His eyes went to her belly. “But it isn’t as if there’s anything we can do about the main problem. There are policies about pregnant women.”

Changing tack, she softened her approach, coming around the desk and bending low beside him to give him a glimpse of cleavage. She knew he liked her—he probably had a thing for strong, bossy women. “What about overriding the policies?” She leaned her head to one side as coquettishly as she could.

“Well, I’m afraid that would be impossible.” He coughed uncomfortably, trying to loosen his tie. “You see, if Sir Strickland finds out—”

“Don’t tell me a big, strong man like you is afraid of Sir Strickland?”

“Well, he could get rid of me, too, you see.” He got to his feet, trying to lead her to the door. “I must impress upon you, Miss Dupont, that there really is nothing I can do under the circumstances.”

He opened the door, and she looked at it as a cat might before getting put out on a rainy day.

“Are you throwing me out?”

“You know that I would help you if I could. Even under the circumstances”—he glanced down at her stomach—“I would have personally preferred you to stay.” Then he added with great emphasis, “Preferred it very much.”

His doleful eyes looked at her almost hopefully, and she let out a frustrated huff and stepped briskly out of his office. She knew there was nothing she could do but leave. Her pregnancy was out, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Collecting her final pay from Forbes’s secretary—it only amounted to the few days she had worked that week—there was nothing left for her but to go.

    Yet with every step, she couldn’t help but think about her future.

“I’ll simply have to move back to London as soon as the baby’s been given over for adoption. Everything will go back to normal. I’ll win the contest and be the best radio broadcaster the BBC has ever known. And if I don’t win, I’ll find a top restaurant job, be free and single, all on my own again. It’ll be wonderful.”

She made a determined nod. “Yes, wonderful.”

Audrey

The kitchen at Willow Lodge was all a-flurry. Flour swirled in the air, which was hot from the oven and thick with the scent of pork fat melting in a saucepan on the stove. With Gwendoline getting new Cornish pasty orders from Middleton, Audrey found herself busy from morning to night. Cornish pasties were extremely popular because they were handy and portable. They were ubiquitous in public air-raid shelters and the emergency food centers that fed the bombed out and clean-up crews in devastated areas.

Nell had become her right-hand woman, and what a productive partner she was!

“Mrs. Quince has taught you how to render pork fat very well!” Audrey watched her carefully trim any meat off the block she’d bought from the butcher, boiling it until any fragments of meat or skin had risen to the surface, sizzling in the bubbling liquid oil. Dexterously, she then poured the mixture through a muslin cloth, collecting the pure oil in a large jar.

“It’ll be a hard, white lard when it cools. Mrs. Quince loves to use lard. It adds a lovely robustness to pastry and puddings, and it costs next to nothing.”

Audrey patted her shoulder. “Not only a great cook, but also a brain for economy!”

    She looked down at her list. So much to do. Gwendoline’s arrival had been good for the business, but her revelations about their mother had taken their toll. Once again, she caught herself gazing through the window, thinking about her life, how easy her childhood had been, how she always felt she could rely on her parents, even when marrying a penniless artist. How different it was for Gwendoline, forced to make an advantageous marriage to find security. Audrey knew she was like her mother in many ways, but she made a silent vow to try to understand why people behave the way they do rather than making judgments based on appearances. How wrong she had been about Gwendoline, thinking it was her character when it was the result of a lifetime of chastisement. Now Audrey was determined to step away from her mother’s legacy, be her own person.

A headache was coming on, and she put a hand to her brow. “I need to collect some meadowsweet for my head,” she muttered.

Nell glanced around. “Goodness, Audrey! What a godsend to know about medicinal plants with all the pharmacy shortages.”

A noise at the front door made them both glance into the hallway.

There, coming in, a bag banging against the doorframe, was Zelda.

“You’re home early,” Audrey called out.

When Zelda looked up, Audrey saw something new in her eyes. Even though she held her head more upright than usual, there was new determination about her, a ruthlessness.

“Are you all right?” Audrey walked into the hall. “What happened?”

“That wretched man sacked me. They found out I was pregnant.”

The bulge of her belly was visible beneath her open raincoat. “Well, I suppose it was always going to happen.” Audrey sighed, trying not to look disheartened. “Did you get your last pay?” she asked gently, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. The business expansion had relied on Zelda’s pay for the extra ingredients. They literally couldn’t live without it.

    Zelda dug a hand into her pocket and dragged out a small envelope. “This is all they gave me.”

Audrey looked inside and quickly counted the coins. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Zelda looked at her pleadingly. “I know you don’t need extra help now that you have Gwendoline and Nell, but please let me stay, Audrey, just until the baby’s born. Then I’ll be out of your hair, back in London. I’ll get a job, and I can send you the back rent from there.”

Audrey sighed again. “Look, I have to collect some herbs. We can talk while I pick.”

With her bags left in the hallway, Zelda followed Audrey through the kitchen and out the back door into the garden.

It was a heavenly morning, the bees buzzing lazily as they lapped up the last vestiges of summer. The lingering smell of smoke from burning the fields brought an unconscious reminder of the beginning of autumn, the forthcoming march through harvest and Halloween to Christmas. The reliability of the seasons—the formidable character that shaped months, years, lives—it gave Audrey a comfort that surged through her.

She would survive this war. Nature would carry her through, as it always did.

Only, as they strode toward the wood, the almost unbearable wavering of a distant engine droned in and out, coaxingly absent for a few moments, making one believe that it was all in one’s mind, before coming back fuller and thicker.

Looking out to the horizon, their hands shielding their eyes, the two women watched as a formation of three hefty bomber planes grew from specks to large, thundering war machines. The noise grew to a powerful throb, and a flock of starlings swarmed up from the wood, sweeping through the sky in a swirled formation all of their own.

“They’re Nazis. Take cover.” Audrey grabbed Zelda’s arm. They’d be strafed if they were spotted. Together they raced through the garden to the cover of the trees, their legs pounding through the long grasses, the dandelion clocks scattering their time into the wind.

    “They’re heading to London,” Zelda said, panting. “We’re safe.” She unconsciously rubbed her bulging belly. “You never get used to the bomb raids, you know. They say you make it part of your day, going into shelters, packing a toothbrush in case you don’t make it home for the night. They say it gets easier, hearing the roar of plane engines. But it doesn’t. It gets harder and harder.”

“It must have been dreadful in the Blitz, having to live like that.”

“It was horrific. When the Dartington was bombed, all I could think was that it could have been me in there. A different work shift and I’d have been gone. And what would it have mattered if I had been killed?” The hardened look came back to her face. “The world would go on turning. My kitchen staff might have even been quite pleased.”

Audrey watched, wondering what it must be like to be Zelda, alone and scared, fighting to stay alive. She reached across and squeezed her hand. Zelda, not used to the gesture, instinctively pulled away, but then realized too late that it was meant in good faith and gave her a reluctant smile.

“Survival is about sticking together,” Audrey said. “I know you think that’s wrong—insane almost—but that’s how I see the world. Together we’re stronger.” She glanced into the scrub beside the outbuildings, pointing at a flowering shrub. “That one, over there. It’s valerian. The root is good for helping you sleep.”

Zelda watched her for a moment. “You know about plant remedies?”

“I learned to forage for them when I was young. They’re natural, and they’re free.” She looked around. “Come with me. There are some nettles in the meadow—they’re good for asthma. And I need some meadowsweet for my headache.”