Whooping cough, and Ivy cringed. An epidemic was raging amongst Jersey’s children, and little Penny had fought off diphtheria less than a year ago.
“Mary!” A woman ran across the street—Doris des Forges Mollet, Ivy’s childhood friend.
“Good afternoon, Dor—”
“You’re not seeing Dr. Picot, are you? Haven’t you heard?”
Oh no. Ivy stopped pedaling, and she set a foot on the ground to brace herself.
“Heard?” Mary turned with one hand on the doorknob.
“They’re collaborators, the lot of them,” Doris said. “Last Saturday night, my husband and I saw Fern and a German officer in a—shall we say, anamorousembrace. Right in the street for all to see.”
“Oh, Fern,” Ivy whispered.
Mary looked up at the façade of La Bliue Brise, the blue trim peeling now with wartime restrictions on painting. “We’ve always come to the Picots.”
“Suit yourself.” Doris hefted her chin. “If you enter that door, we’ll all know you’re a collaborator too.”
Mary lowered her hand and her gaze, and she cradled Penny’s whooping little head to her chest and trudged up the street, away from Ivy.
The pain of it slammed Ivy in the chest, punched the breath outof her. Penny Surcouf was the first baby Ivy had delivered in Jersey. Ivy had seen her through diphtheria. Now the Surcouf family had left the practice.
Because of Fern.
Ivy walked her bicycle around the back of the house and into the supply room, praying all the way.
She hated disharmony, but Ivy wasn’t sounding the sour notes. Fern was.
Aunt Ruby sat at the receptionist’s desk, smiling at Ivy.
Ivy shook her head. “Penny Surcouf won’t be coming. The family is leaving the practice.”
“Not another one.”
“Is Fern home?”
“Yes.” Aunt Ruby directed a dark look at the ceiling. “Preparing for her evening out.”
With that German officer, and Ivy turned and ascended the stairs. Instead of fury, Ivy felt nothing but sad conviction.
For most of her life, Ivy had adored her sister, leaned on her, and looked up to her. But Fern apparently loved Ivy’s dependence and admiration far more than she loved Ivy.
Fern’s door stood ajar, and she sat at her dressing table pinning up her sable curls into a fashionable style.
Ivy stood a few feet behind her. “Another family left the practice.”
“Dear, oh dear.” Fern met her gaze in the mirror. “You were late again?”
“I was ten minutes early.” Ivy’s voice sounded remarkably calm. “Doris Mollet told my patient she saw you publicly kissing your German lover.”
A flash of shame in Fern’s brown eyes. A flush of red across her high cheekbones. “Don’t be crass.” Her voice quivered.
She hadn’t denied it, but Ivy’s breath still came slow and steady. “You’re betraying Bill.”
Fern’s fingers flew over the pins and curls high on her head.“Bill abandoned me. He doesn’t appreciate me, but Helmut does. Helmut dotes on me.”
“You’re betraying your country. Bill is fighting for Britain, and you’re carrying on with the enemy.”
