The Air Raid Book Club(23)
On Friday evenings, if the week had been a good one, she and Harry would treat themselves to a fish supper. Afterward, Harry would wind up the gramophone, place a record on the turntable with care, drop the stylus, and offer her his hand.
“Would madam care to dance?”
They weren’t particularly accomplished dancers. Gertie lacked rhythm and Harry was too clumsy to be able to dance with any skill, but they seemed to fit well together, shuffling around the living room, laughing as they went. Gertie couldn’t recall ever feeling as safe and happy as she did when she was in Harry’s arms.
The sound of careless laughter and raucous singing coming from the living room felt like an affront to this precious memory. Gertie’s body fizzed with indignant anger as she pushed open the living room door. A girl, whom Gertie recognized as Audrey, was teaching Hedy the Lambeth Walk while another girl offered encouragement.
“Any time you Lambeth way, any evening, any day, you find us all, doing the Lambeth Walk, oi!” sang Hedy, pulling her elbow into a triumphant thumbs-up.
“That’s it, Hedy. You’ve got it!” cried Audrey, before they all dissolved into laughter with Hemingway turning delighted barking circles in their midst.
The sight would have gladdened most people’s hearts, but Gertie was not in the mood to have her heart gladdened today. “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted.
The girls turned in alarm. Instinctively Hemingway sank to his haunches in an obedient sit. Hedy frowned but offered no response, so Gertie strode over to the gramophone, wrenched the stylus from the record, and folded her arms.
“I asked you a question,” she said, surprised by her rage.
Hedy mirrored Gertie by folding her arms as Audrey stepped forward. “We’re most dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Bingham. We thought it was all right.” She glanced toward Hedy, who had clearly given this impression.
“Perhaps we should go,” said the other girl, hastily retrieving the record from the player and reaching for her satchel and coat.
“Yes. All right,” said Audrey, following her lead. “Sorry again, Mrs. Bingham. See you tomorrow, Hedy.”
Hedy was still frowning but managed to offer her friends a half-hearted wave in reply. After they’d left, Gertie turned to her. “Well. Do you have anything to say?”
Hedy gave an exasperated sigh. “Sorry. Pardon. Je m’excuse. I did not know that playing records in England was bad. You say I can read any books, so why is music forbidden?”
Gertie was struck dumb. Hedy was right, of course. She knew it was an overreaction, but Harry’s loss was still too sharp and painful. She needed to preserve his memory at all costs. “You should have asked first. It’s presumption of the highest order, young lady.”
“I say sorry. I don’t know what more you want,” cried Hedy, the color rising in her cheeks.
“I would like you to show some respect,” said Gertie. “I have offered you a place to stay and think you should be more grateful.”
“Thank you very, very much,” said Hedy with a mocking curtsy.
“There is no need to be rude,” said Gertie.
“Why not?” said Hedy. “I know you don’t want me here, that I have spoiled your quiet life. Well, don’t worry. I had letter from my mother today, and they will be coming very soon.”
“Well, that sounds like good news for both of us.” Gertie regretted the words as soon as they escaped from her mouth. She thought she’d left that keen anger behind in her youth, but it seemed to have followed her into middle age and beyond.
They stared at each other for a moment as if both aware they had gone too far. Hemingway gave a piteous whine.
Gertie sighed. “Look, Hedy. I should never have said that. I was cross. Let me make us some tea.”
“I don’t want more tea!” cried Hedy. “Why do English people make tea all the time? It doesn’t make things better and it tastes horrible!”
Gertie knew it was ridiculous to be affronted by this insult to her nation’s favorite drink, but for some reason it touched a nerve. “Go to your room!” she cried.
“I go!” shouted Hedy, storming from the room and stomping up the stairs. “And I don’t want any supper!”
“I wasn’t going to make anything for you anyway,” called Gertie, realizing how petulant she sounded. She took a deep breath. Her body was still trembling. Hemingway blinked at his mistress, his eyes darting toward the door. “Oh, go along then, Hemingway. Don’t stay on my account.”
He scooted after Hedy, leaving Gertie feeling more alone than ever. She thumbed away the tears that sprang to her eyes.
“You are being ridiculous,” she told herself. “Why do you care what this girl thinks? She’s just a child, for heaven’s sake, and she’s missing her family. Don’t take on so.”
Gertie did her best to shake off this feeling as she set about preparing supper. She carried her bread and cheese into the living room, deciding to listen to the news while she ate. She sat up straighter when, on the stroke of six o’clock, the announcer spoke: Here is the Second News, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it. He went on to tell her in clipped, precise tones that the prime minister was promising a full investigation into the sinking of HMS Thetis in Liverpool. This was followed by a report about the ongoing success of the King and Queen’s trip to the United States. Apparently, His Majesty had risen to the challenge when offered a hot dog by the First Lady, Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, during a visit to the White House.