“Yes, Tommy, I understand,” she said, straightening in her chair. “We’re working with a good journalist—an exceptional one, in fact—who is bringing us valuable material and has spent her career fighting for the rights of these children.”

“So, she’s got an ax to grind,” Emily murmured, “or papers to sell.”

“On the contrary,” Alice said, “Olive is just a damn fine journalist!”

Theo finally understood what Ursula and George had meant about her; she was so passionate that he could tell how much she loved her work. And she clearly knew what she was talking about: she gave them an impressive rundown of the information she’d gathered. By the time she’d finished, they were all soberly staring at her.

Theo cleared his throat. “These stories have a huge emotional impact, and you’ve done terrific research, but why include them in this book?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ursula said, looking perplexed.

“Children are the innocent victims of this war,” said Alice, “and they have no voice, these stolen kids in particular. Why not incorporate inspiring stories of them being reunited with their families? The book will be optimistic, full of happy endings. A way of giving children their voices back.”

“I see,” Theo said thoughtfully. They all knew what a gamble they were taking on this new book, and he still wasn’t convinced. In spite of Alice’s passion, he wasn’t persuaded that she could pull it off. He picked up the mock cover, studying the faces of the children: a curly-haired infant; two school-aged children, a boy and girl of about seven or eight; and a boy of sixteen or so in a zookeeper’s outfit.

Alice pointed to the two school-aged children. “They’re Martha and Duncan—their friend was killed by an unexploded bomb while they were playing. They’ve founded their own junior wardens group, patrolling playgrounds to make sure kids know where it’s safe to play.”

Theo was starting to see what Alice was aiming for—but would it work?

“And that’s Christopher,” she said, pointing to the teenager, “one of the lads from Eton who works as a boy-keeper at the London Zoo. He’s got some wonderful stories to share, about the animals and the other boy-keepers.”

Theo nodded. Yes, he could see it now: extraordinary stories of ordinary families. It wasn’t likely to rival Bomber Command, but it might do well enough. He tried to use his imagination as Alice continued to describe the stories—until a heavy logbook in the center of the table caught his eye. It was their record of all the papermaking stocks they had to list; materials that had become scarce because wood pulp could no longer be sourced from Norway and esparto grass came from North Africa, which was now controlled by France.