“Yes,” said Hedy, the smile disappearing from her face. “Betty ask me.”
“Oh. That’s lovely.”
“Yes.” Hedy was already making her way up the stairs.
“I’d love to hear about your day,” said Gertie. “Perhaps over some tea?”
Hedy didn’t turn ’round. “No, thank you. I’m very tired.” She continued up the stairs with Hemingway following close on her heels.
Gertie stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, the shadow of loneliness descending. She longed to follow after Hedy, to ask about the trip, to share in her joy, but something prevented her. Gertie knew she wasn’t enough for Hedy. She was a frumpy old woman who cooked kippers and couldn’t remember how to have fun. Why would this young girl want to spend time with her? Charles asserted that it would take time for them to become friends, but Gertie couldn’t imagine this ever happening. Besides, there was a good chance that Hedy’s family would join her in England, and then her role as host would be done. Perhaps it was for the best that their relationship remained fleeting. Like ships that pass in the night.
An atmosphere as closed in as a London smog settled on the house that evening. Gertie sat alone in the living room without even Hemingway for company. Hedy didn’t come down from her room, despite Gertie’s assertions that she needed to eat. The girl was stubborn. Headstrong, as her mother had warned in her letter. Gertie recognized a girl like this from her dim and distant past but couldn’t say she relished sharing a house with her.
Hedy didn’t even wish her a good night, and so Gertie went to bed feeling out of sorts. Not even the emergency Wodehouse volume she kept by the side of her bed for days like these could console her this evening. All tales of Bertie’s capers were shoved out of the way by feverish thoughts that Gertie had made a mistake. She found herself praying that Else Fischer’s efforts to bring her family to England to join their daughter would come to pass sooner rather than later.
Eventually, Gertie fell asleep but was awoken at a little after one by a fearful shriek piercing the darkness. At first she thought it was foxes in the garden, but it was followed by a despairing voice calling out and she realized it was coming from Hedy’s room. Gertie stepped into her slippers and wrapped her dressing gown around herself before emerging onto the landing and peering through the half-open door. The full moon cast a milky light through a gap in the curtains onto Hedy’s anxious face. The girl was mumbling to herself, tossing and turning restlessly in her sleep. Hemingway, who now seemed to have assumed a full-time role as Hedy’s protector, was awake, eyes fixed on her, ready to attack any foe who might spill from her dreams. Hedy’s moans grew louder until she cried out.
“Nein, nein, nein! Lass meinen Bruder gehen!”
Gertie recognized the words from her schoolgirl German.
Let my brother go!
Hemingway barked, and Hedy woke with a start, rubbing her eyes. She reached down to wrap her arms around the dog’s huge head as she sobbed.
“Hemingway, du bist mein bester Freund. Danke. Danke!”
You’re my best friend.
Gertie crept back to her room. The stark echo of this language reminded her that she had a German living under her roof. Germans were their enemies, and yet this was a child. A child in pain. Gertie was used to hearing German screeched by Hitler in the snippets of his speeches broadcast on the radio, but this was different. Hedy was no more a part of the Germany of jackboots and fascism than Gertie was. Gertie tossed and turned for the rest of the night, ashamed that she had allowed some deep-rooted intolerance to rise to the surface. She eventually fell asleep around five and woke a couple of hours later with an unexpected sense of purpose.
At eight o’clock, Gertie knocked on Hedy’s door. “Would you like to come to the bookshop today? Betty is running the book club meeting later and they’re discussing Pride and Prejudice. You could perhaps share your thoughts on the story.” There was a blanket of silence on the other side of the door. Gertie froze, realizing she’d inadvertently acknowledged the fact that she’d been in Hedy’s room. “I was dusting the other day and noticed you’d been reading it, you see,” she added with a wince.
The next sound Gertie heard was a half-hearted groan and the sound of two feet landing on the floor. Moments later, Hedy opened the door a fraction. “Yes,” she said. “I would like. Danke.”
Gertie’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Splendid. I’ll make us some breakfast.”
“Please, Mrs. Bingham?”
“Yes?”
“No kippers today.”
Gertie saw the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, but I thought you said they were delicious.”
Hedy shrugged. “We should save for special times.”
Gertie pursed her lips into a smile. “Tea and toast it is then.”
“I must say your new houseguest is charming,” said Mrs. Constantine, glancing over to where Betty and Hedy were setting up chairs for the book club meeting. “You are a good woman to offer her shelter, Mrs. Bingham. It was the kindness of strangers which saved me when I first came to this country.”
“I can’t help thinking she’d be better off with a proper family,” said Gertie as she wrapped Mrs. Constantine’s latest Agatha Christie novel in brown paper.
“A proper family, you say? And what is that exactly?” Mrs. Constantine gazed at Gertie, her eyes as shiny as sapphires.
“Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere with a mother and father, some siblings perhaps.”
Mrs. Constantine shot Gertie a wry look. “Sometimes the thing you’re looking for is right in front of your nose.”
Gertie stared at her in astonishment. “I would never presume to act as a mother to Hedy and I know she’d hate it,” she said, recalling the look Hedy had given her when she’d politely suggested she take her elbows off the table at breakfast.
“My dear Mrs. Bingham, no one is asking you to take on that role. All anyone needs, particularly in these dark times, is human kindness.”
Gertie glanced at Betty and Hedy, who were giggling together. “I know you’re right, but I can’t help thinking that Hedy needs to be around people her own age.”
“Well, why not enroll her at St. Ursula’s? I know a young girl who came from Poland and went there for a time. The headmistress is a wonderful woman.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Constantine, you’re brilliant. I know Mrs. Huffingham. I’ll telephone her later.”
The old lady nodded her approval, scooped up the paper parcel, and swept toward the back of the shop. “Now then, girls,” she said. “I am very much looking forward to our discussions. I consider myself to be as obstinate and headstrong as Miss Elizabeth Darcy.”
Gertie watched as the others arrived. Miss Snipp was thankfully absent today because of an appointment with the doctor regarding her bunion. Miss Pettigrew was in attendance again and had apparently read the right book this time, and Mr. Reynolds had recovered from his head cold and was telling a bemused Hedy about his collection of eighteenth-century Prussian fusilier caps.
“Fantastically ornate artifacts,” he said, shaking his head in awe. “Like an archbishop’s miter.”