The Air Raid Book Club(88)

“Splendid. Could we say tomorrow at ten?”

“Ten o’clock is perfect.”

When Gertie saw Flora and Nicholas Hope walk through the door of Bingham Books, she felt as if she were stepping back in time. Flora’s bright eyes as alert as a robin’s and Nicholas’s loping gait brought her squarely back to Arnold’s Booksellers at the turn of the century.

“Oh look, Nicky, P. G. Wodehouse,” said Flora, plucking a volume from the shelf. She grinned at Gertie. “I prefer Nancy Mitford, but Wodehouse is Nicky’s absolute favorite, isn’t he, darling?”

“No one better than Plum,” said Nicholas. “Apologies for my wife. She gets rather excited when she enters a bookshop. Good morning, Mrs. Bingham. Nicholas Hope at your service.” He offered his hand with a small bow.

“It’s quite all right,” said Gertie, moving around from the back of the counter to shake their hands. “I understand that sentiment entirely.”





Chapter 25





1946



Gertie knew she was the only one who could save Arno. She needed to be braver than she had ever been in her life. She grasped the enormous red velvet book with both hands, lifted the cover, and let the magic catapult into the air like fire from a dragon’s nose.

—Hedy Fischer, The Adventures of Gertie and Arno



Gertie gazed at the book-lined shelves and closed her eyes, breathing in that treasured aroma for what would be her last morning as proprietor of Bingham Books. She opened them and ran her fingertips over the cherished spines. There was nothing more thrilling than an empty bookshop early in the morning, with the sun streaming through the window, making the gilded type glimmer with promise.

The decision had been a straightforward one in the end. It didn’t feel like giving up, more like passing on the mantle. She had become rather fond of Flora and Nicholas over the past few weeks. They were coming along to the party tonight. Gertie could hardly wait. She plucked a copy of The Adventures of Gertie and Arno from the counter, admiring its pale green cover adorned with Elizabeth’s delightful illustration of the two characters. She opened the cover and read the dedication with a dip of sadness.

For Mama, Papa, and Arno, forever in my heart.

Where Hedy and Gertie’s inquiries had proved fruitless, Charles had been more successful. He called ’round one Sunday while Gertie was tending to her roses in the front garden. As soon as she saw his face, Gertie knew. “You have news?”

He nodded, following her inside. “Is Hedy at home?”

“No. She’s gone for a drive with Sam. It’s not good, is it?”

Charles retrieved a document from his pocket and held it out for her to read. Gertie saw the names Johann and Else Fischer. “What is it, Charles? What are all these columns?”

Charles swallowed. “It’s from a Totenbuch—a book of deceased prisoners.”

Gertie put a hand to her mouth. “But how did you get hold of this?”

“Through my Red Cross contacts.”

She stared at him for a moment, noticing that enigmatic side to Charles once more, sensing not to pry. “What else does it say?”

“Enough to know that they died in 1943 in Auschwitz. One of the prisoners kept this log and hid it on pain of death. They found it a few months ago concealed in a septic tank at the camp.”

Gertie took the papers from him and sank into a chair. “What about Arno?”

Charles slid into the seat opposite her and rubbed at his temples. “All I know is that the factory where he worked was closed by the Nazis, but I haven’t managed to find out what happened to the Jewish workforce.”

Gertie sat up straighter in her chair. “But he’s not in this book, is he? So there’s still hope?”

“Most of the records of the deceased were destroyed,” said Charles gravely. “I hate to say it, Gertie, but it’s very likely that he ended up in a camp.”

“So you think he’s dead as well?”

“I’m sorry.” He reached out his hand and she squeezed it tightly. “Would you like me to tell Hedy?”

Gertie shook her head. “No. I think she should hear it from me.”



In the absence of a proper resting place, the dedication was Hedy’s tribute to her family. Gertie couldn’t think of a better way to remember the ones you’d loved and lost than to have them immortalized forever in the pages of a story. She was unpacking more copies of Hedy’s book when there was a tap at the front door. She glanced up to see Betty grinning at her through the glass. Gertie unlocked the door and Betty bounded into the shop like a puppy let off its leash.

“Ready for one last hoorah, Mrs. B?” she cried.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, dear.”

For Gertie, the whole day was like sifting through her memories from the past thirty-odd years. Betty and Miss Snipp were there, of course, and all her best and favorite customers called in to say goodbye. Mr. Reynolds had to blow his nose several times, overcome by the thought that she would no longer be there to help him find his next thrilling volume of military history.

Mrs. Constantine was her customary stoical self and nearly moved Gertie to tears when she gifted her the emerald brooch that had belonged to her mother. “Because you have become like a daughter to me,” she told her.