Viv’s mouth fell open in exaggerated offense. “You’re so wicked, Grace Bennett.” She nudged Grace’s toe with hers in a mock kick. “You could come with me, you know.” Viv’s auburn brows were finely arched, plucked each day to perfection. They rose now in invitation. “Imagine it, the two of us in the ATS, commiserating in those atrocious brown uniforms that make our bums look long and rectangular, sacrificing youth and fashion to do our bit for England.”

“Well, when you sell it like that...” Grace laughed. Despite her mirth, she knew she ought to do something for her country. The men were being called up, mothers had sacrificed their children to the country to remain safe, strangers were caring for those children, women were volunteering. And what was she doing?

Nothing.

“Come with me, Duckie.” Viv winked, turning on the full effect of her charm. “We can do this together.”

Grace’s chest squeezed at what joining the ATS would mean, aside from the duty of aiding her country, of course. She would be leaving behind Primrose Hill Books and the disappointment of no longer working there. She wouldn’t have to work at Harrods without Viv. Best of all, she would still be at her friend’s side, the way they’d always been since they were girls.

But it would also mean leaving Mrs. Weatherford alone.

The WVS offered her mother’s friend only so much of a reprieve, and the threads of Mrs. Weatherford’s life were beginning to unravel. Mrs. Weatherford preferred to be in charge, but had to yield to the woman heading her local WVS, who had no intention of relinquishing the leadership role. Instead, Mrs. Weatherford shifted her need for control to the house.

The tar-like odor of carbolic soap permeated every surface from her daily scouring. Towels were adjusted neatly to the exact center of their racks, food tins were lined with their labels facing out like rows of soldiers and even the teacups were put away with their handles pointed in the same direction.

If Grace were to leave, Mrs. Weatherford would have no one. And Grace had promised Colin she would look after his mother.

Grace shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Mrs. Weatherford,” Viv guessed.

Grace stared into the depths of her tea, just able to make out the bottom in the dark liquid. “I can’t leave her alone here. And you know I’ve never been daring like you. I’m not cut out for the ATS or any of the other lines of service.”

“You’re more daring than you think.” Viv lifted the rose-painted teacup to her lips and took a small sip.

There it was again—a pinch of guilt.

Not that Viv had intended to cause such a reaction, but Grace knew she wasn’t doing enough for the war effort. And the more they all helped, the sooner it would be over.