Anna smiles. “To test them out on a bicycle, of course.”
Beatrix shakes her head. “I can’t ride a bicycle. I don’t know how.”
“Yet,” Anna says. She grabs Beatrix by the hand. “I’ll teach you. It’s easy.” She drags her toward the door.
“What about the shop?”
“There aren’t any fittings today,” Anna says. “Anyone who stops by will have to come back tomorrow, that’s all.”
“But—”
Anna has already pulled down the shade on the door. She flips the sign in the window to Closed and pushes Beatrix outside in her strange new outfit. She rolls her bicycle out of the alley between the boutique and the millinery next door, and props it against their building.
She goes back and pulls out a second one. “You can borrow this until you get your own.”
Beatrix laughs. “I’m not getting my own.”
“We’ll see about that.” Anna mounts her bicycle. She plants one foot firmly on the ground and puts the other on her raised pedal.
Beatrix does the same. She still wobbles. “Now what?”
“Follow me and don’t stop,” Anna says.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
Anna grins. “Good.”
“But—”
Anna pushes off the pavement and pedals down the lane.
“Anna!” But she’s already gone. Beatrix pedals after her and hopes everyone stays out of her way.
Her heart beats a wild rhythm against her ribs. She concentrates on keeping her balance, on not running anyone over, on not losing sight of Anna. It’s the most terrifying—the most exhilarating—thing she’s done in years.
The crowds thin, and Anna pedals on. The city grows less dense, less loud, less dirty, until they have left London behind entirely and a forest looms ahead of them.
When they reach the edge of the trees, Anna glides to a halt. “Not bad for your first ride.”
Beatrix’s legs feel like jelly. She’s not sure she can even get off the bicycle. “You actually enjoy this?”
Anna dismounts and walks her bicycle over to a sprawling beech tree. “It gets easier.” She rummages through her leather satchel.
Beatrix groans and swings her leg over her seat. She props her bicycle next to Anna’s and wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. When Anna hands her a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, she gladly accepts it.
“Sun or shade?” Anna asks.
“Shade, please.” She peels off her coat and spreads it beneath the tree. Anna does the same.
They settle against the smooth trunk and unwrap their strawberry jam sandwiches. Beatrix hopes she can get up again.
“I’d say the trousers were a roaring success,” Anna says.
Beatrix nods. “They didn’t get caught up in our wheels once.”
“They are so much more practical than skirts, aren’t they?”
Beatrix had thought so during the war, but she never considered wearing them after she left the factory. Maybe she has become a creature of habit. She has worn a skirt for a very long time.
