“I wouldn’t have survived my first tour if I hadn’t had a book,” he said solemnly. “Lots of the chaps are the same. It’s the only way to lose yourself . . . to forget what’s really happening.”

This was what William had always said, and why she had sent books to him whenever she could. In fact, this man reminded her of Will, only he was even younger.

“So,” she said, “what do you like to read so you can forget?”

“It depends. I don’t always like a book when I first start it. Sometimes it takes me a while to get into it.”

She knew what he meant; it was something she’d given a lot of thought to over the past couple of years. A novel didn’t really begin until the reader was engaged enough to want to accompany the characters on their journey. Ursula told her that her instincts for such things would help make her a good editor. Of course she’d appreciated Ursula’s faith in her, but she knew that would never happen now. Anyway, those roles were usually reserved for the Oxbridge candidates, of whom there were already plenty behind the desks of London’s publishing houses.

Penny reappeared with a tea set and a plate with nearly a whole Victoria sponge cake.

The serviceman smiled shyly at Alice. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too,” she replied.

Penny glanced back and forth between them. “Sorry, I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Penny sat down noisily and dragged her chair toward the table, then cut off a large chunk of cake and nudged it toward Alice. “So, how are you?”

“I’m fine, really fine . . .”

“Suits you, by the way,” Penny said, looking her up and down. “I always said you were too skinny.”

Alice opened her mouth but wasn’t sure what to say, so instead she took a bite of the cake. She pretended to enjoy it, but the whole process felt like a betrayal. How could she possibly enjoy dessert when another woman was breastfeeding her baby? It just wasn’t right or natural.

“And how’s your mum?” Penny said, leaning her elbows onto the table and resting her chin on her hands.

Alice struggled not to choke and keep the food in her mouth.

“Sorry, take your time.” Penny wiped the crumbs from the side of the plate then licked them off her fingers.

Penny had spent a lot of time at Alice’s house when they were children, and she knew Ruth well—so well that Alice was tempted again to tell her what had happened. But would she even believe it? Alice barely could herself. She took another mouthful and eyed her friend thoughtfully, considering what a relief it would be to share her burden. Together they could try to fathom what her mother had done. And, most important, they could search for Eadie.