A look of horror passed over Hope’s face. “No, Alice, Eadie is her grandchild, for goodness sake.” She shook her head in what looked like disbelief.

“I can’t get downstairs to the telephone,” said Alice. “Can you try to call her at home, just in case she’s gone straight back to Dulwich?”

“Yes, of course. That’s exactly what I’ll do,” Hope said, wiping away her tears.

“Thank you, Hope. And tell her . . . tell her that if she brings Eadie back now, I’ll forgive her.”

“Yes.” Hope hurried toward the door, then turned back around. “Everything will be all right, pet. Your mother would never deliberately hurt you.”

Alice pressed her lips together; she wanted to believe her aunt, she wanted to think her mother hadn’t changed, but she knew that wasn’t true.

Ruth didn’t come back. Alice waited in bed the whole day, while Hope kept calling Dulwich. Each time she returned upstairs, her expression had grown more grave.

Nine

London, March 18, 1943

Theo bristled at George’s welcoming speech. Saying good-bye to Virginia and his family had been difficult enough, and now he was having to listen to a sermon on British book publishing that was as overstuffed with patriotism as the upholstered chair he sat on. George was sitting opposite behind a vast desk, not dissimilar in size to the large black cab Theo had traveled in from his hotel, rhapsodizing about how well things were going, which he knew was far from true.

“Fetch yourself a drink, dear boy,” George offered, gesturing toward the well-stocked antique drinks cabinet in the corner of the room, its glass doors finely engraved with the family crest. “There’s a bottle of 1921 at the back, saved for special occasions such as this,” he said, beaming broadly. He was in a surprisingly good mood, and Walter’s description of the state of the company didn’t tally with George’s account—unless it was an act, bravado in the face of his brother’s interference. Or perhaps the decision to send Theo over had been premature.

“Thanks, George, but it’s a bit early for me. I’ll just stick to coffee.” Theo refilled his cup from the silver coffeepot and balanced the saucer on his knee as he took another sip. It was a vile flavored syrup that they passed off as coffee, which they couldn’t get hold of, but Theo needed it since he was still suffering the effects of the time difference and travel sickness, as well as his guilt at leaving his parents and Virginia. She’d said she understood when he made it clear to her that Walter had made it impossible for him to say no, but he’d seen the sadness in her eyes. Now he considered what hurt her more: his leaving, or her father’s apparent disregard for her wishes.