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“Wonderful.” I feel like the best idea in the world has gotten even better. “Thank you, Ursula.”

As I pick up my coat from the back of an armchair, the antenna outside her back window snags at me. The sun has broken through the clouds and lights her garden with yellow rays. It also hits the metal on the antenna atop her shed and ignites it like a beacon. I gesture to it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I always forget to ask. Why do you have an antenna on your shed?”

Midway through my question Ursula raised a finger, and by the time I finish, she’s crossed back into the kitchen. “I forgot. You need to take some shortbread with you.”

She sets the tin on the bookcase, next to the gramophone, and pulls my coat from my hands.

“Oh no. I told Nina they were for her.”

She holds the coat out for me to put on. “That child doesn’t need a whole batch of shortbread. Besides, Mr. Hastings will love them. Share with him.”

“Thank you.” My eyes catch upon the antenna again, but I cannot ask a second time. The air in the room has sharpened. It leaves me feeling prickly as if I’ve trespassed, but I can’t understand how or why. I pick up the tin and see that her gramophone arm is raised and missing its needle—something I can fix, something that will fix this tension.

“What happened?” I lift the arm.

Ursula steps towards me. “Peter broke it.”

I reach to unlatch the side of the gramophone case. “There’s a sticker in here that tells exactly the type and size of the needle. I can bring you one Friday. We carry all varieties at the store.”

Just as the side panel drops open, Ursula flips it back up and secures it. “I will not take advantage of our friendship like that. I’ll deal with it later and come into the store myself. Besides, I listen to this far more lately. I’ll share with you my favorite show.”

She clicks on the radio next to the gramophone. A high-pitched voice fills the room. She spins the knob. “I can’t get the children to stop playing with this. They’re always messing about.” She twists the knob farther, and the voice fades away in a fuzzy crackle until a calm, confident woman’s voice comes over the airwaves. “Here.”

A perky female voice is describing . . .

“Is she talking about beef roast?”

“Her recipes are marvelous.” Ursula beams, and a tiny final twist of the knob brings the voice into greater clarity. “Housewives’ Choice on BBC Radio. It’s on for two full hours every morning, and any question you have and some you never thought to ask are answered daily. I rarely miss a morning program. She has the best lamb shoulder recipe I’ve ever come across and just as many tips and tricks as you have for cleaning things. You could use this to supplement your magazine knowledge.”

“I’ll give it a listen.”

She flicks a finger out the window. “You asked about the antenna. It’s for this. I have little patience with poor reception, and as I’ve lived so many places, I appreciate news from around the world.”

Of course. And with that very satisfying answer and my shortbread, I’m out the door and on my bicycle pedaling back to the store. I’m filled with a light, expectant, almost lemony feeling. It takes me a second to recognize it as gratitude.

I park my bicycle in the rack to the side of the store’s front window. No one is inside, but the bell draws Mr. Hastings from the back room. He clucks his tongue like a mother hen. “You look awfully pleased with yourself.”

“Not with myself so much as pleased with life. Isn’t it grand? And I think Friday’s first book club meeting will be a great success.” I set the tin on the counter between us. “I brought you something.”

He opens the tin. “Bless you, child.”

While he munches on a very good piece of shortbread, I walk to the huge apothecary chest in the store’s front corner. One of my first challenges, once Ursula started coaching me in developing focus, was to memorize the contents of each of the chest’s one hundred small drawers. I pause for a second, examining the chest, then reach for the third row from top, fourth drawer from the left. I pull it open and find several small packets of gramophone needles inside.

“Mr. Hastings?”

He stands at the counter selecting his second piece of shortbread. “These are delicious.”

“Thank you.” I lift the packets. “I didn’t get the exact model of the Beurtons’ gramophone, but is there a needle that is fairly standard for an HMV? That was the brand.”

“All HMV players require the single-use steel needles.” He gestures to the packet in my left hand. “They’re a little wasteful as each needle only lasts for a few listens, but the quality is noticeably better. If the Beurtons want to purchase them, best sell them a few at a time.”

I note the price of the single-use ones to put money in the register, then slide a packet of five needles into my pocket and return the others to the drawer.

I know just how to thank Ursula for all she’s done for me.

Chapter 15

Friday, 3 February 1950