The Air Raid Book Club(6)
“And business is still brisk?”
“Oh yes. Ticking along nicely.”
“Then what is it, my child?”
Gertie cleared her throat. “I’m thinking of selling the business and moving to the coast. I’m wondering about East Sussex.”
“I see.” Thomas stared toward the river. Gertie was used to her uncle’s raging outbursts and explosive reactions. She braced herself for a storm, but he remained taciturn, eyes fixed forward.
She took a deep breath and continued. “I think it’s time for me to retire. Harry and I ran the shop together, and now that he’s gone, I’m not sure I want to carry on alone. I’d like to be somewhere peaceful. I think Hemingway would enjoy walks on the beach, and of course you could always come to stay. It would do you good to escape London every now and then.”
“Is that what you’re doing then?” asked Thomas. “Escaping London?” He sounded almost hurt.
“I don’t know. I’m weary, Uncle Thomas. And I miss Harry. I don’t know how to live my life without him.” Tears pricked her eyes.
Thomas pulled out a green silk handkerchief and offered it to her. “Oh, my dear girl. I’m sorry. I do understand. It’s merely that I’d miss you. I’m being selfish. Forgive my petulance.”
Gertie accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I’d still see you. I can come to London for visits.”
He patted her hand and cast his gaze across the city. “I can’t blame you for wanting to escape London, Gertie. The prospect of another war fills me with dread.”
“Do you think it’s likely?”
Thomas shrugged. “Someone needs to stand up to that madman. It’s shocking what’s happening to the Jews in Germany. Businesses wrecked and looted, synagogues set on fire, men rounded up like animals. It’s monstrous.”
Gertie nodded. “It’s dreadful. I wish there was more I could do to help.”
Thomas turned to her. “You must do what’s best for you, my dear. And if that’s retirement, then so be it.”
Gertie sighed. “Part of me feels as if I’m giving up. I never thought I’d end up like this. I used to have so much more fight in my youth.”
Thomas chuckled. “You certainly were a spirited youngster. It was a job for your mother and father to keep up with you. You had so many ideas and opinions. Enough to change the world.”
“You know as well as I do how life knocks that out of a person.”
“My darling Gertrude, you are fifty-nine, not eighty-nine.”
“So you think I should stay?”
“All I would say is don’t make any rash decisions you might regret. There’s a storm coming. I’m sure of it. We might just need the likes of Gertie Bingham to stand up and fight.”
“I’m not sure I can do it on my own.”
“I’m here, Gertie.”
“I know. And I’m grateful.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek before linking an arm through his. “Now. Tell me your book trade gossip.”
Thomas’s eyes glittered. “Well, let’s just say there’s a certain female author whose husband is filing for divorce after she was discovered in a compromising situation with a famous Shakespearean actor.”
The rain was beginning to fall as Gertie let herself back in through the front door later that afternoon. She shook off her umbrella and left it in the porch. “It’s coming down in stair rods,” she told Hemingway, who trundled out to greet her. She planted a kiss on the top of his great furry head. “Have you had a good day, my darling?” People would think her daft, but she knew that this gentle giant was one of the few beings who kept her going these days. The thought of moving to that cottage idyll with him, sitting out their days by the coast, taking slow walks together, and gazing out to sea was very appealing.
“I could take up writing,” she said as she lit a fire in the living room. Hemingway cocked his head to one side as if hanging on her every word. “Give Georgette Heyer a run for her money.”
Gertie smiled at the idea. It was a romantic notion in every sense of the word, but what was the alternative? Stay here in the oppressive silence of a house that was far too big for her, or move somewhere more tranquil, where she could gather her thoughts and not be reminded of Harry’s absence all the time?
She set about making tea, putting the kettle to boil on the stove and retrieving a cup and saucer from the dresser.
“Here you are, my boy,” she said to the dog, tipping food into his bowl. Hemingway sniffed at it before gazing up at her with a heavy sigh. “I know exactly how you feel,” she said, scratching the top of his head. “I’m not the slightest bit hungry either.”
She was about to make her tea when there was a knock at the door. Hemingway gave a half-hearted growl. “I think you may need to brush up on your guard dog skills,” she told him, glancing at the clock. It was nearly six and pitch-black outside. Gertie made her way to the living room and peered through the net curtain. Her face relaxed as she recognized the caller.
“Now, Mr. Ashford, I’ve told you before. I don’t entertain gentleman callers after dark,” she said as she opened the front door. Charles Ashford was her husband’s oldest friend. They had met at school, and when Harry began his book career, Charles had entered the world of banking. His time as an officer in the Great War had altered his opinion of humanity, and he returned a changed man. He left the world of finance to take up a post with the International Committee of the Red Cross, before continuing to work for a number of other humanitarian organizations. Harry always maintained that Charles was one of the truest, kindest people you could ever hope to meet.