“Am I being foolish?” asked Gertie.
Lilian shook her head. “No, my darling. I felt very similarly at your age.”
“And what did you do?”
Lilian looked wistful. “I got a dog.”
Gertie laughed. “You mean Pip?”
Lilian nodded. “He saved my marriage, Gertie.”
“Gosh.”
Lilian turned to her daughter. “We must learn to be content in our lives, but we don’t need to put up with them if we’re unhappy. The ground is hot. It’s advisable to keep moving.”
Hemingway gave a half-hearted whine, drawing Gertie back to the present. She ruffled the top of his head. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, leading him away. “We should keep moving. Clever boy.”
Chapter 24
It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.
—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
The woman at the Red Cross Committee offices was extremely apologetic.
“We simply don’t have the information at the moment. I’m so very sorry,” she told them.
Gertie stared at her and then back to Hedy’s ashen, pinched face. Where the end of the war had brought peace to so many people, it brought nothing but uncertainty for Hedy. Whomever they asked and however hard they tried, no one seemed able to provide a definitive answer as to where her family had ended up and whether they were still alive. All Gertie wanted was to be able to help her discover the truth. She had watched Hedy grow from a spirited young girl into a fearless young woman. Now, it felt as if Hedy’s fight was draining from her, and all the hope she’d nurtured for so many years was fading like a photograph in the sun.
“Well, when do you think you will have the information?” asked Gertie, longing to reignite some of that hope.
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. You can of course submit a request and I will do my very best to help.” She slid a form toward Hedy. “I’m desperately sorry.”
“Thank you,” said Hedy in a small voice. Gertie’s heart clenched with frustration. Everyone was sorry. An apology. A note of sympathy. A sorrowful expression. As the horror of the Jews’ systematic persecution became public knowledge, it was all anyone could offer. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Gertie knew this and could see how it weighed upon Hedy.
As they sat by the bank of the Thames later, staring out toward the barges and boats punting their way back and forth, Hedy asked, “Do you think I’ll ever find out what happened to them?”
Gertie took her hand. “I can’t say for sure, but I do know that they wouldn’t want it to stop you living your life.”
Tears sprang to Hedy’s eyes, and Gertie wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they sat in silence, gazing out across the silty gray water. When Hedy began to cough, Gertie handed her a handkerchief and patted her back until she recovered, staring grimly at the billowing chimneys and smog-blanketed sky.
“I think you should consider moving out of London,” she told Hedy and Sam later that evening. “It would be much better for Hedy’s health.” She thought of Harry and the rasping cough that eventually led to his death.
Sam gazed at his wife. “What do you think, my love?”
“But what about the bookshop?” she said. “I can’t leave Gertie in the lurch.”
Gertie waved away her concerns. “Your health is far more important. I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”
After they said good night later, Gertie was tidying up in the kitchen when she heard a sound behind her. She turned to see Hedy standing in the doorway. “Is everything all right, dear?”
Hedy didn’t reply. She just threw her arms around Gertie’s neck and hugged her. Gertie held her close as they stood for a long moment, the pale moonlight kissing their cheeks through the window.
The little white house with its brilliant blue front door was perfect. It was one of half a dozen old fishermen’s cottages just a stone’s throw away from the pebble beach. The garden surrounding it was filled with rosemary, crocosmia, and sea holly, and the sea could be glimpsed from the top window. Sam had been insistent that Gertie come with them to see it. The Sunday drive had transported her back to that perfect day trip just before the war started. How much had happened in those six years, how the world had turned on its head, displaying the very best and absolute worst of humanity.
“What do you think?” asked Sam after the agent had shown them ’round. “It’s only ten minutes from the town where my offices will be, and we’re so close to the beach. Lots of sea air will do you the power of good.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” said Gertie.
Hedy gazed at them both. “As long as there’s space for Gertie and Hemingway to stay, I’m happy.”
A week or so later, Miss Snipp approached Gertie wearing a grave expression. “I have a pressing matter which I need to discuss with you, Mrs. Bingham,” she said. Despite their long association, the pair had never quite vaulted the precipice from last to first names. In some ways, Gertie found this reassuring. Too much was changing, and she had come to rely on the punctilious presence of Miss Snipp.
“Of course,” said Gertie. “But I do hope you’re not about to hand in your notice. I’m not sure I could bear it.”
Miss Snipp looked stricken. “Did Philomena tell you?” she said.
“Oh,” said Gertie. “No. No, she did not. I was joking but now I see.”
“Yes,” said Miss Snipp, surprising Gertie as a bloom of pink spread across her cheeks. “Mr. Higgins has proposed, you see, and I thought it only appropriate that I give you sufficient notice.”
Gertie stared at her for a moment before darting forward and kissing an astonished Miss Snipp on both cheeks. “Oh, but this is wonderful, wonderful news. I’m delighted for you both.”
Miss Snipp offered a rare smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Bingham. I must confess that I am very happy.”
“I’m not surprised. Mr. Higgins is a fine man.”
“Indeed,” said Miss Snipp with sparkling eyes. “Thank you.” She was about to retreat when she stopped. “May I say something else?”
“Of course.”
Miss Snipp paused before she spoke as if picking over her words like shells on the beach. “I wanted to tell you what a pleasure it has been to work for you and your dear late husband.”
“Oh,” said Gertie. “I’m very pleased to hear it.”
Miss Snipp nodded. “And you know it’s never too late, Mrs. Bingham.”
“Too late?”
“To find happiness.” She held Gertie’s gaze for a second before plucking a copy of The Pursuit of Love from the bookshelf to send to a customer. “You just have to know where to look,” she said over her shoulder.
The weeds had spiraled into a chaotic tangle around Harry’s grave since Gertie’s last visit. She pulled out the sticky goosegrass and cleared as many of the oxalis and dandelions as she could before replacing the previous week’s flowers with sweet-smelling peach roses. “Cut for you this morning, my darling,” said Gertie as Hemingway lay panting in the sunshine. She had noticed him slowing down of late and felt herself slow with him.