“Leave it to me, Gertie. I know what to do.”
Miss Snipp was already sorting through orders as Gertie and Hedy arrived at the bookshop the next day with Hemingway in tow. “Cup of tea, Miss Snipp?” said Gertie. “Hedy’s baked some ginger biscuits this morning.”
Miss Snipp narrowed her eyes. “Do you require a favor, Mrs. Bingham?”
“I would welcome your advice, Miss Snipp. If you can spare the time.” Gertie had known Eleanora Snipp long enough to understand that she needed to tread carefully. She was not a woman to embrace change with open arms. It had taken her a good five years to accept that women had been given the right to vote. She would still mention it with a shiver of disdain to this day.
“Very well,” said Miss Snipp.
“Well, given the success of the Air Raid Book Club, I was considering extending this to prisoners of war.”
Miss Snipp blinked. “Prisoners of war,” she echoed.
“Indeed. But of course I wouldn’t consider such an undertaking without speaking to you first.”
Miss Snipp gave a grave nod.
“So I would welcome the benefit of your wisdom as to what type of administrative undertaking might be required for such a task?” said Gertie, knowing full well that she would have the answers at her fingertips.
“Well,” said Miss Snipp with a labored sigh. “There is a great deal of paperwork and of course liaison with the relevant authorities—the Joint War Organisation, the International Red Cross, and so on—not to mention the additional packing materials required.”
“Hmm,” said Gertie. “That sounds like a lot of extra work. Perhaps it isn’t worth the bother. Hedy, I know you would dearly like to be able to send books to Sam and his fellow POWs, but I think it’s going to be too mammoth a task. You do understand, don’t you, dear?”
Hedy bit her lip to suppress her amusement. “Of course.”
Miss Snipp stared at Gertie as if she’d just suggested the Allies immediately surrender. “We will find a way,” she said.
“Are you sure?” asked Gertie.
“Of course.” She gestured toward Hedy. “Anything to help this poor girl.”
Hedy rushed forward and threw her arms around Miss Snipp’s neck. “Oh, my dear Miss Snipp. You’re a peach. I will help you in any way I can. Thank you.”
Miss Snipp blinked in amazement, offering Hedy a stiff pat on the back in reply. “Yes, well, dear. We must all do our bit. But we may need extra help parceling them up, Mrs. Bingham,” she said with a reproachful stare.
“Leave it with me,” said Gertie, heading for the door.
“The POW book club, you say?” said Margery as they took a turn around the village hall gardens.
Gertie nodded. “My brother was a POW during the Great War and was always grateful when I sent him books. He loved The Thirty-Nine Steps, so I thought we could make it our first choice.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
Gertie nodded. “He died in the camp. There was an outbreak of typhus.”
Margery held her gaze for a moment before giving a grave nod. “Tell me what needs to be done.”
“Well, I thought we could set ourselves up as a distribution center and send out books as part of the Red Cross food and recreation parcels.”
Margery paused to admire a large rose bloom the color of a ripening peach. She inhaled, closing her eyes as the exquisite fragrance filled her nostrils. “I think it’s a splendid idea, Gertie.”
“I hoped you would.” Gertie watched her friend for a moment. “I must say you’re looking particularly radiant, Margery. May I ask if this has anything to do with Mr. Travers?”
Margery threw her a dreamy look. “He’s asked me to a dance.”
“A dance?”
She nodded. “On Saturday. I was wondering if you’d care to join us?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . .”
“Come along, Gertie. Shouldn’t we be grasping for these little moments of joy when we can? Who knows what tomorrow may bring.”
“True.”
“So you’ll come?”
Gertie sighed. “Very well. I’ll ask my old friend Charles Ashford to accompany me.”
“Splendid,” said Margery.
They turned out of the garden in the direction of the high street.
“Any luck at the recruitment office?”
Gertie shook her head.
“What utter tomfoolery,” said Margery. “Aren’t they always telling us to be up and at ’em? Surely we need all the brilliant young women we can muster to help with the war effort.”
They had reached the bookshop when Margery noticed Gerald browsing through the window. She gestured for Gertie to follow her.
“Mr. Travers,” she said by way of greeting, sweeping in through the door. “Aren’t you in need of a new ARP warden?”
Gerald glanced up from the George Orwell novel he was perusing, apparently unsurprised by her direct line of questioning. “I am.”
“Well, don’t you think this young lady would be perfect for the job?” said Margery, gesturing toward Hedy.
Gerald appraised her for a moment. “I do.”
“Really?” cried Hedy. “But won’t you get into trouble with the recruitment office?”
Gerald tapped the side of his nose. “What they don’t know won’t harm them. Training starts tomorrow at six sharp. Don’t be late.”
Gertie opened her wardrobe with an air of defeat. It had been years since she’d had cause to dress up, and she couldn’t remember the last time she attended a dance. Surely she was too old to be gadding about anymore. She rummaged through the garments, stroking the smooth cool pleats of her turquoise silk ball gown and wondering why on earth she’d kept it. Gertie could only ever recall wearing it once to one of her uncle’s literary dinners and that must have been at least twenty years ago. Really she should have donated it to the war effort. She could imagine Margery transforming it into at least a dozen handkerchiefs.
“Oh this is hopeless,” she cried, staring at the columns of frumpy skirts and plain old dresses.
“Are you all right?” asked Hedy, appearing in the doorway, eyeing the curlers in Gertie’s hair and the look of desperation on her face.
“What does one wear to dances these days?” said Gertie.
Hedy shrugged. “Nothing fancy. Just a nice dress and good shoes for dancing. Would you like me to help you?”
“Yes please. And if you could teach me the Charleston while you’re at it, that would be splendid.”
Hedy laughed. “I don’t think you need to worry. You should just enjoy yourself.” Gertie knew she was right and yet, the idea felt so alien. When was the last time she had done anything for the sheer joy of it? Was that even allowed when the world was in turmoil? Then she looked at Hedy with all her cares and worries. She kept cheerful, went to the cinema or out dancing with her friends. She kept going because, what else could you do? Life ticked along and all you could do was tick along with it. “I think you should wear this,” said Hedy, retrieving a navy-colored tea dress with a tiny white apple blossom design. “It’s so pretty.”