The Air Raid Book Club(80)

“Beechwood 8153?”

“Mrs. Bingham?”

The female voice at the other end of the line was familiar, and yet Gertie couldn’t immediately place it. “Yes?”

“It’s Daphne Godwin here. Samuel and Betty’s mother.”

“Oh, Mrs. Godwin. How are you?” asked Gertie with a jolt of alarm.

“Well. In actual fact, I’m rather well. Samuel is home.”

At first, Gertie thought she’d misheard. All the waiting and hoping made it difficult to accept without question. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that please?”

Daphne laughed. “Yes, I was exactly the same when they told me. It’s true. Samuel is home. I wanted to let you know so that you could tell Hedy. I trust she’s making a good recovery?”

“She is indeed, and you have no idea how much this is going to speed it along. Thank you. Is Sam all right?”

Daphne hesitated before she answered. “Well, you know how this dreadful war takes its toll. The nighttimes can be difficult.”

Gertie’s mind cast back to her conversation with Charles. “Poor Sam.”

“He’s rather frustrated at the moment, his father has prescribed bed rest for the next week or so, and as you can imagine, he’s desperate to see Hedy.”

“Of course. Well, I’m hopeful that she’ll be home in the next few days. I’ll telephone you as soon as I know, shall I?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bingham. Do give Hedy my best wishes, won’t you?”

“I shall. Please send mine to Sam. And thank you, Mrs. Godwin. I’m going to visit Hedy this afternoon and I can’t wait to tell her the good news.”



Gertie practically skipped along the corridor of the hospital later that afternoon. She could already picture Hedy’s happy face when she told her about Sam. She hoped that Nurse Willoughby was on duty since she knew she would delight in hearing that he was home safe, but as she walked onto the ward, she froze. Hedy’s bed was empty. There were no nurses in sight. She hurried back to the corridor and almost bumped into Nurse Willoughby walking the other way.

“Oh, Mrs. Bingham. I tried to telephone you earlier, but there was no reply.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Gertie, noticing that her usual genial demeanor was laced with concern.

“I think you better come with me,” she said. “Dr. Fitzroy will want to speak to you.”

“All right,” said Gertie, her heart thundering in her chest as she followed.

“Mrs. Bingham,” said the doctor. He looked even graver than usual. “I’m sorry to tell you that Miss Fischer is seriously ill. You may remember I told you that her lungs were badly damaged. I’m afraid to tell you that she has contracted pneumonia.”

“But she was recovering,” Gertie protested. “I thought she’d be coming home soon.”

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “Her immune system was weakened, which made her very susceptible.”

“I saw her yesterday and she seemed fine. She had that blasted cough, but she was talking to me.” Gertie’s tone grew desperate. This couldn’t be happening again. First Harry. Now Hedy. An endless cycle of loss and despair.

“Her condition worsened overnight. I am very sorry.”

“But she’ll get better. She has to get better.”

Nurse Willoughby put an arm around Gertie’s shoulders.

The doctor sighed. “She is very sick. We don’t know anything for certain at this stage, but you should prepare for the worst.”





Chapter 22




There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my nature.

—Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey



Margery had made beetroot and cabbage soup. Even if Gertie had been hungry, she doubted she would have had the stomach for it. The smell and color were both alarming. She had been worried that her friend would insist on standing over her while she ate a bowl. Instead, Margery placed the dish on the side and set about making tea and toast, spreading it thickly with Gertie’s homemade plum jam. Gertie sat at the table, watching her move around the kitchen with comfortingly familiar efficiency.

“What if she dies, Margery?”

Margery froze as the question hung in the air. She turned to Gertie, her usual stoic expression softening into something approaching sympathy. “It doesn’t do to think about such things,” she said, placing a cup of tea in front of her along with a plate of toast.

“She means everything to me,” said Gertie. “Everything.”

Margery slid into the chair opposite. “I know, dear, which is why you must keep yourself strong for her, Gertie. It’s no good to Hedy if you fall apart.”

“I should never have left her in the shelter alone.”

“Would it have been better if you’d been buried down there with her?”

Gertie blinked. “I suppose not.”

“I suppose not too,” said Margery. “Really, Gertie. I will allow you this moment’s self-pity because you are my friend, but I will not entertain it again. It is simply not helpful in these dark times, my dear. Hedy needs you. We all do.” Gertie met her gaze with a barely discernible nod of the head. Margery patted her hand. “Jolly good. Now eat your toast before it gets cold.”