As they were led through a side exit to a waiting area, Gertie spotted a familiar figure carrying a small boy who couldn’t have been older than four or five.
“Charles!” cried Gertie.
He turned and waved before passing the child to another volunteer and hurrying over to her.
Gertie flung her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad to see you. I didn’t realize you’d be traveling with this particular group. How was the journey?”
Charles’s face was ashen, his chin pricked with stubble, his eyes ringed with gray shadows. “It’s a relief to be here finally.”
Gertie could tell this was only half the story. “Was it difficult leaving Germany?”
Charles ran a hand over his chin. “Let’s just say it was easier once we arrived in Holland. The people there were very kind. They gave the children chocolate.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I should get back. What’s the name of the child you’re collecting?”
“Hedy. Hedy Fischer.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll find her.”
Gertie watched him disappear out of sight. She had known this man for most of her life, and yet, when she glimpsed him in this world, he took on an enigmatic quality.
“Charles Ashford is a man I know better than myself,” Harry used to say. “And yet there are times when he’s a complete mystery to me. And I like him all the better for it.”
Agnes and her army of clipboard volunteers had already leapt into action and were introducing the smaller children to their new families. Most of them looked bewildered as they were led away to new lives with these strangers. One small boy, suitcase in hand, caught Gertie’s eye, his frowning face a picture of resilience. She gave him an encouraging smile as he passed her. “God save the King!” he cried in a squeaky German accent, causing those around him to chuckle.
Moments later, Charles tapped Gertie on the arm. She felt a flurry of nerves as she turned. “Gertie Bingham. This is Hedy Fischer,” he said as casually as if introducing two people at a party.
The girl standing before her with a rucksack on her back was almost the same height as Gertie. She had shoulder-length wavy brown hair and eyes the color of molasses. She wore a navy-blue wool coat with a rose-colored scarf and looked as wary as a kitten in a corner.
Gertie held out a gloved hand. “My name is Gertie Bingham, and I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said, noticing that Hedy’s hands were trembling as she accepted with a polite nod.
“Here is your paperwork, Mrs. Bingham,” said Agnes, appearing alongside them. “You can collect Hedy’s luggage over there. Her suitcase has a label with the same number as the one on her coat and rucksack. Then you’re free to go.”
“Thank you,” said Gertie.
“Welche Nummer haben Sie?” asked Charles as they reached the neat rows of suitcases lined up against one wall.
“Neunundfünfzig,” said Hedy in a faltering voice, holding up her label for inspection.
“Fifty-nine. Right ho,” said Charles.
As he headed off to search through the luggage, Gertie was momentarily thrown into a panic. How on earth was she going to be able to communicate without him? She scrabbled around in her brain for a smattering of schoolgirl German. “Neunundfünfzig,” she ventured, gesturing at Hedy’s label. “Ich bin neunundfünfzig Jahre alt.” Hedy’s eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise at the fact that this stranger was readily sharing her age.
“Here we are,” said Charles, returning with an olive-colored suitcase. “Will you be all right getting back home? I could find you a taxi.”
“Oh no. We’ll be quite all right, thank you, Charles,” said Gertie in a breezy tone that she hoped concealed her apprehension.
“Are you sure? What about the suitcase? It’s rather heavy.”
“I carry,” said Hedy, moving forward to pick it up.
“There we are then. Hedy is strong as an ox. We’re going to be top hole, aren’t we?” said Gertie with forced cheer. Hedy’s brow furrowed with confusion.
Charles laughed. “‘Top hole’ is Gertie-speak for ‘excellent,’ in case you were wondering, Hedy. Ausgezeichnet!”
The girl nodded uncertainly. Gertie felt her stomach lurch with fresh consternation.
She had been determined to keep everything light and cheery for both their sakes, but now she appeared to be baffling the poor girl. Added to this, the thought of the journey across London was making her skittish with nerves. Gertie knew that Charles would accompany them if she asked him, but she could see how tired he was. Come along, Gertie. You can’t shirk your responsibility now.
“I’ll telephone you, Gertie,” said Charles, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for doing this. Truly.”
Gertie nodded, taking fresh courage from her friend’s words.
Charles turned to Hedy. “Schön Sie kennenzulernen, Fräulein Fischer.”
“Sie auch,” said Hedy in a small voice.
He touched the brim of his hat before disappearing into the crowd as Gertie fought the urge to call after him. She glanced at Hedy, who was staring at her with expectation. “Right,” said Gertie, the sudden weight of responsibility making her dizzy. “Time to go home.”
Gertie Bingham had always prided herself on being a capable woman. Despite growing tired of London’s chaos, she knew perfectly well how to travel across it, and yet she was woefully out of practice. They were immediately out of step with the streams of people, who all seemed to be moving in the same direction like a stubborn shoal of mackerel, refusing to let them pass. Of course their progress was hampered somewhat by Hedy. It wasn’t just her luggage, which took up the space of another person, but also the child’s reticence when confronted with everything from the escalators to the screeching Tube trains, which flew in from both sides of the platform. At one stage a man walked straight into her, and instead of apologizing, he shouted: “Oi, watch where you’re going!”
“Now hang on a minute,” cried Gertie with an outrage that surprised her. “How dare you jostle this poor girl after all she’s been through.”
But the man had already disappeared into the crowd. Hedy’s neck flushed scarlet.
“It’s all right, dear,” said Gertie. “London is very busy. It makes people forget their manners sometimes.”
Hedy didn’t respond, keeping her head down as a train pulled into the station.
“Here, let me help you with that, miss,” said a young man from inside the train, gesturing toward Hedy’s suitcase. She glanced at Gertie for guidance.
“Oh, thank you,” said Gertie. It was standing room only in the carriage, but two men moved forward to offer their seats, and Gertie graciously accepted. “There you see, Hedy. There are kind people in the world.”
Hedy didn’t answer. Gertie had always been nervous during long bouts of silence and now felt compelled to fill it with idle chatter. “Mein Deutsch is nicht gut,” she said cheerfully.
A man in the seat opposite wearing a bowler hat and reading a copy of The Telegraph lowered his newspaper to scowl at the sound of this offensive language. Gertie blushed at her foolishness.