“Yes. Architect,” said Hedy.
“And how old is Arno?”
“Nineteen years old.”
“He’s a handsome young man,” said Gertie, gazing at this boy with his wild hair and laughing eyes.
“He knows this,” said Hedy, her expression vivid with amusement. “Many girls like him.”
“And who is this beautiful dog?”
“Mischa,” said Hedy. “I miss her very much.”
Hemingway approached, sniffing and licking the back of her hand as if sensing that she needed him. Hedy bent down to kiss the top of his head.
Gertie was struck by how carefree they looked. They were a family who clearly enjoyed one another’s company. She could see that Hedy had inherited her beauty from her mother and that Arno was like her father, with dark curly hair and sparkling eyes. Hedy’s breath deepened as if she longed to pull them through the photograph into her arms. “Let’s hope that your family can join you in England soon,” said Gertie.
“I hope also,” Hedy said. She pointed toward Gertie’s wedding photograph, perched on the mantelpiece. “Was that your husband?”
“Yes. That’s Harry and me. He died,” said Gertie, her voice seeming too loud in the silence.
“I am sorry,” said Hedy.
Gertie nodded as they sat side by side staring into the distance. Both alone. Both missing the ones who couldn’t be with them. Neither of them had chosen this situation, and yet here they were, flung together. Two lonely strangers, clinging to the same life raft as the storm raged around them.
“I’ll pour us some tea,” said Gertie.
Chapter 6
You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.
—John Bunyan
“Come along, Hedy,” called Gertie with a note of exasperation. “You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
Hedy appeared on the landing wearing a starched white blouse teamed with a dark navy pinafore and a petulant frown. “I never wear uniform in my German school,” she said, plodding down the stairs. “Soldiers wear uniforms, not schoolgirls.”
“Well, you look jolly smart,” said Gertie, trying to keep her tone light and encouraging. She hadn’t realized how opinionated fifteen-year-old girls could be. Or how their moods could change like a coin flipping from heads to tails. Gertie had decided that the best course of action was to stay calm and steer a steady ship until Hedy’s parents arrived. After that, she could hand her over safe in the knowledge that she had done her best.
“It is, how do we say, kratzig?” said Hedy, pulling at her collar.
“Itchy?”
“Yes. Very itchy.”
“You’re probably just a bit hot and bothered. You’ll get used to it. Wait a moment, though.” Gertie spotted a bobble of fluff on Hedy’s back and reached out a finger to brush it off. The girl ducked away with a scowl. Gertie took a deep breath. Else Fischer couldn’t arrive soon enough. “Right. Spit spot, as Mary Poppins would say.”
Hedy rolled her eyes before trooping out the door after Gertie.
The redbrick exterior of St. Ursula’s School for Girls was as bright and smart as the cheerful swarms of girls who thronged its polished marble corridors. Gertie could see the excitement in Hedy’s face as they climbed the steps into the vast echoing entrance hall, where Dorothy Huffingham greeted them as if they’d known one another all their lives.
“I think you’ll enjoy your time here, Hedy. We certainly expect you to excel in German class. Now, if you will follow me, I’ll give you the grand tour and then take you to your form.” As she led them around the school, Gertie glimpsed classrooms of girls reciting French and spied an energetic hockey match through the window. “We encourage our girls to undertake academic and extracurricular activities,” said Mrs. Huffingham. “To my mind, both are important for the development of a young woman’s brain. I also don’t believe that we should be limited by dint of the fact that we are the so-called fairer sex.”
Gertie dearly wished that this woman had been teaching when she was a child. She and the school she ran seemed to positively fizz with hopeful ideas and possibility.
Gertie’s own memory of school had been somewhat colored by the circumstances under which she was forced to attend. The early part of her education had been served by a governess, an austere yet well-informed woman called Miss Gibb, whose nostrils flared like a racehorse’s whenever Gertie did something to displease her. In Gertie’s memory they were perpetually flared. One day, Miss Gibb’s patience snapped.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Arnold, but your daughter’s insolence is simply too much to bear. She questions everything I say. I am left with no alternative but to hand in my notice.”
Gertie, who had been listening at the door, hid behind the large cherrywood hallstand as Miss Gibb emerged. After she’d gone, Gertie dashed up the stairs to tell Jack the good news. “I’ve got rid of Old Gibface,” she cried, dancing around the room with glee.
“Golly. I bet Mama’s as angry as a hornet.”
“Gertrude,” said her mother, appearing in the doorway.
Gertie jumped. Her mother never called her Gertrude. Her father used her full name on a semiregular basis, usually when she brought a book to the dinner table or fed Gladstone, their ancient overweight spaniel, tidbits from her plate. Gertie could tell that Lilian had heard her daughter’s words. She seemed to glow with incandescent rage. “Yes, Mama?” asked Gertie, trying to look as cheerful and innocent as possible.
Lilian’s voice was brisk and clipped. “As you no longer have a governess, I have telephoned St. Margaret’s School for Girls. You will start there tomorrow.”
“St. Margaret’s? Oh, Mama, please no!”
Lilian held up her hand. “It is decided, Gertie. You have a magnificent curiosity, my child, and it is time for you to be schooled with your peers so that you may develop that curiosity.”
“But I like learning at home.”
Lilian’s face softened slightly. “You’ve outgrown the nest, Gertie. You need to be challenged, and the teachers and girls there will challenge you. It won’t be easy, but it will transform you. I promise.”
Jack whispered behind his hand. “Bet you wish you’d been nicer to Old Gibface now.”
They stopped outside a door marked “5B.”
“Here we are. This is your form, Hedy.” Mrs. Huffingham pushed open the door.
The twenty or so girls rose from behind their desks as one. “Good morning, Mrs. Huffingham,” they chorused.
“Good morning, girls. Good morning, Miss Peacock,” she said to the teacher. “This is Hedy Fischer, who will be joining your form.”
Miss Peacock, a slight young woman with a gentle expression and the daintiest nose Gertie had ever seen, moved forward to greet her. “Welcome, Hedy. Come in. I’ve asked Audrey to look after you.”
Audrey wore round gold spectacles and two neat plaits and was several inches taller than her diminutive teacher. She stepped toward them with a friendly wave. Hedy joined her new friend without a backward glance, while Gertie did her best to dismiss her bruised pride. What did you expect? she told herself. You’re not her mother. Besides, she’s exactly where she needs to be.