“Most of the records of the deceased were destroyed,” said Charles gravely. “I hate to say it, Gertie, but it’s very likely that he ended up in a camp.”
“So you think he’s dead as well?”
“I’m sorry.” He reached out his hand and she squeezed it tightly. “Would you like me to tell Hedy?”
Gertie shook her head. “No. I think she should hear it from me.”
In the absence of a proper resting place, the dedication was Hedy’s tribute to her family. Gertie couldn’t think of a better way to remember the ones you’d loved and lost than to have them immortalized forever in the pages of a story. She was unpacking more copies of Hedy’s book when there was a tap at the front door. She glanced up to see Betty grinning at her through the glass. Gertie unlocked the door and Betty bounded into the shop like a puppy let off its leash.
“Ready for one last hoorah, Mrs. B?” she cried.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, dear.”
For Gertie, the whole day was like sifting through her memories from the past thirty-odd years. Betty and Miss Snipp were there, of course, and all her best and favorite customers called in to say goodbye. Mr. Reynolds had to blow his nose several times, overcome by the thought that she would no longer be there to help him find his next thrilling volume of military history.
Mrs. Constantine was her customary stoical self and nearly moved Gertie to tears when she gifted her the emerald brooch that had belonged to her mother. “Because you have become like a daughter to me,” she told her.
“You will come to Hedy’s party later, won’t you?”
Mrs. Constantine gave her a radiant smile that reminded Gertie of her mother. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dear.”
Margery arrived at a little after four with her usual team of volunteers and delighted Gertie by wheeling out the Old General for tea-making duties. “Now then, Gertie,” she said as they began to decorate the shop with paper streamers recycled from the previous year’s VE celebrations. “What are your plans after Hedy leaves?”
Gertie was used to Margery’s bluntness, but even this question caught her off guard. “Well, I suppose I’ll retire.”
“Retire?” Margery raised her eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“And do what? Sit under a blanket all day?”
“No. I shall tend my garden.”
“Hmm.”
Gertie put her hands on her hips. “Come along, out with it. What do you think I should do?”
Margery inhaled, regarding her with a knowing air. “I’m just a little surprised you’re not moving closer to Hedy.”
Gertie folded her arms. “Margery. Poor Sam and Hedy have been living under my roof for over a year now. They are a married couple. I hardly think they want me moving to the same town.”
Margery shrugged. “I just wouldn’t let my Cynthia move away from me.”
“Cynthia is your daughter. Hedy is my . . .”
“Your what?”
Gertie fixed her with a stern look. “She’s not my daughter, Margery.”
“Yes, but you’ve been a mother to her all these years.”
“I am not her mother.”
Margery held up her hands. “Very well. Very well. I shall save my breath to cool my porridge, as you like to say.”
“Thank you.”
“Besides, I would miss you, Gertie Bingham.”
Gertie laughed. “And I’d miss you, Margery Fortescue.”
“Travers.”
“You’ll always be the great, imperious Margery Fortescue to me.”
Margery nodded with satisfaction. “Jolly good. Now let’s get on, shall we? People will be arriving soon.”
The party was as joyous as Gertie hoped it would be. Hedy and Elizabeth’s editor, Eleanor, gave a short but heartfelt speech about the book and how she couldn’t wait for readers to discover the world of Arno and Gertie. Everyone applauded, and Sam’s eyes glittered with pride as he kissed his wife, while Billy spent most of the evening holding up a copy of the book and telling everyone “my mother drew the pictures and that’s the real Gertie over there.”
Gertie drank it all in like a final delicious cup of Margery’s tea: Miss Snipp whispering with Miss Crow in the corner, Uncle Thomas inviting Mrs. Constantine for lunch at his club, Mr. Higgins regaling Betty and William with a tale of the time he stuffed an armadillo as part of his taxidermy training.
“Penny for them?” asked Charles, appearing at her elbow.
“Oh, just savoring my last moments as a bookseller.”
“Any regrets?”
She gazed up at him and then back toward the merry throng. “Not a single one.”
“Could I have your attention please?”
Gertie looked ’round in surprise to see Hedy addressing the room. She smiled as the collective hushed.
“Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and so it is with Bingham Books.” She turned toward Gertie. “There has been one woman who has lived its story for over thirty years. And I know she wanted this to be a party to celebrate my and Elizabeth’s book, but this is Gertie’s last day at the bookshop, and I think we should all toast everything she has done for us.”
“Three cheers for Gertie Bingham!” cried Billy. The response echoed loud and heartfelt into the night. Gertie blinked back tears as she looked around at the joyful faces, wishing she could photograph this moment. Even Miss Snipp had to borrow Mr. Higgins’s handkerchief.
Gertie sent up a murmured prayer to Harry. “We did it. And didn’t we do it well, my darling?”
Hedy and Gertie were the last to leave the shop, as Sam had offered to escort Mrs. Constantine home. As she locked the door to Bingham Books for the final time, Gertie paused for a moment, gazing up at the sign. “You know Flora and Nicholas have decided to keep the name.”
Hedy smiled. “The story continues.”
“With a new chapter,” said Gertie, as Hedy looped an arm through hers. “Thank you for staying with me to the end, dear.”
“Actually, Gertie, I have a secret I want to tell you.”
Gertie noticed the sparkle in her eyes. “You’re having a baby.”
Hedy grinned. “You see, Gertie? New stories are being written all the time.”
Chapter 26
West Sussex, 1947
We can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.
—George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss
The baby was named Else Gertrude Godwin, and she was as delicious as a peach. Hedy had been telephoning Gertie every day. Shortly before the baby was due, she called in some distress.
“I need you, Gertie. Please, can you come and stay? I can’t do this without you.”
“I want you to take note of the fact that I have resisted the urge to say I told you so,” said Margery as she and Gerald drove her to West Sussex two days later.
“Until now, my love,” said Gerald, raising his eyebrows at Gertie, who sat in the back with Hemingway.
“A girl needs a mother when she’s expecting.”
“I’ve told you before, I’m not her mother, Margery,” said Gertie.