“Of course,” said Gertie. She threw Hedy a wide-eyed look. “Back in a tick.”
Gerald cared for the gardens surrounding the village hall with the doting tenderness of a new father. Sweetly scented wallflowers clustered with daffodils and tulips, all nodding in the gentle breeze. It was a glorious spring day with barely a wisp of cloud. In direct opposition to the beauty of the scene, Margery stood grim-faced with arms folded in front of an elder tree.
“Is everything all right?” asked Gertie.
Margery inhaled and exhaled. If she’d been a dragon, she would have definitely produced a plume of smoke. “We are friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course.”
“Then I can speak frankly with you?”
“Absolutely,” said Gertie, with a rising sense of dread.
Margery spoke slowly, enunciating each word for emphasis. “Mr. Travers has invited me to tea. At his house.”
“I see.” Gertie waited for more information, but Margery remained tight-lipped. “Anything else?”
Margery stared at her in alarm. “Isn’t that sufficient?”
Gertie narrowed her eyes as she tried to understand. “Forgive me, Margery, but what is the issue with you having tea with Mr. Travers?”
Margery threw up her arms. “I am a woman on my own, and he is a gentleman on his own. It wouldn’t be seemly,” she cried.
“Oh, I see. You’re concerned about the impropriety.”
Margery’s eyes bulged. “It would cause a scandal, Gertie.”
“Oh. Oh dear.” Gertie sensed that this matter required the softest of kid gloves. “Well, would you like to have tea with Mr. Travers?”
Margery’s face softened. “I think I would.”
“Then how would it be if I came with you? To act as chaperone.”
“You would do that?”
“Of course, Margery. We’re friends, after all.”
Margery astounded Gertie by pulling her into an embrace. “Thank you, Gertie. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Gertie patted her on the back. “It’s quite all right.”
Margery pulled away and smoothed down her uniform. “Gosh. I apologize for that outburst. I’m not sure what came over me. Right. We’ll never win this war if we stand around gossiping. Back to it.”
“Back to it,” repeated Gertie, ready to follow her. Before she left, she spied her disgruntled customer from earlier, sitting at one corner of the garden in the sunshine, a gentle smile on his face, his copy of Gone with the Wind open in front of him. “Everyone needs a little romance,” she murmured.
A few weeks later, Betty was granted leave, and Gertie seized the opportunity to invite her for supper. She and Hedy were in high spirits as they prepared the table, laying out Gertie’s best china and cutlery. Gertie had saved their rations so that three pork chops were waiting in the larder ready for the pan, and Hedy had made a plum cake using Gertie’s preserved fruit from the previous year. She had also cut a few stems of blossom from the garden and was arranging them artfully in a vase when there was a knock at the door. They hurried to answer with Hemingway close on their heels.
“ASO Betty Godwin reporting for duty,” said Betty with a grin. “I had to wear the uniform. It’s a bit scratchy, but I think it’s pretty stylish.”
“Oh, Hedy, doesn’t she look wonderful?” cried Gertie.
“Very smart,” said Hedy. “That blue really suits you. Come in so we can get a better look at you.”
Betty sashayed into the hall, striking a pose like a Hollywood starlet on the red carpet before dissolving into laughter and hugging them both. “It’s good to see you,” she said as they made their way to the kitchen. “My brother is a prize plum, but I’m so glad we’re going to be sisters,” she told Hedy. “And I hear you’re chumming up with Mrs. Fortescue and the WVS too, Mrs. B. Is she still as terrifying as ever?”
“She has her moments,” said Gertie. “Now, tell us all about what you’ve been up to while I prepare supper.”
Betty’s eyes lit up as she spoke. “I’m having the time of my life.”
“That’s wonderful, dear,” said Gertie.
“I mean, it’s hard going, but I feel as if I’m actually doing something to help win the war.”
“Is the work difficult?” asked Hedy.
“We’re not allowed to talk about the nitty-gritty of it, but we get all the training. It’s jolly interesting too. We’ve got a terrific group of girls in our station. Lots about your age, Hedy. We rub along very well and have some fun, going into town. There’s a dance hall and a theater. Oh, and I’ve met a chap.”
“What’s he like?” asked Hedy, eyes glittering with excitement.
“He’s an American. William Hardy. I told him I was coming to visit you, and he sent this.” Betty produced a bar of Hershey’s Tropical Chocolate from her bag.
Hedy stared at her. “Chocolate?”
“They’ve got tons of the stuff. And nylons and cigarettes. Speaking of which, do you mind if I smoke, Mrs. B?”
“Not at all,” said Gertie, reaching into the cupboard for the ashtray she reserved for Uncle Thomas’s expensive Cuban cigars.
“Our superior is a bit of a curmudgeon, but he likes me. Told me I was better than half the chaps he’d worked with,” said Betty.
“It sounds so interesting,” said Hedy.
“It’s not all beer and skittles. We lost one of the girls during a raid the other night,” Betty said, inhaling on her cigarette. “Every day you hear about someone’s sweetheart being killed. It teaches you to live in the moment, that’s for sure.”
“Dinner is served,” said Gertie, placing plates of chops, homegrown potatoes, cabbage, and carrots in front of them.
“Golly, this is a treat,” said Betty. “Thank you, Mrs. B. Air force rations aren’t bad, but there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal.”
They were poised with knives and forks when the siren wailed. “Supper in the shelter?” said Gertie. Hedy and Betty laughed as they picked up their plates and followed her out the door into the cool night air.
The next morning, Billy came to the bookshop early to help with preparations for the children’s air-raid book club. Although raids had become less prevalent, there were still blackouts to contend with, and local mothers were grateful to Gertie and Hedy for providing any diversion. The children also liked to gather once a month in the bookshop shelter.
“It’s so cozy,” said one little girl called Daisy. “Much nicer than our shelter at home, and I love the smell of the books.”
“I like it because it’s dark and we can tell ghost stories,” said a little boy called Wilfred, who invariably had a smut of soot on the end of his nose.
Today, Billy was helping Hedy fashion a dozen eye patches in readiness for their discussion on Treasure Island. He took his book club assistant role very seriously and had a keen eye for the details of the story. He was consequently very strict with his fellow book club members and sent Wilfred home once when he couldn’t name Tom Sawyer’s aunt.