The Air Raid Book Club(74)
As they cleared the dishes away later, Charles seemed quieter than usual. “Penny for them?” said Gertie, handing him a plate to dry.
“Sorry,” he said. “The older I get, the more melancholy I find Christmas. Too many years and too many memories.”
“Happy ones, though.”
He nodded. “Very. That’s the problem. It must be the same for you.”
“Yes, but I seem to be creating new memories these days, and the old ones bring me comfort.”
“Gosh, Gertie. You sound positively grown-up.”
She laughed. “At the grand old age of sixty-four.” She stole a glance at him. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you never marry? Was it simply because the right person never came along?”
He stared out the window into the darkness. “Something like that.”
The telephone began to ring in the hall. “I’ll answer it,” called Hedy.
Gertie touched him on the arm. “It’s all right, Charles. You can tell me. We’ve been friends for long enough. I won’t be shocked.”
Charles opened his mouth to respond as Hedy let out an anguished cry. Gertie threw down her dishcloth and rushed to the hallway. “What is it, my dear? Whatever has happened?”
Hedy turned, tears brimming in her eyes. “Sam and Harris tried to escape from the camp, but Harris was shot by a guard. He’s dead.”
Gertie touched her gently on the arm. “What about Sam?”
“He’s missing, Gertie.” Hedy stared wildly at her. “He’s on the run. If they find him, they’ll kill him.”
Gertie looked to Charles as she folded Hedy into a tight embrace. It was all you could do: to comfort and reassure, to murmur that everything would be all right whilst clinging onto the hope that this would turn out to be true.
Part Three
1944
Chapter 20
I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.
—Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
Margery and Gerald’s registry office wedding was a bolt from the blue. For a woman whose conservatism could challenge Churchill’s, it was surprisingly impulsive. The bride looked radiant in an air force–blue utility suit, eschewing her usual WVS headwear in favor of a matching feather-adorned tilt hat. The groom wore his best suit, a pink Christmas rose from his garden, and the biggest grin Gertie had ever seen. The women of the WVS, Gertie and Hedy among them, turned out to form an honor guard with knitting needles, while Gerald’s ARP wardens rang their “all clear” bells in celebration. At the lunch party held at Margery’s house afterward, there were pilchard sandwiches, cheese and potato flans, all manner of vegetable salads thanks to Gerald’s abundant harvest, and a fruitcake made with the combined rations of Margery, Mrs. Constantine, Gertie, and Miss Snipp. Gerald had managed to buy a barrel of beer from a local publican friend, adding to the joyful party atmosphere. Archibald Sparrow, who had been quietly courting Cynthia since the Wodehouse book club discussion, had revealed himself to be a talented pianist and was more than happy to entertain the gathering rather than engage with them socially. Cynthia sat beside him on the piano stool, smiling and occasionally reaching over to turn the page for him.
“Perhaps we should advertise Bingham Books as the place to fall in love,” said Gertie to Hedy as they watched the lovestruck pair.
“Maybe it’s you, Gertie,” said Hedy. “After all, I wouldn’t have met Sam if it weren’t for you.”
Gertie squeezed her arm. There had been no news of Sam since his escape. Hedy bore it all with the stoicism that she’d learned to wear like a cloak since the war began. She no longer ran for the post or asked if there had been any telegrams. Gertie knew that Hedy pored over the news and would have heard the rumors about the plight of the Jews. There was a time when she would have tried to protect her from this, but Hedy was an adult now. There was no hiding the awful truth of war when you were living through it. The only thing they could do was cling to the fact that no news was good news. It seemed strange to live in a world where your hope existed purely because no one had given you the news to extinguish it, and yet what choice did they have? If no one quashed that hope then it remained, a tiny seed, waiting to be nurtured.
“Fruitcake?”
Gertie turned to see Margery holding out a plate. “Thank you. How are you?”
“Never been happier, my dear Gertie. By the way, I meant to tell you. I read Jane Eyre.”
Gertie stared at her. “Margery Fortescue read a book.”
“Margery Travers if you please,” she said with a smile. “Well, you know how Gerald loves to read, and you said it was a good story.”
“And? What did you think?”
Margery gave an approving nod. “I admire Jane’s backbone. She’d make a jolly fine recruit for the WVS.”
Gertie laughed. “This is a splendid celebration, Margery. I’m delighted for you and Gerald.”
“Carpe diem, my dear Gertie. We could all be blown from our beds at any given second. You have to grab these chances of happiness by the throat while you can.”
Gertie wondered how happiness felt about being grabbed by the throat but guessed that it would comply with Margery’s wishes, as most people did. “You make a wonderful couple.”