Page 62 of The Last Library of Paris

‘I can’t believe we did all that in one day,’ I said.

‘There’s still a lot to do,’ warned Valentine. ‘We need to speak to London about the stamps, and get on to Peacock Books about supplies – we’ll need a lot, but we’ll need to work out how many exactly …’

‘I can do that,’ said Henry. ‘I’ve got the figures.’

I saw him subtly tick off another item on his list and smiled to myself. We seemed to make a good team, the three of us. A little odd, perhaps, and definitely mismatched, but we’d raced through those addresses.

‘And most of all we could really do with coming up with another way to get the books to as many servicemen as we can,’ said Valentine. ‘There are so many out there already.’

‘I’ll have a think overnight,’ I said.

‘What are you up to now?’ Valentine asked. ‘Fancy a drink to celebrate our success?’

‘I can’t,’ I said, genuinely regretful. ‘I’ve got a thing to do. Work stuff.’

‘Are you moonlighting with another department?’ joked Valentine. ‘Section E?’

‘Is there a Section E?’ Henry asked. ‘Actually, are there Sections A to C?’

I laughed, glad Henry had stopped Valentine asking questions and I wouldn’t have to lie about doing the visas. ‘I assume so, but not here.’ I picked up my bag and put my notebook inside. ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight,’ said Valentine. ‘And Walton?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Watkins.’

‘You did a good job today.’

I didn’t reply but there was definitely a spring in my step as I headed down the corridor towards clerical.

Chapter 16

Edith was already in clerical, waiting for me when I arrived. I was glad I didn’t have to go upstairs to find her and run the risk of bumping into Parrish. I wanted to avoid him as much as possible.

‘Good, there you are,’ she said as I came into the deserted office. ‘We’ve got a lot to do.’

‘Have we had more names?’ I headed to the typewriter I’d been using for the last couple of weeks and took the cover off. ‘I can call my dad and ask him for an update, too.’

‘Is your dad the Reverend Percy Watkins?’ asked Edith.

‘Oh my goodness, yes, he is. Has he sent in an application?’

‘It arrived today,’ said Edith. ‘In fact, so did one from – I’m assuming your mother – June Watkins?’

‘That’s her.’ I put my hand to my chest, feeling my heart swell with love and pride for my bereaved parents who were grieving a terrible loss but still helping others.

‘And,’ said Edith, ‘another ten from people all in and around Tetbury.’

She handed me the papers, and I smiled, leafing through them and seeing familiar names. ‘This chap is a churchwarden,’ I said. ‘And this is my mother’s friend from the WI – if she’s got them involved, we’ll be inundated in no time. And Mr Chapman is the headmaster of the school I went to when I was tiny …’

‘They’re all job offers,’ said Edith. ‘Most of the ones in Oxford are job offers, too. And then I’ve had one from a theatre in London offering a role backstage.’

‘That’s Lara,’ I said.

‘And a bundle from other people in London, mostly offering sponsorship,’ Edith went on. She showed me her folder which was alarmingly thick.

‘So we have all these people who will help …’ She picked up another folder. ‘And these are the refugees. We need to match the refugee to the job, or the sponsor, type up the application form, I’ll process the visas, and Bob’s your uncle.’

‘Gosh, you make it sound so easy.’