Page 98 of No Man's Land

They discussed that for a while, eventually settling on a couple of options to put to Lottie. There was some work to do to design the look of the new paper, but essentially it would be theDaily Clarionunder a different name, and so soon they fell into talking about stories to cover, and that led them back to the war.

“We can’t tackle it head-on,” May said. She indicated the framed front page behind her. “I’m proud of that piece. I think it had to be said, but…”

“But it hasn’t changed anyone’s mind,” Josef finished. “I know. I thought if people saw the truth…”

May looked sympathetic. “I think some truths are too hard to believe, even when you see them with your own eyes. People aren’t ready for it yet.”

He understood that in a way May couldn’t imagine. How long had it taken him to believe the incredible truth Alex had told him? It was still difficult to believe. He laughed, or tried to, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “The things I could tell people, if they’d only listen.”

Ghouls, witches and who knew what else? The story of a lifetime at his fingertips, but not even May would believe that one.

She cocked her head, studying him. “You know, sometimes it’s easier for people to hear the truth when they think it’s fiction.” She shrugged at whatever she saw in his expression. “A story about the trials and tribulations of a conchie working as a stretcher bearer, perhaps?”

Josef shook his head. “I’m no writer.”

“You’re not bad.” She grinned. “Besides, there’s no such thing as a good writer—only a good editor. And that’s me.”

“I don’t know. I’m a photographer. I prefer to let my photographs do the talking.” It was a thought, though. And his first thought was of a story about the ghouls living in the disused Underground tunnels…

Saint would not be happy. That idea should worry him, but in fact it fired him up. Saint thought he had all the power, that he could snatch Alex away and silence Josef. Well, sod that. Maybe there was another way for Josef to speak?

If he dared.

Rising, he said, “I’m happy for you, May. I’m glad Lady Charlotte could help and that you’re back in business. The country needs your voice more than ever.”

“Ourvoice,” she corrected. “Like I said, Lady C is a diamond but—oh, wait a moment.” She rummaged in her bag. “Here, this is for you.”

She held out a small envelope, his name written on the front. Instantly, his heart leaped at the idea it could be from Alex, but it wasn’t his hand. Frowning, he took the envelope from May. “What is it?”

She raised her brows. “I’m no expert, but it looks like a letter.”

“Very amusing.” He studied it for a moment, then shoved it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

May’s expression sharpened into keen interest. God knew what she thought was in the letter—a love note probably—but he didn’t want to find out with an audience. Not one as quick as May.

Nonetheless, the note burned a hole in his pocket all the way back to the Underground and by the time he’d found a seat in the carriage, it had become impossible to wait any longer. Pulling the envelope out, he quickly tore it open.

It wasn’t a note from Alex. Simply a few lines in the efficient hand of someone who wrote a great deal—such as an academic.

Dear Mr Shepel, Our friend has finally been released. He’s at home, terribly morose and rather immobile thanks to his leg, which is healing but not yet usable. Naturally, he believes he’s unfit for company, but I rather think the opposite is true. If asked, he’ll refuse tosee you, so I suggest not asking. Yours in friendship, Lady Charlotte Wolsey.

Released? He suspected that was exactly the right word. It had looked like nothing more than an arrest that evening on King William Street. Had they punished Alex in other ways, too? God only knew what The Society might do; they clearly believed themselves above the law.

Anger, relief, and something he could only call excitement swelled his heart. Did he want to see Alex? Of course he bloody did. But he was afraid. Not of Saint, not of any consequences in that direction, but of Alex. Of rejection.

Truth was, he’d come to feel something for the man. More than something, if he was being honest. And why shouldn’t he feel more? Alex had saved his life, and he’d saved Alex’s. That alone would have forged a bond difficult to break, even without the…other things.

And the other things lived as bright memories beneath his skin. Each tender touch and forbidden caress more precious for being fleeting. For being secret, and theirs alone.

If he saw Alex again and was dismissed, those memories would tarnish and spoil. But that was the argument of a man who’d choose blissful ignorance over painful truth, and Josef was nothing if not an advocate for the truth.

Which meant his decision was made.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Josef was startled, although not surprised, to find Daljeet Dutta leaning casually against the looming bulk of Queen Anne’s Mansion Flats, smoking a cigarette. Dutta’s bright red turban gave a splash of colour to the grey February morning and suggested he wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous.

Well, neither was Josef. Shoulders back, he headed straight for the stairs leading up to the entrance. Dutta moved easily to intercept. “Shepel,” he said cordially. “I hoped I might run into you.”

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