Embers in the London Sky by Sarah Sundin

Author:Sarah Sundin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance;Christian fiction;Novel;FIC042030;FIC042040;FIC027200
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2023-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

26

MONDAY, JANUARY 6, 1941

Scaffolding supported the circular, colonnaded, spire-topped vestibule of All Soul’s Church. The December parachute mine blast that had damaged Broadcasting House had rendered All Soul’s uninhabitable.

Snow drifted around Hugh as he plodded up Portland Place. The same weather that had produced wonder and romance only two days before seemed bleak now.

Aleida was inconsolable.

Hugh jammed his gloved hands in his coat pockets. If he’d known Mr. Randolph would be skeptical, he would have helped Aleida prepare her story to unfold in a different manner.

At the side door to Broadcasting House, Hugh flashed his card to the guard and was admitted. Had his presence as a member of the press caused even more skepticism?

Hugh descended the stairs to the sub-basement. Yesterday, he’d taken Aleida to church, where she’d kept her head bowed through the service. Then she wanted to go home and sleep.

Her desire for solitude had allowed Hugh to take the train back to Hertfordshire to see the Warwicks. He didn’t tell Aleida, didn’t dare raise her hopes, but the Warwicks promised to write Mr. Randolph to explain the situation and testify to Aleida’s sincerity. Hugh had asked them to enclose Aleida’s address in case Mr. Randolph had a change of heart.

He paused in the corridor outside the news offices, and a second strand of dread threaded through his soul. He had to confess to Fletcher.

Hugh had rehearsed, not to justify the unjustifiable, but to soften the blow.

Inhaling courage, Hugh opened the door to the tiny office Fletcher now shared with his secretary.

Norman Fletcher scowled, bolted from his desk chair, and jabbed Hugh in the chest. “What on earth were you thinking?”

Hugh sucked in a breath and drew back. What else had he done wrong? “Pardon?”

“I’ve been looking for you all morning, ever since Gil told me you misquoted Morris and Little—and how it happened.”

A rumble of anger, and Hugh’s jaw tensed. “That’s why I came here now—to inform you. I told Gil I would do so.”

Fletcher waved him off and marched back to his desk. “You lost your notes? Then you didn’t check with your sources? Is this your customary mode?”

Hugh clutched the hat in his hands. Gil’s accusations had fermented in Fletcher’s mind into a potion even more noxious than the truth. “No, sir. This is the first—and last time.”

Cocking his head to the side, Fletcher rested one hand on his desk. “What made this story so special?”

Time to edit his rehearsed speech. “François Jouveau and I accidentally switched notebooks. When I was due to broadcast my story, Jouveau still hadn’t shown up, so I proceeded from memory. I was wrong to do so.”

“You certainly were.” Fletcher slapped at his phone, making it jingle. “I spent this morning apologizing to the men you misquoted.”

Regret sank in a putrid pit in his stomach. “I do apologize. It won’t—”

“And if one more person comes in here praising your New Year’s Eve broadcast, I’ll throttle him.”

Hugh frowned. “Sir, I promise everything was on the square in that broadcast.”

“Everyone praised it.

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