That seemed like a distant memory to Gertie now. Gone was the spark of excitement that used to fizz in her brain as she and Harry carefully chose the book club title. She could barely conjure up the impetus to read these days and certainly lacked enthusiasm for anything new or original. This was the reason she had delegated the role to Betty. She was an avid reader with far more youthful zest than Gertie could muster.
Not only was Betty a welcome addition to Bingham Books’s staff, but she also served as a pleasant antidote to Miss Snipp, who had spent her life forging a successful career in both books and complaining. It had been Harry, naturally, who insisted they employ her after she retired from the library.
“Her bibliographic knowledge is encyclopedic, Gertie,” he said. “There is no one better qualified to source books for our customers.” He had been right of course, but still, Gertie was relieved that she worked only two mornings these days and was largely confined to the makeshift office in the corner of the stockroom.
Her heart sank as Miss Snipp appeared at the door, her face as sour as if she were sucking a sherbet lemon. Gertie decided to try to adopt Harry’s amiable attitude while also feeling decidedly queasy at the conversation that lay ahead.
“Good morning, Miss Snipp,” said Gertie with as much cheer as she could muster. “I trust you are well?”
“Not especially,” she replied with a frown. “My gippy hip has been playing me up dreadfully.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” said Gertie. “Have you tried Epsom salts?”
“Of course. It’s this wretched damp weather,” she said accusingly, as if Gertie were somehow to blame.
“Ah yes, well, there’s not much we can do about that.”
“Hmm. I suppose not. Now, Mrs. Bingham. May I have a moment of your time?”
“Of course.”
Miss Snipp repositioned her glasses on her nose. “It’s about the book club.”
“Oh yes,” said Gertie with a rising sense of dread.
Miss Snipp folded her arms. “I am afraid I’m going to have to resign my position as chairwoman.”
“Chairwoman?” said Gertie in surprise.
Miss Snipp nodded. “It is simply too much for me at my age, and frankly the individuals who attend the meetings these days seem wholly undeserving of my efforts.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Miss Snipp gazed into the distance and shook her head. “They fail to appreciate the magnitude of some of our greatest writers. They are beyond my help.”
“Oh dear.”
“Indeed. So I think it would be best if Miss Godwin took the reins.”
“I see. Well, if you think that’s best.”
Miss Snipp glanced up sharply. “I must say you’re taking this very lightly, Mrs. Bingham.”
Gertie sighed with what she hoped was sufficient gravitas. “Believe me, Miss Snipp, it saddens me greatly, but I fully support your decision.”
Miss Snipp regarded her over the top of her half-moon spectacles. “Well. I best get on,” she said, hobbling toward the back of the shop.
“Good morning, Miss Snipp!” cried Betty as they met in the doorway.
“Is it?” she muttered, before disappearing into the back room.
“Is she all right?” asked Betty, approaching the counter.
“She’s perfectly fine. She’s just delegated her book club responsibilities over to you, so George Eliot it is this month. I hope that meets with your approval?”
“I won’t let you down, Mrs. B.”
Gertie patted her hand. “I know you won’t, dear.”
The day seemed to drag like a spoon through treacle until midmorning, when Barnaby Salmon, the young bespectacled publisher’s representative, appeared. The fact that Betty always stood up straighter, smoothed her dress, and patted her hair whenever he entered the shop was not lost on Gertie, nor was the fact that Mr. Salmon always made sure his appointments fell whenever Betty was working.
“Good morning,” said Gertie.
Barnaby tipped his hat in greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Bingham, Miss Godwin.”
“Mr. Salmon,” said Betty, seeming to grow inches taller under his gaze.
Gertie turned to the young man. “Now, Mr. Salmon, do you think I could leave you in Miss Godwin’s capable hands this morning? She has been assuming more responsibility of late, and I’m keen to encourage her endeavors.”
Mr. Salmon looked as if he’d been offered the keys to the kingdom. “Of course, Mrs. Bingham. It would be my great pleasure.” He turned to Betty. “I have a wonderful new book by Mr. George Orwell which I know you’re going to like, Miss Godwin.”
“How marvelous,” said Betty with a sparkle in her eye.
Gertie smiled. She enjoyed watching their charming bibliophilic romance unfold. It transported her back to the days when she and Harry first met. Such joyful memories. How she missed his disheveled presence.
She was grateful that Betty readily accepted extra responsibility whenever it was offered to her. She told herself that it was important to encourage the younger generation, but deep down Gertie knew she was retreating. Bookselling had been her world, but without Harry, it had lost its magical luster. Every aspect of her life had in fact. His absence was Gertie’s most constant companion. She found herself laying out two cups and saucers for tea, or she would hear something of note or concern on the radio and turn to discuss it with him, or a customer would ask for a book recommendation and she would immediately think of Harry. He had instinctively known what every type of customer would enjoy reading, from the small boy who loved pirates to the elderly retired gentleman with a passion for Shakespeare. Gertie had an instinct for this too of course, but Harry was a natural. She had been the one to deal with publishers, and he had been the one to nurture the customers. There were still people who came into the shop now and asked to speak to him two years on and who always seemed deeply distressed when she told them that he had died. She knew how they felt. Sometimes she would run her hands along the spines of the books on the shelves because Gertie saw Harry in every book, in each page, in every word. It offered some comfort but also a sharp tug of sorrow. Gertie loved their shop, but she loved it most with Harry in it.
“Did you hear me, Mrs. B?”
Gertie blinked away her daydream. “Sorry, dear. What did you say?”
Betty chuckled. “You were in a proper brown study there, Mrs. B. I was just telling you that Mr. Salmon is leaving now. Would you like to check the order? I thought we could make a big thing of the new George Orwell book. I’ll do a window display, if you like?”
Gertie glanced over the docket, grateful to have someone else making the decisions for her. “This looks splendid. Thank you both.”
Mr. Salmon gave a polite bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Bingham. Miss Godwin, I’ll see you on Saturday?”
Betty held his gaze. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good day, ladies,” he said, pausing in the doorway to tilt his head toward Betty in farewell.
“Saturday?” said Gertie after he’d gone.
Betty nodded. “He’s asked me to the pictures. We’re going to see the new James Stewart film. Usually, I’d be giddy about him, but I don’t really give two hoots now.”