“I’d forgotten I had that,” said Gertie.
“Would you like me to style your hair?” she asked. “I used to help Mama prepare for her concerts so I know how to.”
Gertie smiled. “I would like that very much. Thank you, my dear.”
Charles was waiting for Gertie in the hall as she made her way down the stairs a while later. “I feel as if I’m watching a Hollywood star descend the red carpet,” he said, framing his hands and pretending to take a photograph.
“It’s all because of Hedy. She picked my outfit and styled my hair,” she said, patting at her neatly coiffured curls.
“Bravo, Hedy,” said Charles. “You look beautiful, Gertie.” He took her hand and kissed it before offering his arm. “Shall we?”
“See you later,” called Gertie over her shoulder.
“Have fun,” said Hedy, waving from the doorstep with Hemingway sitting faithfully by her side.
Gertie needn’t have worried about being too old for the Orchid Ballroom. Most of the couples dancing that evening were either in their sixties or young women in pairs. Regardless of this fact, the hall was buzzing with a certain carefree energy as people enjoyed a welcome escape from the drudgery of their wartime existence. A three-piece band complete with singer was playing “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” as they arrived, making it impossible not to be enticed immediately onto the dance floor. Fortunately for Gertie, Charles was similarly lacking in dance experience, but they made a passable attempt at keeping up with the assembled company, managing to move around the dance floor without crushing each other’s toes. Gerald and Margery, on the other hand, proved to be extremely elegant dancers, receiving many admiring glances for their stylish waltz. Apparently, as well as being an aspiring opera singer in her youth, Margery had been a promising dancer, while Gerald and Beryl had danced together ever since they met at school at the age of twelve. Gertie soon forgot her lack of ability. She found herself following Hedy’s advice as she fell into a fit of helpless giggling during her and Charles’s failed attempt to keep up with “Pennsylvania Polka.”
“I think this could be our cue for a rest,” said Charles.
“Jolly good idea,” said Gertie, allowing him to lead her to the plush red sofas at the side of the hall and sinking gratefully into the seat beside him. The band had struck up a Charleston, and they watched in surprise as the crowd parted to reveal Gerald and Margery and a handful of other dancers taking center stage. “Margery Fortescue never ceases to amaze me,” said Gertie to Charles, watching them swivel and kick their way back and forth.
“We rather missed out on the Charleston, didn’t we?” he said.
Gertie laughed. “True. Harry had two left feet, so we never really went dancing, but I must say I’m having a wonderful time.”
“Me too.”
“It almost makes you forget there’s a war on, doesn’t it?”
“I think that’s the only way to endure it sometimes.”
“I’ve learned that trick from Hedy,” said Gertie.
“She seems cheerful, all things considered.”
Gertie nodded. “I’m proud of her. Gerald is training her up as an ARP warden. Don’t tell her I said this, but I’m relieved she wasn’t able to sign up for war work. At least I’ll know where she is.”
“You sound like a mother hen.”
“Good.”
Charles reached over and took her hand. “You know, I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but the one thing I will never regret is asking you to take in a child. It has transformed you, Gertie. I never thought I’d see you this happy again.”
She regarded him for a moment. That kind, handsome face of a sweet soul, who reminded her so much of Harry. Whether it was the music or the sensation of his hand in hers, Gertie had a sudden flash of memory to what it was like to be young and in love. It made her heart rise with a tide of unexpected hope. “Neither did I,” she said.
Chapter 18
His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joy
Sent little leaps and laughs through all my frame.
—George Eliot, “Brother and Sister”
The two letters arrived within days of each other. The first was from Sam. He would always send Hedy a long letter during the first week of every month followed by two postcards in the second and fourth week. Hedy’s face was transformed whenever she spied one among that day’s post. She would clutch the envelope to her heart, stealing away to read it alone in her room. In the evening, she would sit with Gertie in the living room recounting his anecdotes. Gertie was fond of Sam and his amusing stories. He had a good friend in the camp called Harris, and together they would stage shows to keep everyone entertained. The pair would dress up as a couple of aristocratic old women and sing songs in high-pitched voices. Apparently, even some of the German prison guards enjoyed these revues.
The second letter arrived two days later. Gertie’s pulse quickened as she spotted the German script and Swiss postmark. “Hedy!” she cried. “Hedy, you must come at once.”
Hedy hurried down the stairs with Hemingway close on her heels. “What is it?”
Gertie held out the envelope. Hedy accepted it with trembling fingers. “Arno,” she whispered, staring at the letters as if daring to hope that he might materialize from within them.
“Do you want to read it alone?” asked Gertie. Hedy shook her head. “Come through to the kitchen then. We’ll read it together.”
They sat at the table with Hemingway bolt upright beside them, as if he understood the significance of this moment. Hedy unfolded the blue parchment paper and stared at the words in surprise. “He has written in English.”
“Probably to stop too many prying German eyes from reading it,” said Gertie.
Hedy took a deep breath. “My dearest Hedchen.” She paused as the tears began to trickle down her cheeks.
“Would you like me to read it, dear?” asked Gertie gently. Hedy nodded. Gertie took the letter from her shaking hands and began:
My dearest Hedchen, my darling sister,
I can only hope and pray that this letter reaches you safely. I have entrusted it to someone who I am sure will not let me down, but you can never be certain in this war. I must be quick in my writing as I do not have much time. I am safe, working in a factory in Poland. I was lucky to get this job and am grateful for it. The last time I saw Mama and Papa was when we traveled east, and apart from hunger, they were both in good health. I hope you have found a happy life in England. I think about you often, about afternoons strolling through the Englischer Garten with you, eating Pfeffernüsse . . .
Hedy let out a sob. Hemingway rested his huge warm head in her lap.
“Shall I stop, dear?”
Hedy shook her head, cuddling the dog to her as Gertie continued.
. . . talking about our plans for the future. I was going to build the tallest skyscraper in Europe, bigger than the Empire State Building, and you were going to write books, adventure stories of brave girls and boys beating the villains. I hope we still get those dreams, my dear Hedchen, and I hope the brave girls and boys beat the villains in the end. I miss you so much and I love you even more. I hope you are impressed by your lazy German brother’s English. I expect your English is better than the Queen’s by now.