The Air Raid Book Club(50)

Hedy clutched her arm. “You can, Gertie. You’re strong.”

Gertie shook her head. “No. I’m not strong. Not really. I have kept going all these years because I had to, but I don’t want to keep going anymore.”

Hedy squeezed her hand. “You’re tired. We shouldn’t have come here today. It was too much for you seeing the shop like this. Come on. Let’s go home.”



Gertie stayed in bed for a month. She left her room only for meals and air raids and accepted the latter under sufferance. What on earth was the point? She had lost everything she loved from her parents to her brother to her husband and now her beloved bookshop. If the Germans wanted her life as well, then they jolly well better come and take it. She knew what she was doing. She was stubborn enough to know when her mind was made up. Gertie Bingham had officially given up.

Hedy did all she could to coax her from this inertia. She took charge of the day-to-day management of the household, lighting a fire, preparing meals, and baking ginger biscuits, which she knew were Gertie’s favorite. She plied Gertie with tea and sympathy and would read amusing extracts from Sam’s letters to cheer her up.

“He said that he really enjoyed the P. G. Wodehouse book we sent him for Christmas. Apparently, there’s a man in his squadron who reminds him of Gussie Fink-Nottle because he keeps newts.”

“That’s nice, dear,” said Gertie, staring into the distance. She appreciated Hedy’s efforts and knew she was being a terrible bore, but the simple fact was that Gertie had neither the desire nor the ability to rouse herself from this stupor.

In desperation, Hedy called on everyone they knew to try to lift Gertie’s spirits. Mrs. Constantine visited, bringing a bottle of French brandy and the assertion that the dark clouds would dissolve because they always did. Uncle Thomas telephoned to commiserate and make the well-intentioned suggestion that Gertie was in good company, as twenty-seven publishers had similarly lost five million books on the same night thanks to “that mustachioed lunatic.”

Gertie was grateful for their kindness but had no real desire to do anything except stay in bed and reread Jane Eyre. It was the only thing that seemed to console her, allowing her mind to bask in earlier, happier times when Harry was alive and the world shimmered with hope.

One day she was doing just this when there was a knock at her bedroom door. “Come in,” she said, expecting Hedy. It was a surprise, therefore, when the door opened and Billy’s small round face peered in. “Hello, young man. What are you doing here?”

He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before inching into the room. “Mama is having tea downstairs with Hedy Fischer. She got a telegram from her mama today and is happy but also a bit sad.”

Gertie felt a pang of guilt that she wasn’t downstairs comforting Hedy as well. She turned to Billy. “Did your mother ask you to come up?”

“Not exactly,” said Billy, toeing the carpet. “But she didn’t say I couldn’t either.”

“Well, in that case, you better come in.”

Billy marched around the bed and came to stand very close in front of Gertie, regarding her with bright eyes. “I’ve never been in a lady’s bedroom before,” he told her. “Except Mama’s, of course.”

“Of course. So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He adopted a thoughtful expression. “I was very sad to hear about the fire at the bookshop. I am sorry.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

“And I wanted to give you this.” He reached into his pocket. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Gertie did as she was told. There was a jolt of warmth as he placed a small soft bag in her palm.

“You can open them now.”

She stared at the red velvet pouch. “What is it?”

“Tip them out. You’ll see.”

Gertie upended the bag, and out scattered a collection of pennies, shillings, and a couple of shiny sixpence.

“I’ve saved it up. You can have it all so that you can buy a new bookshop.”

Tears pricked Gertie’s eyes. “Oh, Billy.”

“And I collect stamps too. We could sell my collection if this isn’t enough.”

Gertie reached out and held him by the shoulders. “You are the kindest boy I have ever met. Thank you.”

“Billy Chambers. Come down here at once!” cried his mother from the bottom of the stairs. He froze.

“It’s all right, Elizabeth,” called Gertie. “I said he could come in.”

Billy recoiled at the sound of his mother marching up the stairs. “Gertie, I’m so sorry Billy disturbed you.” She turned to her son. “Young man, you will go to bed without a story tonight.”

“Oh but, Mama.”

“William Chambers. You will not talk back to your mother.”

William Chambers knitted his brow together in an indignant scowl.

Elizabeth caught sight of the money bag on the bed. “Is that yours, Billy?” He gave a slow nod.

“He offered it to me so that I could buy a new bookshop,” said Gertie.

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. “Oh. Well.”

“It’s the most delightful thing I’ve ever heard,” said Gertie.

Elizabeth’s face softened. “You shouldn’t have come up here, but it was nice of you to offer it to Mrs. Bingham.”