The Last Bookshop in London: A Novel of World War II(6)

“How did it go with Mr. Evans?” Mrs. Weatherford sat forward in the burgundy armchair.

Grace’s cheeks burned, but she managed to force a smile and act nonchalant. “I believe he is not looking to hire an assistant.”

“Why ever would you assume such a thing?” Mrs. Weatherford asked.

Grace shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The gas mask box on its slender string bounced against her hip. “He told me as much.”

Mrs. Weatherford pushed upright with a harrumph. “Colin, put the kettle on.”

He looked up at his mother from where he sat on the floor beside Tabby with a spoon perched between his large fingers. “Will you take your tea out here?”

“It’s not for me.” She hastened to the stairs. “It’s for Grace, who is no doubt in sore need of a cuppa while I go have a word with Mr. Evans.”

“Wait.” Viv put a hand to Colin’s shoulder before he could leave.

She gave Tabby a scratch on the head and popped up from where she sat on the floor beside them. “Better than tea, let us go explore London.” She fanned her hands toward Grace. “You’re already dressed so nicely and I don’t have my appointment until tomorrow afternoon. Let’s go have a look about the city.”

Viv’s appointment was an interview at Harrods, secured in part by Colin with his influence of having worked there for several years, and also by her recommendation letter. While her position was indeed enviable, Grace would never begrudge her friend’s happiness.

And as much as Grace didn’t want to leave the cool quiet of the house, Viv’s smile was so wide with excitement, Grace found she could not say no.

Viv readied herself with such haste, she descended the stairs the same time as Mrs. Weatherford, both with their hats pinned into place and neat heels clicking over the polished wood surface.

“You mark my words.” Mrs. Weatherford glanced in a small mirror hanging beside the front door and adjusted the brim of her angular black hat. “Mr. Evans will hire you if he knows what’s good for him.”

Grace wished she could protest, to stoutly deny her need for a job or the kind help Mrs. Weatherford offered. But, alas, she could not refuse her charity. Uncle Horace had seen to that with his refusal to write a proper letter of recommendation. After so many years of restoring his shop, it seemed painfully unfair. Unfair and cruel.

Before she could even try to stop Mrs. Weatherford, the older woman disappeared out the front door, huffing with determination.

Viv took Grace’s hand. “Let us go see the gem that is London, darling,” she said in her finest “high society” inflection.

Grace couldn’t help but smile at that and allowed her friend to pull her off to explore, leaving Colin with Tabby.

The women were soon swept up in the fast-moving city, amid tall buildings plastered with brightly colored adverts and the rumbles and honks of traffic. They darted and dashed through it all, keeping to the quick pace of city life with each hastened step.

But London was not the gem they had anticipated. Her sparkle had been dulled by the effects of an oncoming war, glued together with scrim tape and apprehension. Her shine was masked behind walls of sandbags and her soul unearthed to make way for shelters and trenches.

Such warnings were impossible to ignore.

In Drayton, where an attack was less likely, some preparations had been apparent. But there, the tape lining the windows had been idle amusement, and the greatest lurking fear was rationing rather than bombing. In London, such actions were done with blood-chilling necessity.

The evidence could be pushed aside temporarily, of course. Like when Grace and Viv entered Harrods for the first time and encountered the elaborate scrollwork along the ceilings, the Egyptian painted columns and exquisite fanning lights. The store went on as far as the fields in Drayton, each new department more exciting and elaborate than the last. There were silk scarves so fine, it felt like Grace was touching air, and perfumes set behind glittering glass counters that scented the air with an expensive musk.

The most fascinating by far was Pet Kingdom where Colin worked. The baby elephant he’d spent the night soothing now frolicked about in a pile of clean hay while a leopard cub raked its textured pink tongue over its pelt and watched them with curious green eyes.

“Imagine,” Grace said dreamily as they left the animals and drifted through the other departments. “You will soon work here as a shopper’s assistant.”

“And you’d be with me,” Viv whispered. “If you’d let me write you a letter of recommendation as well.”

Grace’s excitement wilted somewhat at the reminder of where she’d end up instead if Mr. Evans caved to Mrs. Weatherford. He seemed a brusque man in a store filled with wares she knew little about.

And yet she could not bring herself to present a false letter of recommendation. She’d never been good at lying, going all red about the face and tripping over her words. No doubt she’d fumble falsified information just as greatly. Still, she knew Viv wouldn’t let it drop unless given some sort of concession.

“Perhaps if no further opportunities are presented, I may reconsider,” Grace said slowly.

Viv’s face lit up. “Consider it done.”

“Only if no further opportunities are presented,” Grace repeated, suddenly hopeful Mrs. Weatherford might get her way with Mr. Evans.