He usually enjoyed the walk through Hell’s Kitchen, past the noisy banter of street traders and in among the tourists as they headed toward Times Square, but today he couldn’t stop thinking about what to say to Walter.

Trying to distract himself, he crossed the street and looked up at the spaces between the buildings into avenues of cobalt sky. He was enjoying the fresh spring air, and it seemed the rest of Manhattan felt the same; they had descended on the Upper West Side and taken all the diner’s outdoor tables.

Theo lit a cigarette and waited until a small table became available beneath the green vinyl awning. It suited him perfectly, and he ordered breakfast and spread his papers across the table so he could run through the figures one more time. He had to present a realistic picture of the British firm’s predicament, while trying to make the accounts look as good as possible. He knew instinctively that the London office was worth saving—he just needed to be sure that this was a rational decision he could justify under Walter’s intense scrutiny. He drained his coffee, relishing the taste after two months of Camp, the insipid liquid the British passed off as just as good.

It seemed that despite the odds, George and his team’s blind faith and hard work had kept them going for all these months—and a bit of luck. What was that patriotic song that endlessly played on the radio? “Land of Hope and Glory.” He couldn’t help but smile as he realized he had to try to ignore the contagion of their foolish optimism. And to remember that this was his home—that he was a New Yorker—and his life here needed to go on.

When his food arrived it was a huge plate, not just fried eggs and Canadian bacon but also fried potatoes, tomatoes and rye toast, and he ate guiltily as he thought of the meager portions the British were living on. He ordered a coffee refill and decided to look through Women and Children First before he showed it to Walter.