The Air Raid Book Club(26)
“And you. Is Uncle Thomas in the stockroom?”
Mr. Nightingale gave a wry smile. “He’s on the roof with Mr. Picket.”
“On the roof? Whatever is he doing up there?”
“Let’s just say that it’s another of your uncle’s grand ideas.”
Gertie laughed. “Don’t tell me. I’ll go up and see for myself.”
She climbed the stairs at the back of the shop, leading to the first floor, where the most valuable antiquarian tomes were housed in glass-fronted bookcases. Pushing open a door, Gertie climbed another winding staircase up to the apartment where her uncle lived with yet more books and a large marmalade cat called Dickens. The cat greeted her with an insistent meow, casting a forlorn gaze toward his empty bowl.
“Hello, boy,” she said, scratching him under the chin. “He’s forgotten to feed you again, hasn’t he?” She riffled through the cupboards and found a packet of Spratt’s Cat Food, which she sprinkled into his bowl. “Now, where is your master?”
A loud crash that sounded like someone dropping several hardback books onto a wooden floor directed Gertie toward the door leading to the sleeping quarters. She pushed it open and peered around to be confronted with a pair of tweed-covered legs standing on a ladder leading up to the roof.
“What ho, Uncle,” called Gertie. “What on earth are you up to?”
Thomas Arnold’s head appeared through the hatch. His face lit up when he saw her. “Gertie! Good to see you. Would you be a dear and pass me those books, please?”
Gertie approached the scattered volumes and picked one up. She was astonished to see that they were all copies of Mein Kampf. “What are you doing with these?”
“Mr. Picket and I are making preparations in case the worst happens,” he said, taking an armful from her. “We’re covering the roof with them for protection.”
“You’re covering the roof of the bookshop with copies of Mein Kampf to protect you from air raids?”
“Yes,” said Thomas, nodding. “Unless you can think of a better use for them?”
Gertie smiled. “I cannot.”
Thomas disappeared with the rest of the books. “That’s the last of them, Mr. Picket,” he called. “Jolly good job.” He climbed down the ladder, straightened his polka-dot bow tie, and smoothed his dusty white hair. “Now then, Gertie. You said you wanted my help. Let’s discuss it over tea, shall we? Mrs. Havers baked one of her heavenly malt loaves yesterday.”
Gertie brought her uncle up to date on developments with Hedy and explained how she longed to help this girl. She omitted to mention her lingering hope of retiring and that if she identified a suitable situation for Hedy and her family, this might yet be possible. Perhaps this was because she was finding it increasingly difficult to imagine this herself. It was a ship on the horizon, moving further into the distance with every day that passed.
Thomas Arnold listened carefully, his fingers steepled together, face grim with concentration. Dickens strolled across his path, and he plucked him onto his lap, absentmindedly stroking the cat’s rich orange fur as Gertie spoke.
“So you see, I made a list of people I thought I could ask for help, and you were at the top of it.”
“I’m sorry I can’t offer refuge here,” said Uncle Thomas. “I don’t have the space, but I could perhaps offer the brother a position in the bookshop. He’s studying to be an architect, you say?”
Gertie nodded. “That would be wonderful. Any ideas who might be able to help Hedy’s parents?”
Uncle Thomas chewed the inside of his lip for a moment before waggling a finger. “Let me make a telephone call.” He checked for a number before dialing. “Dicky Rose, please,” he said. Gertie stared in surprise as her uncle embarked on a long, friendly conversation with one of the richest men in the country. “Dicky? Tom Arnold. I need to ask you a favor, old boy.”
Half an hour later, Gertie felt like somersaulting with joy as her uncle secured posts as a gardener and seamstress for Hedy’s parents, as well as a cottage on Rose’s estate. “Her father is a music teacher, Uncle Thomas,” she said. “I’m not sure how much experience he has of gardening.”
Thomas shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll adapt. Dicky won’t mind. He’s already taken in a group of boys. He and his wife are happy to help.”
She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “I knew you were the one to ask.”
He kissed her hand as he led her to the door. “It’s good to see you still fighting, Gertie.”
Yes, she thought as she hurried home to give Hedy the good news. It feels good too.
As summer took hold, the world held its breath. People did their best to continue as normal, to picnic in the park or take day trips to the seaside, but a cloud of toxic uncertainty hung over Europe. No one could be sure what Hitler would do next.
Gertie and Hedy tried to steer an even path through the doubt. Their plan was afoot. Once her uncle had arranged positions for Hedy’s family, Gertie turned her attention to ensuring that their paperwork was in order. She anticipated their biggest hurdle would be gaining permits from the Nazis. As it transpired, making three Jews someone else’s problem was positively encouraged provided they left all their money in the German banks. As Else Fischer wrote in her letter delivering the good news, “We do not care if they take the clothes from our backs as long as we can be reunited with our daughter.” Hedy translated the words for Gertie with tears in her eyes.