those meetings together in the future, united front and all that. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, George. Yes, of course,” he said, returning his warm smile.

He was moved by the older man’s generosity and glad that it was out in the open, since where his loyalty lay had been weighing heavily on him. Theo decided that the time had come to talk honestly and openly about the conflicts and the real reason he was there, except that a couple of hours later, their offices received a long-distance call. It was his mother, and he would have to head back to New York as soon as possible.

Twenty-seven

New York, April 26, 1943

The decorated billboards and vast brick walls of semi-industrial housing flashed past on the other side of the cab window: storage facilities, fireproof warehouses and car repairs, all there to serve the colossus that New York had become. Theo’s heart swelled and he felt a beat of exhilaration, until he remembered why he was there: amid this vast metropolis, his father lay desperately ill, his mother keeping bedside vigil. When the operator had eventually managed to put the call through and his mother had informed him of his father’s deterioration, George had insisted he leave right away. Through his personal contacts—and against the odds—George had secured him a flight out of Hendon Aerodrome, situated seven miles from the city and mostly used by dignitaries to fly to and from London. But there had been no time for a debrief, no time to say good-bye to Alice and barely a moment to send a telegram telling Walter and Virginia of his homecoming. He’d been warned against making the journey after heavy losses in the Atlantic in recent weeks, and it had been nerve-racking—a freezing draft had stiffened his neck and an overwhelming nausea had been brought on by the jet fuel—but the sickness and discomfort had done little to distract him from worrying about his father or any enemy aircraft that might be circling close by.

“Ya comin’ home or visitin’?” the taxi driver asked as he caught Theo’s eye in the rearview mirror.