‘I went into Agatha Christie’s publishers; when they heard about the popularity ofCards on the Tableduring the Occupation, they donated one hundred and fifty signed copies.’
‘Genius, Grace!’ Beth exclaimed. ‘She was the best-read author in an air raid.’
‘It must’ve been tough for you, Grace,’ Clara said softly. ‘I can’t imagine what it was like living under Nazi rule.’
Grace looked down and shrugged. ‘We coped.’ Joyce got the impression she wasn’t ready to share her war just yet.
‘Fortunately, most of the island’s Jewish population were able to evacuate to England before the German invasion.’
Grace’s remark spread a deep sadness through the group, as somewhere in the distance a Spitfire did a victory roll over St Paul’s Cathedral. For so long they’d been wrapped up in their war, focused on bombs and rationing in England, that they’d been ignorant to the true extent of suffering under the Nazi’s genocidal regime.
‘The news coming out of Europe is so ghastly,’ Annie grimaced. ‘I’ve seen pictures in the papers of walking cadavers with vacant eyes and bald heads. Those poor people.’
She looked around the group in disbelief. ‘How did we not know about these horror camps? Auschwitz-Birkenau, Bergen-Belsen, Mauthausen... and more being reported on every day. What monstrous minds conceive of such places?’
Joyce knew she couldn’t delay it any longer.
‘I have news from Adela and news about... about Dorotha,’ she stumbled. The sun was slowly sinking now, painting the sky in a vivid palette of pink, gold and orange. The soft scent ofsummer jasmine was carried on the breeze. How could the world be so beautiful and ugly all at the same time?
‘What news would you like first?’
‘Adela?’ Annie said, looking around the Secret Society for confirmation. Everyone nodded.
Joyce pulled the letter from her bag and eased open the thin seal. ‘I’ll read it out loud, shall I?’
‘Yes please,’ said Evelyn, topping up their cups.
Joyce cleared her throat.
Dear Secret Society of Librarians,
How can I find the words to thank you for taking me under your wing. Joyce especially. You helped to heal me at my most broken, and saved me from society’s condemnation. I was a desperate woman – well, girl really – when I asked you to care for my child, but four years on, I don’t regret my decision. With you and Harry as parents, Virginia has the chance of a happy, settled future.
Now that the adoption has formally gone through, I shall never refer to her as ‘my child’ again. Virginia isyourdaughter now. The milestones, joys and challenges, all yours and Harry’s.
Now, I am planning a future of my own. I’ve just accepted a marriage proposal! I met Henry Rossney in Ilfracombe where he was serving with the North Devon Jewish Pioneer Corp. Henry’s a Jewish refugee from Poland, like me.
He survived the Normandy landings and now he is determined to make the most of the life God has gifted us. Henry is modern orthodox and has a deep faith. It feels good to be able to observe once more.
Henry is determined to train as an architect. Maybe we’ll even look to emigrate to Canada and rebuild our lives. Butfirst, we hope to return to Poland to find our families. The road is long and fraught, but our faith will nourish us and keep us strong for the trials ahead.
Yours in love, Adela
The news sparkled through the group, fizzing over them like champagne.
‘Oh, Adela,’ Clara gushed. ‘No one deserves happiness more than her.’
‘That’s simply wonderful news. This Henry sounds pretty special,’ Annie beamed.
Only Evelyn was watching her more shrewdly.
‘And what of Dorotha?’ she asked, stubbing out her cigarette.
Joyce folded Adela’s letter and put it in her bag.
She swallowed, the secret agony she had been shouldering alone, bubbling to the surface.
‘Recently, I received a letter from the Red Cross Tracing Agency in London. I first wrote to them when we heard about the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau in January. For many months I heard nothing. So, I sent countless letters to hospitals, agencies, displaced persons’ camps, anyone I could think of in Lódz. There was a ghetto there. A large one, by all accounts.
