Alice felt awkward as she waited for Olive. Glancing around self-consciously, she thought about the journalist’s measured way of talking; she gave equal emphasis to each word so that everything she said sounded important.

During the few hours between the library and now, Alice had decided that it would be too confounding to tell a stranger the truth, no matter how sympathetic they might be to the provenance of illegitimate children, so she’d had the idea to try another approach. Once they’d settled into a quiet nook in the restaurant, Alice carried out a plan she’d come up with in the library. She told Olive about the book she’d been working on for Partridge Press, Women and Children First. She explained that as Olive was an expert in the field, Alice would like to interview her for the project. It would reflect the experiences of women and children on the home front, and at the same time could help the cause that seemed so close to Olive’s heart.

“I’m afraid my work is copyright of the paper—I’m a staff reporter, you see,” Olive said, with a kind expression. “There’s not much I can tell you outside of what you’ve read in my articles.”

“But you must know quite a bit more about these baby farmers. Things you haven’t included in the paper.”

“Well, yes, that’s true.”

“Like who they are?”

Olive narrowed her eyes.

“And where they might be? I get the sense, reading between the lines, that you might have spoken to some of them.”

“I’m sorry, your book does sound interesting, but I’m afraid I don’t think I can help you,” Olive said, straightening. “You’re asking me to share confidential information.”

Alice worried that she’d pushed too hard. She really didn’t know where else to turn, so she took a calculated risk. “Are you a mother?”

“Married to the job, isn’t it obvious?” Olive said, sipping her drink.

“No, not at all. . . . The thing is”—Alice took a deep breath, noticing the journalist glance at her watch—“this isn’t strictly a work matter.”

“How so?”

Alice’s feet fidgeted under the table and her fingernails dug into her palms. “I have a friend who’s fallen victim to one of the baby farmers, and she needs help.”

“She should go to the police.”

“That’s the thing, she did but their investigations have led nowhere—”

Olive stopped stirring her drink and looked Alice in the eye. “So, you want me to help, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

Olive gave her an unfathomable glance before she took another sip of her drink and rested the tumbler on a coaster, gazing thoughtfully into it. Then she looked back up.

“Have you ever heard of Clara Andrew?”

Alice shook her head.