When the Lights Go On Again
Annie Groves

As this is the final book in the Campion series I would like to dedicate it to all the ‘real life’ families and their descendants, who lived through WWII

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

Acknowledgements

Also by Annie Groves

Copyright

About the Publisher

ONE

Late August 1943

Jean Campion was standing in her kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. Today was her birthday. Her soft brown wavy hair had been freshly cut and set the previous day especially for the occasion, the last drops of the precious Chanel scent that her son, Luke, had brought her back from Paris the first Christmas of the war, dabbed behind her ears. Jean smoothed down the cotton fabric of her blue floral print summer dress, loose on her now after nearly four years of wartime rationing. She had bought the dress from Lewis’s in Liverpool, when her eldest daughter, Grace, had been working there, before the store had been bombed in the dreadful blitz of May 1940.

The kettle was coming up to the boil. From the front room, with the doors open into the hallway, Jean could hear the voices of her family, come to celebrate with her the birthday she shared with her twin sister, Vi. The voices of her daughters Grace and Sasha, her niece, Bella, her sisters, Vi and Francine. Female voices. Female voices because they were at war and so many men were fighting for their country – and their lives. A heartfelt sigh escaped Jean’s lips.

She was lucky, she reminded herself; many women she knew had lost sons and husbands. Luke might have been injured fighting in the desert, but at least he had recovered now, even if he had made that recovery far from home and, according to his most recent letter – which had miraculously arrived today – was about to rejoin his army unit.

She was lucky too in having the rest of her family close at hand. Grace, who was a nurse, might have moved to Whitchurch because her RAF husband, who was part of the very important and secret Y Section, had been posted there, but she too had her husband living at home with her.

Seb and Grace had come up from Whitchurch today on the train, and right now Seb and Jean’s husband, Sam, were down at Sam’s allotment, no doubt talking about the progress of the war and the recent invasion of Sicily by the Allied Forces, as well as Seb’s desire to turn part of the rambling garden attached to the cottage they were renting into a vegetable plot.

Thinking of that invasion made Jean’s heart thud with anxiety, for Luke, who was with the Eighth Army, and bound to be involved at some stage in the Allies’ push into the Italian mainland to force back the Germans and Italians.

And Luke wasn’t the only one of her children she had to worry about, Jean admitted, lifting her hand to smooth back a wayward strand of hair. There was Lou, who of all things was now learning to fly aeroplanes, if you please, having been transferred by the WAAF into something called the Air Transport Auxiliary service. And Lou’s twin, Sasha, despite having a nice steady job at the local telephone exchange and an equally nice steady fiancé working in bomb disposal, never seemed to be happy.

As she poured the boiling water onto the precious tea leaves, Jean thought how typically generous it was of her younger sister, Francine – a singer with ENSA, and recently married to a major in the army – to have brought her own rations with her for the birthday get-together.

On cue, the kitchen door opened wider to admit Francine, a rueful look of mischief sparkling in her eyes.

‘I thought I’d escape from Vi by coming to see if you needed a hand.’

Francine was by far the prettiest one of the three sisters, with her strawberry-blonde curls and her heart-shaped face. Grace had the same pretty features.

As always, Francine was beautifully dressed, in a floral silk frock. She’d had the foresight to have some new clothes made whilst she’d been posted to Egypt with ENSA. You simply couldn’t get clothes of the quality and style Fran had brought back with her in England now, not with rationing and the rules the Government had laid down for austerity clothing. Not that Jean minded having to stick by those rules, not when she knew the danger the country’s poor merchant seamen had to endure bringing raw materials into the country for the war effort.

No, she didn’t feel the lack of pretty things for herself, but she did feel it for her girls sometimes, Jean admitted, although Fran had been wonderfully generous, not just bringing a whole trousseau of clothes, including her wedding dress, back from Egypt for Grace, but also bringing lovely fabrics that she had shared with them all.

Fran pulled a face. ‘I know that it can’t be easy for Vi with Edwin having left her for someone else, but she doesn’t exactly make it easy for others to sympathise with her, does she? I’ve never heard anyone complain so much, and over next to nothing.’

‘That’s just Vi’s way,’ Jean tried to defend her twin. ‘She’s always been like that, boasting when things are going well for her and complaining about life not being fair and her being hard done to when they aren’t, but Edwin wanting a divorce, and the war, have made her worse. You can carry that tray through for me, if you will.’ Jean nodded at the tray with the pretty china tea set that Grace had given her the first Christmas of the war. ‘And I’ll bring the teapot.’

Over a decade younger than Jean and Vi, Francine had been through such a lot. Pregnant at sixteen by a married man she naïvely believed loved her, Francine had given in to pressure from Vi and her husband to allow them to bring up her baby as their own before she left for America to make a new life for herself there as a singer.

But then the war had brought her back to do her bit for the country, and Francine had found out that Vi and Edwin had not been the loving parents to little Jack that she’d expected. That had been ever such a bad time. Poor Jack had run away from the people Vi had sent him to, supposedly to keep him safe from the war, and Jean had seen what Francine had gone through, wanting to claim her little boy and mother him, whilst Vi and Edwin did their utmost to stop her. And then had come the terrible tragedy of Jack being killed when a bomb had dropped on the farm to which he’d been evacuated. Such a terrible thing to happen. Of course, things had never been the same between Francine and Vi after that.

‘I don’t know how Bella puts up with Vi,’ Francine told Jean. ‘Vi’s done nothing but complain about how hard done by she is since she got here, when it’s perfectly plain that she has poor Bella running round after her, as well as working full time managing that nursery.’

Bella, the elder of Vi’s two children, was in charge of a government nursery in Wallasey where she and her new husband, a Polish fighter pilot, lived.

‘Vi’s worried that, now that Bella’s married, once the war’s over she’s going to be left on her own. She might complain about having Bella living with her when Bella has got a perfectly good house of her own, but she’d be lost without her,’ Jean told Fran.

Fran had picked up the tea tray but now she put it down again, the tone of her voice softening, as she told her sister, ‘I had a letter from Marcus this morning. His regiment is still on home duties but he thinks now that we’ve got Sicily, if we can win Italy, it won’t be long before we invade Western Europe, and that his regiment is bound to be part of that. I feel so guilty at times, Jean. One half of me is jubilant because we’re beginning to win the war at last, even though I know that there is still more fighting to be done, but the other half of me is so terribly afraid for my own happiness and for Marcus. Life is so precious and so very fragile, and loving Marcus makes me feel so vulnerable. If I should lose him…’ She gave a deep shudder. ‘I’m being selfish, I know. After all, there isn’t a woman in the land who doesn’t feel as I do for someone.’

The two sisters exchanged understanding looks.

‘You have Luke with the Eighth Army,’ Francine continued, ‘Bella has Jan with the RAF, and even Vi has Charlie in the army, although to listen to her she seems more concerned about him losing out if Edwin’s mistress has a son than she is about Charlie losing his life.’

Jean knew what Francine meant. With a victory predicted for the Allies and an end to the war, peace seemed so tantalisingly close that it was harder than ever for those at home to hold back their fears that their loved ones fighting for that peace might not survive to share it with them.

‘Mum, Auntie Vi’s complaining that she’s parched,’ Grace announced, coming into the kitchen. Pulling a face, she added, ‘She’s done nothing but complain since she and Bella got here.’

‘We’re on our way,’ Jean answered, laughing.

As Francine followed Jean through the door with the tea things, her mind was still on Marcus. Neither of them had said so in as many words, but Francine knew how much it would mean to him were she to start a baby before he was sent overseas, and not just because they loved one another, or even because his child would be a living reminder of their love, should he fall in combat. Each of them had already lost a child to the war: Marcus when his first wife, who had been pregnant with their first child, had been killed in an air raid, and Francine herself when the same thing had happened to Jack, the child who had never even known she was his mother and with whom she had shared such a short and poignant handful of days on her return to Liverpool from America. Superstitiously, Francine felt that if she did conceive then Marcus would survive the war because, after all they’d been through, God simply wouldn’t let them have a child if both of them weren’t going to be there to love and protect it.

For that reason she had waited with eager anticipation each month, only to be disappointed when her period arrived with relentless regularity. And now Marcus was warning her that he was expecting to be sent into action.

As she pushed open the door to Jean’s small front room the sight of its exclusively female occupants reinforced everything that she had been thinking about the reality of the war and what lay ahead.

‘I wish you could stay up here long enough to spend a couple of days in Whitchurch with us,’ Grace told Francine later on when they were washing up, whilst Jean took some sandwiches and a flask of tea down to the allotment for Sam and Seb.

The kitchen should have been cold and unwelcoming, facing north as it did, but Sam had painted it a bright yellow before the war, and Francine always thought that in addition to the warming colour the homely room held something of Jean’s own comforting warmth about it.

‘Next time I come up I’ll have to do that,’ Francine agreed,

‘Will you be coming back up soon? Only it’s so hard to get Mum to come out to see me, she’s always so busy here, and I know she’d come if you were coming,’ Grace pressed her, adding coaxingly, ‘Seb’s going to be away in a month’s time on a course at Bletchley Park and it would be lovely if you could both come then.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘I know I’m lucky to have Seb stationed here in England, and even luckier for him to be living out so that we can be together, but I do miss Liverpool and home.’

Poor Grace, Francine thought. It was obvious to Fran that what her niece didn’t want to say was that she missed her mother.

‘Of course I’ll come,’ Francine agreed on a rush of sympathy, ‘and I’ll make sure that your mum comes with me.’

Grace’s face lit up. Putting down the cloth with which she was carefully drying the tea set, she gave Francine a fierce hug.

‘Thanks ever so, Auntie Fran.’

‘You are happy in Whitchurch, aren’t you?’ Francine asked. What she really meant was, was Grace happy in her marriage, but that was something she was reluctant to ask straight out.

‘Oh, yes,’ Grace answered immediately and, very obviously, truthfully, to Francine’s relief. ‘It’s just that Whitchurch is only a small place and all the girls I work with are local and have their families there, and somehow that makes me miss my family even more. Then when I do come home I hardly get to speak properly to Mum, she’s so busy. You will come and stay with me and bring Mum, won’t you?’

‘I promise,’ Fran confirmed.

TWO

‘Lou, you are soooo lucky. You brought that Harvard down daisy-cutter perfect first time, but when I had to do it I came in too high and had to go round again.’

‘It didn’t feel like a perfect landing,’ Lou assured her friend and fellow ATA pilot June Merryvale as they walked away from the airfield and its hangars, carrying their parachutes with them.

The breeze filled out the loose fabric of their Sidcot flying suits, worn not, as it was rumoured so many of the ferry pool pilots did, over merely their underwear, but over their smart navy-blue uniform trousers and pale blue shirts. The same breeze was lifting the wind sock on the airfield and also tugging at Lou’s curls, the tips of her hair sun-bleached now by the summer sunshine.

The two girls had been posted to the ATA training airbase at Thame at the same time for their ongoing training from flying Grade 1 only planes to flying Grade 2 planes – advanced single-engined aircraft, primarily fighter aircraft, such as Hurricanes, Spitfires, Typhoons, Mustangs, Airacobras, and even ‘tricky’ aircraft like the Walruses. The aircraft, though, that Lou most longed to fly was the Spitfire, the small fighter plane that those women pilots who had flown them declared were perfect for female flyers.

Spits – Lou’s heart lifted with excitement every time she thought of flying one. She knew that some of the RAF men disapproved of girls flying at all, but especially disliked and resented the idea of girls flying Spitfires, feeling that only the male ATA pilots – those pilots who for one reason or another could not fly in combat, but who were still good airmen – should be allowed to do so.

So much had happened since she had undergone her ab initio training at Barton-in-the-Clay, the small grass airfield where she had spent the regulation two weeks having lessons in ‘ground school’, followed by bumps and circuits in the school’s Gypsy Moth training plane. From there she had gone on to solo flight, before being assigned the thirty cross-country flights every would-be ATA pilot had to complete successfully before getting her ‘wings’. These flights, designed to hone the skills the trainees had been taught in ground school, had involved putting into practice their navigation ability. The rule was that all ATA pilots, no matter how skilled, had to stick to ‘contact’ flying, which meant that they had to fly beneath any cloud cover so that they could navigate using their maps and what was visible on the ground below them. One of the worst test flights, so far as Lou was concerned, had been when she’d had to navigate round the Spitfire factory at Castle Bromwich avoiding the barrage balloons that protected the site.

Every ATA pilot was expected to progress to more complicated planes as speedily as she could – it was her role, after all, to move as many planes as possible around the country – but in accordance with her own confidence and the wisdom of those teaching her.

Once an ATA pilot was qualified and had her wings, she was then sent to one of the ATA ferry pools where she would be given ‘chits’ to collect and deliver planes.

The ferry pools used Avro Ansons in a taxi service to get the pilots to the planes they had to deliver. The pilots then had to collect the planes, and deliver them to MUs, as the maintenance units were called. Only then would the planes be fitted with their onboard navigation systems and other equipment. This was why the ATA pilots had to learn to fly without anything other than basic instruments, and were forbidden to go above the clouds, or from an MU to an RAF station.

Every new recruit was told hideously graphic tales of pilots who had ignored this rule and ended up losing their planes and their lives.

Here at Thame, though, which was close to ATA’s Ferry Pool Number 5 at Luton, Lou had also heard tales of certain daredevil ATA female pilots who not only ignored the rules to fly above the cloud but who also performed acrobatic manoeuvres with the fighter planes they were delivering, something that was strictly forbidden and for which they were not trained.

Lou couldn’t imagine herself ever being skilled enough to do that, even though she had made such good progress in Grade 1 that she had been sent back to Thame to undergo her conversion course to Grade 2 in record time.

‘We’ve both got an off-duty weekend coming up – why don’t the two of us spend it in London?’ June suggested.

‘I’d love to,’ Lou told her truthfully, hitching her parachute higher onto her shoulder, ‘but I can’t. I haven’t been home in an age. My twin has been engaged for over two months and I haven’t congratulated her properly yet.’

Good pals though they had become, Lou didn’t feel she could confide in June how guilty she felt that she and Sasha had drifted so far apart that sometimes, reading Sasha’s short, stilted letters to her, Lou felt as though they had become strangers, and that they had nothing in common any more.

‘Oh, well, never mind,’ June accepted philosophically. ‘But promise that you’ll come with me the next time we get a weekend pass.’

‘Of course I will,’ Lou agreed, wincing as the Tannoy broke into life, announcing that the two pilots whose names had been broadcast were required to present themselves at the admin block for ferry duties.

Lou couldn’t wait until she was properly qualified. What a thrill it would be to hear her own name being broadcast. Inside her head Lou replayed the message delivered in the stentorian accents of the base’s admin controller, but substituting her own name for those of the girls called.

Their admin controller was, like the original instructors for ATA, a BOAC employee. Now, though, the Government, in the belief that the Allies would win the war, had allowed BOAC to recall all its own instructors to start preparing post-war training for the corporation. The job of training ATA pilots had been handed over to instructors who had themselves been ATA pilots, many of them women who had the advantage of knowing exactly what the work of an ATA pilot entailed.

Lou’s instructor this morning, Margery Smythe, who had sent her out on her first solo Grade 2 flight, was a firm disciplinarian but very fair and encouraging.

She had been so lucky to have been upgraded on to a Grade 2 course so speedily after having first qualified, Lou reflected as she tucked into her salad lunch in the canteen. She’d be flying again this afternoon and she didn’t want a heavy meal lying on the butterflies she knew would invade her tummy. June had qualified two months ahead of her and insisted that Lou had to be ‘super good’ to have been pushed up a grade so quickly.

Lou suspected, more modestly, that it was more a case of her being in the right place at the right time. Not that she hadn’t been thrilled and excited. She had, the words almost falling over themselves as she wrote them when she sent Sasha a letter telling her about her potential up-grade to fly advanced single-engined planes, but in her response her twin hadn’t even mentioned Lou’s triumph. What made Lou feel even more guilty now was that secretly she would much rather have spent her precious leave weekend in London with June than in Liverpool with her twin sister.

‘I just hope that when we finish this conversion course we’re both posted together, that neither of us gets posted to Ratcliffe,’ June announced, breaking into Lou’s thoughts.

Lou finished chewing a rubbery piece of Spam, and demanded, ‘Why, what’s wrong with Ratcliffe?’

June raised her eyebrows and shook her head so vigorously that the bun into which her auburn hair was knotted threatened to unravel.

‘Haven’t you heard about those Americans who joined ATA who are based there?’

‘No, what about them?’ Lou demanded.

‘They’ve put it about that they can outfly and outplay any other ATA female pilot, and they’ve got the reputation to prove that they mean it. There was a pilot at my last ferry pool who swore blind that she’d seen two of them deliberately racing one another to see who could put down first. They don’t like us and they’re quite happy to show it, or so I’ve heard.’

‘There were a couple of American pilots at my last posting and they were nothing like that.’ Lou felt obliged to defend the two senior and very dedicated American women she’d seen flying in and out of Barton-in-the-Clay.

‘Well, I’m only telling you what I’ve heard, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be posted to Ratcliffe. I like a good time but when it comes to some of the things I’ve heard that they get up to, I’m afraid I draw the line.’

‘What kind of things?’ Lou pressed her.

‘Like I just said – wild parties. Very wild parties. The kind where you end up in some man’s bed,’ June emphasised darkly. ‘I mean, I’m no prude, but.’

If what June had said was true then she had to agree with her, Lou reflected as they cleared what was left on their plates into the slop bin and then placed them on the trolley for washing.

‘I’ve got my first solo this afternoon.’ June rolled her eyes. ‘I’m dreading it. What about you – what are you doing?’

‘Margery is going to go through the details of my three cross-country solo flights with me, ready for the first one tomorrow. She’s not told me yet which plane I’ll be flying, though.’

‘See you tonight then.’

Lou nodded.

Although most of the ferry pools didn’t have accommodation blocks, and ATA pilots were normally billeted with local people or clubbed together to rent somewhere between them if they could, at Thame Sir William Currie had put one wing of his Tudor mansion at the disposal of ATA to provide a ‘live-in mess’.

After living in basic WAAF accommodation at an RAF base before transferring to ATA, Lou had been round-eyed with disbelief when she had first been shown her new quarters – a wood-panelled room with its mullioned windows overlooking the knot garden.

She even had a four-poster bed, with the same heavy ruby-red velvet curtains as were hanging at the windows. Her room had its own fireplace, and a large polished wardrobe and a chest of drawers, both of which smelled of lavender.

On the wall next to Lou’s bed hung a sampler, requesting ‘Bless this House’, stitched, so she had been told by the housekeeper, by Sir William’s great-aunt as a young girl.

‘Their’ wing of the large house was accessed via the main hall with its magnificent polished wood staircase, the banister carved with symbols from Sir William’s family crest. Since ATA did not have an officer structure – pilot seniority being denoted by length of service and ability to fly a variety of planes – there was no official ‘mess’. Instead the girls ate their meals in the base’s canteen or occasionally by invitation in the house’s elegant dining room, furnished with an antique Hepplewhite dining-room table and chairs, eating off delicate china and using silver cutlery, with Sir William as their genial host. One of the drawbacks, though, as far as Lou was concerned, were the bathrooms, with their huge baths, which they were allowed to fill with only two inches of hot water.

‘Yes, see you tonight,’ Lou confirmed as she set off in the direction of the hangars.

THREE

‘Yes, Charlie, of course I understand why Daphne won’t be coming with you, with her own mother not being very well, but I must warn you that Mummy is bound to be disappointed. You know how much she thinks of Daphne.’ Bella Polanski pushed the thick waves of her golden-blonde hair back from her face as she spoke patiently but firmly into the telephone receiver. Her blue eyes were shadowed with disappointment as she assured her younger brother that she had got the message that his visit to Wallasey would be a solo affair.

Privately, Bella acknowledged later, she wished that Charlie was going to be accompanied by his wife, even though that would have meant Bella giving up the comfort of her double bed to Charlie and his wife, leaving her to sleep in the boxroom’s single bed, and even though she and Daphne had never been close. And it wasn’t for her mother’s sake either that she would have preferred Charlie not to have returned home alone. Vi had been puffed up with pride when Charlie had announced that he was to marry Daphne Wrighton-Bude, the girl whose brother Charlie had rescued at Dunkirk but who had sadly not survived his injuries, and their father had rewarded Charlie very handsomely financially for his good sense in marrying a girl from such a good family. Not that Charlie was likely to get any money out of their father now that he had left their mother for his assistant, Pauline. Vi had been over the moon when Charlie had told her that he and Daphne were expecting their first child, but then just after Bella and Jan had married had come the sad news that there was not to be a baby after all. Bella, having suffered a miscarriage herself during her own first marriage, had written immediately to Daphne but the only reply she had received had been a frosty little note from Daphne’s mother acknowledging her own letter.

From her small office at the nursery, it was impossible for her to see out into the nursery itself but she didn’t have to do that to be able to visualise the look of tenderness on Lena’s face as she worked with their small charges.

The best thing she had ever done, aside from marrying Jan, had been to listen to her conscience the day she had seen Lena in the street in Liverpool, distraught and heavily pregnant with her brother, Charlie’s illegitimate baby. Moved by the young girl’s plight, Bella had taken her home with her. Out of that one act of compassion had grown a friendship that had turned Bella’s own life around. Lena was happy now, a proud mother of Bella’s adored niece, a happy wife to Gavin, a mother-to-be to his own baby, and Bella’s right hand and a highly valued member of Bella’s loyal team of nursery nurses. After their marriage Bella had offered her own house to Lena and Gavin and had moved back to live with her mother. She’d been delighted when Lena and Gavin had married and Bella felt that the last thing they needed now was for Charlie to reappear on the scene to start making trouble in that way that he had.

On the other hand, Bella also knew how much it would mean to her mother to see Charlie, especially when Charlie himself had hinted to Bella during his telephone call that he expected to be sent into action soon.

She would have to tell Lena about his proposed visit, of course.

She found Lena in the day room of the nursery, soothing one of their new intake of little ones, who had woken up from her afternoon nap confused by her surroundings. Small and curvaceous, with olive-toned skin and thick dark hair, Lena was strikingly attractive, her looks and colouring a perfect foil for Bella’s peaches-and-cream beauty.

The nursery was a light airy place, with two large main rooms, a day room, and a sleeping room where the children could have their afternoon naps. The walls of the day room were painted bright yellow and decorated with the children’s drawings. High chairs for the babies were pushed back against one of the walls, ready to be pulled up to the scrubbed wooden table where the children ate their meals, whilst there were proper chairs for the older children, and four deep comfy armchairs for the staff to sit in when they settled down to read the children their afternoon story, or give some upset child a special reassuring cuddle.

Lena, who was sitting in one of these, had settled the toddler on her lap to dry her tears. She looked up at Bella with a warm smile.

‘You aren’t going to be able to do that for much longer,’ Bella warned her. ‘You won’t have enough room.’

Lena laughed and looked down at the swelling beneath her navy-blue cotton maternity smock, with its white Peter Pan collar and pretty bow.

‘He doesn’t like it at all when I put one of the babies on my knee. He kicks away at them like billy-o.’

‘He?’ Bella teased her, her own pre-war floral cotton dress slightly loose on her slender frame, thanks to the rigours of rationing. Bending down to lift the now smiling toddler from Lena’s lap and watching her whilst she toddled off happily to join a group of children who were playing with some wooden building blocks, she reminded Lena, ‘You were sure that Janette was going to be a boy but you were wrong.’

‘Yes, I know, but I’m really sure this time that it’s going to be a boy.’

It would certainly probably be a good thing if Lena and Gavin’s baby were a boy, Bella reflected. Gavin was a wonderful father to Lena’s little girl and adored her, but Bella felt privately that there would be less chance of comparisons being made between the child that Charlie had fathered, and the one that was Gavin’s own, if this next baby was a boy.

Thinking of Charlie reminded her of why she had come to find Lena.

‘I’ll go and make us both a cup of tea, shall I?’ Lena suggested, starting to get to her feet, but Bella stopped her, shaking her head.

‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

Immediately Lena’s face lit up. ‘You’ve started a baby,’ she challenged Bella excitedly. ‘You and Jan. Oh, Bella, I’m so pleased.’

‘No, it isn’t that. It’s Charlie. He’s coming home this weekend. He told me that he’s expecting to be sent into action soon and that he wanted to come up and see Mummy.’

They exchanged understanding looks.

‘You’ll want to tell Gavin, of course,’ Bella went on, ‘although I don’t think you’re likely to run into Charlie. He’s bound to want to give you a wide berth after the way he’s behaved.’

‘It wasn’t his fault that I was daft enough to think he wanted to marry me when all he wanted was a good time.’

‘It was his fault that he didn’t tell you that he was already engaged to be married, Lena.’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Lena assured her. ‘In many ways I reckon he did me a favour.’

‘A favour? When he left you carrying his child?’ Bella protested.

‘Well, if it hadn’t been for me being pregnant I’d never have got to meet you, and look at all the things you’ve done for me, Bella – giving me a home and a job, and being such a good friend to me. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have met Gavin, and I’d probably have come to a bad end instead of being married to the best husband a girl could have, and having the best friend in the world. Don’t you worry about me accidentally bumping into your Charlie. If I did, I’d tell him how lucky I reckon I am.’

‘Oh, Lena, you’re a real tonic and no mistake,’ Bella laughed.

‘Hug, Auntie Bella, hug.’

The sound of her niece’s voice had Bella going immediately towards the little girl to pick her up and cuddle her close. She smelled of that lovely vanilla and baby powder scent, and Bella’s hold on her tightened as she breathed it in.

Lena’s innocent comment about Bella being pregnant herself had caused a little ache deep inside her body. Once she had been going to have a child, but because of her first husband’s physical assault on her she had lost that baby. Jan had been there then to help her, although then she had believed she hated him.

They had talked during the brief time they had shared together before Jan had had to rejoin his Polish RAF Squadron down on the South Coast, and Bella had told Jan then that she didn’t want to have a baby until the war was over, and until he could be with her.

‘I’m so afraid, Jan,’ she had confessed to him. ‘After what happened before. I couldn’t bear that to happen again.’

‘It won’t. It was Alan who caused your miscarriage,’ he had tried to reassure her.

‘I know that, but I’m still afraid. I need you to be there with me – I need your strength. Somehow I feel that if you are there then everything will be all right…our baby will be all right,’ Bella had told him.

Jan had kissed her then and she had kissed him back, and he had told her that everything would be as she wished. She knew she had made the right decision, but that couldn’t stop her aching with longing to feel Jan’s child growing inside her. It wouldn’t be long now until the war ended. Everyone said so. All she had to do was wait.

Wait and pray that Jan would come safely through it. Bella hugged her niece even more tightly. The Polish Squadron within the RAF had a reputation for bravery and daring. Jan had already been shot down once whilst in action. If she should lose him…but she mustn’t think of that. She must think instead of doing her own bit for the war effort, of playing her part and, of course, of dealing with the fuss her mother would make once she learned that Charlie was going to pay them a visit but that Daphne would not be with them.

So Charlie was coming home. Lena put a calming hand on her stomach as the baby within it kicked hard as though in protest against the intrusion into her thoughts of someone else. Lena looked down at her daughter. She was a beautiful little girl with the same dark curls that Lena herself had inherited from her Italian father, but where Lena’s skin had a faintly olive tone to it, Janette was fair-skinned and blue-eyed. Everyone who saw the three of them together remarked on the fact that whilst her daughter’s hair was the same colour as Lena’s own, her eyes were the same colour as her father, Gavin’s. Only of course Gavin had not fathered her at all, even if she called him Daddy and the two of them adored one another. Charlie had fathered her. Charlie, whom Lena had so naïvely and foolishly believed loved her and had meant what he had said when he had promised to marry her.

How silly she had been giving her heart and her body so immediately to Charlie. She was much wiser now, and with this new baby on the way she had everything she could possibly want.

So why did the fact that Charlie was coming home make her feel so restless and…on edge? A sudden flurry of kicks from the baby punished her for her thoughts and reminded her of where her duty lay. She was so lucky to have what she did, Lena told herself. So very lucky.

Katie enjoyed her voluntary work at the American Red Cross’s home from home for the American military at Rainbow Corner in Leicester Square, although she had to admit that it could be very demanding, especially on evenings like this one, when she was running late. She’d earned herself a disapproving look from the senior voluntary worker in charge on the reception area as she’d hurried in and made a dash for the cloakroom, where she’d removed her blue blazer and her neat white hat with its navy-blue bow trimming.

There’d be no chance of begging five minutes to snatch a hot drink and something to eat, Katie thought ruefully, quickly dabbing Max Factor powder onto her nose and then applying a fresh coat of pink lipstick, before combing her soft dark gold curls. Working at the Postal Censorship Office did not require her to wear a uniform, and the warmth of the September sunshine had meant that she had gone to work this morning wearing a neat white blouse under her precious ‘good’ blazer, and a red skirt with a pattern of white daisies on it, not really thinking about the significance of the colours until a small group of British Army high-ups had passed her when she left work, one of them commenting approvingly, ‘Red, white and blue, eh? Jolly good show, young lady. That’s the spirit.’

It was almost miraculous how things had changed since El Alamein and the Allies’ success. The air of tension and anxiety that had filled London’s streets like the dust from its bombed-out buildings had begun to lift, to be replaced by a sense of energy and optimism. The years of sacrifice, both in terms of human life and going without, of having faith and holding strong, were finally beginning to pay off. You could see it in the pride with which everyone was beginning to hold themselves, especially those in uniform, even if the shadow of Dunkirk and all the losses that had followed it were still there.

Victory – it was so close that you could almost taste it, almost…inside your thoughts, in your conversations with others, but it wasn’t real yet, and there were still hundreds, thousands, perhaps, of young men who would have to sacrifice their lives before it could be achieved.

Some of those young men would be those who were here tonight in the Rainbow Club, Katie knew: eager, enthusiastic, brash young Americans, come to show the Brits how to win a war and not in the least abashed about saying so either.

They didn’t mean any harm, not really. They just didn’t realise the effect their well-fed, smartly turned-out appearance had on a nation that had undergone four years of warfare and rationing. And it wasn’t just Britain’s armed forces that some Americans seemed to look down on. There had been more than one occasion on which Katie’s face had burned with indignation and anger over the way she had heard American servicemen describing British girls, although to be fair she had to admit that the behaviour of some girls did leave a lot to be desired.

At night the streets round Piccadilly were filled with girls offering GIs ‘a good time’; couples openly having sex in doorways and whatever dark corner they could find, with the result that used condoms littered the streets, whilst, according to the authorities, venereal diseases were on the rise.

All this was to be deplored, and it was strictly forbidden for the young women who were judged suitable to work at Rainbow Corner to get involved in relationships with the Americans they met there.

Of course, there were girls who broke that rule, although Katie wasn’t one of them. Not that the young GIs hadn’t tried to date her – they had. Katie, though, always refused. She didn’t want to get involved – with anyone.

A sudden influx of young airmen brought an end to her introspection.

‘Boy, oh boy, it smells good in here,’ one of them remarked enthusiastically, breathing in appreciatively. ‘Coffee, doughnuts and hamburgers, Home sweet American Home.’

They’d arrived on one of the special trains put on to ferry American servicemen from their bases into London for their weekends off, and they were keen to let Katie know how they planned to spend their weekend.

‘Girls, girls and more girls – that’s what we want, isn’t it, guys?’ the one who was obviously the leader informed Katie, looking round at the others.

‘Sure is,’ they agreed in unison.

‘I’m afraid we can’t help you there,’ Katie responded lightly, ‘but if you’d like a map of London, or directions to anywhere…’

‘Yeah, we’ll have some directions to the nearest cat house,’ one of the men grinned.

Katie suspected that they’d already been drinking, but she didn’t really want to get them into trouble by calling for assistance. American GIs were meant to respect Rainbow Corner as though it were their home and occupied by their mother.

‘Why don’t you boys go and get yourselves a Coke and make yourselves at home?’ Katie suggested.

‘That ain’t what we’ve got in mind,’ drawled the one who had first spoken, leaning on the counter, breathing alcohol fumes in Katie’s direction, while the others gathered round him. ‘How about obliging us yourself? We don’t mind taking it in turns, do we, guys?’

Some more men had walked in and had obviously overheard the comment. One of them – an officer, Katie guessed from the insignia on his uniform – walked over to the desk with a grim expression and announced curtly, ‘We don’t treat the kind folks, who are good enough to give up their free time to make us welcome, like that, Soldier, and I suggest you apologise to the lady right now, otherwise I’m gonna be calling the MPs.’

One look at the officer had an immediate sobering effect on the small group.

‘Yessss, sir,’ the culprit stammered as he stood up straight and saluted, a shamed-faced, ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ crossing the desk, before, to Katie’s relief, the young men disappeared at some speed, into the club.

‘Thank you for that,’ she told her rescuer.

He shook his head, his mouth tightening into a grim line.

‘You shouldn’t have had to thank me,’ he told her bluntly. ‘Do you get much of that kind of behaviour?’

‘No,’ Katie told him truthfully.

‘I’m afraid that some of these young idiots try to treat this country as though they’re an invading force, not its ally,’ the officer commented.

Katie smiled but didn’t say anything. What he had said was, after all, true.

A younger officer came hurrying in saluting her rescuer.

‘The general’s car has arrived, sir.’

‘I’ll be right with you,’ Katie’s rescuer answered him, looking back at her. ‘I’m sorry you had to put up with those young fools,’ he told her before turning on his heel to leave the building.

‘Wow, who was he?’ the other girl on the reception desk, who had been taking her break, demanded as she reappeared just in time to see Katie’s rescuer disappearing.

‘I don’t know,’ Katie answered.

‘Looked more like he should be mixing with the top brass at the American Embassy than coming here. That was a major’s insignia he was wearing.’

It was obviously one of those nights, Katie reflected later when she arrived back at the billet she shared with four ATS girls in Cadogan Square, to find Peggy Groves, the most sensible and senior of the young women, waiting anxiously in the kitchen, twisting her engagement ring round on her finger. Katie noticed her khaki uniform skirt was looser on the waist than it had been. Thanks to rationing, they were all quite literally having to ‘pull their belts’ in.

‘I’m waiting for Gerry to come in. I’ve decided that it’s time I had a word with her about the way she’s behaving. For her own sake, not just because it reflects on all of us.’ An anxious frown was creasing Peggy’s forehead. ‘I was working late at the War Office this evening and when I got back the retired colonel from three doors down collared me to complain about what he referred to as “our goings-on”.’

Peggy lit up a cigarette and drew deeply on it, the light from the kitchen’s ugly single bulb shining on her dark auburn hair. ‘If word of Gerry’s behaviour gets to Lord Cadogan’s ears, we could all end up looking for a new billet, and I can’t say that I would blame him. I know that Gerry’s always been a bit on the wild side and that she’s been through a hell of a lot, losing both her brothers this summer.’ Peggy gave a shudder and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘It’s the kind of news we all dread getting.’

Katie nodded. Gerry’s brothers had both been pilots with Bomber Command and everyone knew that the death rate amongst those who flew bombing missions to Germany was very high – higher than that amongst fighter pilots.

‘We’ve all tried to give her a bit of leeway and cut her some slack,’ Peggy continued. ‘If there’s one thing this war has taught me it’s not to judge others. Gerry isn’t the first girl to throw herself into living life to the full, with all that that means, following the death of someone close, and it’s not for me to stand in moral judgement on her. She’s a decent sort at heart, but she can’t keep carrying on the way she is doing, drinking too much and sleeping around with as many men as possible, coming in at all hours, and in the state she does, with torn stockings and her clothes not fastened properly.’

Katie knew what Peggy meant. They were all aware of the change the deaths of her brothers had caused in Gerry. Before, she had spoken openly about the fact that she liked a bit of fun, but now there was a desperation about her behaviour that worried them all.

‘Do you want some cocoa?’ Katie asked, going to fill the kettle.

Peggy nodded, and then frowned again as they heard someone knocking on the front door.

Without saying anything they hurried into the hallway, automatically switching off the lights as they did so, so as not to break the blackout laws.

When Peggy opened the door, Katie could see a couple of GIs supporting Gerry between them, a taxi with another GI standing beside it waiting at the kerb with its meter ticking.

‘Get a move on, you guys,’ the GI standing beside the taxi urged them. ‘We don’t want the MPs catching up with us again.’

His warning of the possible arrival of the Military Police was enough to have the two GIs let go of Gerry, who would have fallen headlong into the hallway if Katie and Peggy hadn’t caught her. She smelled of whisky, and something else – a rank sexual male odour that made Katie gag.

‘We’d better get her upstairs to her room,’ Peggy told Katie as they exchanged despairing looks.

It wasn’t easy. Gerry was so drunk that her limbs were like those of a rag doll, her speech confused, but eventually Katie and Peggy managed to get her into her room and onto her bed.

‘We’ll have to turn her onto her side, in case she’s sick in the night, otherwise she could choke,’ Peggy told Katie practically. ‘Come on, Gerry,’ Peggy instructed her firmly. ‘You’re going to have to sit up.’

‘Don’t want to sit up.’ Gerry told them. ‘Don’t want to do anything,’ but determinedly, and with Katie’s help, Peggy managed to get Gerry into a semi-sitting and much safer position.

‘I don’t really like leaving her on her own in this state, but I’ve got to be at the War Office earlier than usual tomorrow. There’s an important meeting taking place,’ Peggy confided to Katie, when Gerry fell asleep minutes after they had got her sitting up.

‘I’ll stay with her, if you like,’ Katie offered.

‘Would you?’ Peggy gave her a grateful look. ‘I know that strictly speaking it isn’t up to us to look out for her, but—’

‘We’re all in this war together,’ Katie stopped her. ‘I like Gerry and I feel sorry for her. She doesn’t really mean any harm.’

‘No, she doesn’t,’ Peggy agreed.

It was over two hours later when Gerry woke up, her attempt to stand waking Katie, who had been dozing in the chair beside her bed. Throwing off the thin grey blanket she had wrapped round herself, Katie got to her feet just in time to prevent Gerry from losing her balance.

‘Oh, Katie, it’s you. That’s funny,’ Gerry announced. ‘The last thing I remember is being with some GIs.’

‘Yes, they brought you back here,’ Katie agreed.

‘And you don’t approve. Oh, it’s all right, I can tell by the sound of your voice what you’re thinking.’ Gerry shivered. ‘I thought that by living I’d be able to make up for the fact that my brothers are dead; that if I had fun then I’d be having fun for all three of us. I wanted to live for all three of us, Katie, but I can’t. I can’t…’ Her voice broke and her body heaved with the intensity of the ragged sobs shaking her.

‘The more I try, the worse it gets, and the worse I feel. Sometimes I wish that I was dead as well. At least that way we’d all be together and my parents wouldn’t have to worry any more; they wouldn’t look at me and think that there should be three of us. It’s so hard there, just being me.’

Katie ached with sympathy and sadness for her.

‘Sometimes I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. Have you ever felt like that, Katie?’

All Katie could do was hug her tightly, but Gerry’s anguished outburst had filled her with concern, and she knew she had to say something.

Taking a deep breath she told Gerry quietly, as she released her, ‘I do understand how you feel and, well, I think I’d feel the same, but we can’t always just think of ourselves, Gerry.’

The other girl was looking at her now.

‘You are all your parents have left, Gerry. You are the future of your family. You and the children you will have, not just for yourself but for your brothers as well. Sometimes it takes more courage to live than it does to die. Your brothers were incredibly brave and I know that you can be just as brave.’

For a moment Katie thought she had done the wrong thing. Tears were pouring silently down Gerry’s face, but then Gerry flung herself into Katie’s arms.

‘I just don’t deserve a friend as good as you, Katie,’ she wept. ‘You’re right. The boys would be furious with me for being such a coward. From now on things are going to change. I am going to change.’

They hugged again, Katie close to tears herself.

Later on, as she stood in her own room, her hands wrapped round the comforting warmth of her mug of cocoa, Kate reflected sadly on the effect that the war was having on the emotions of young women, herself included. Some, like Gerry, sought escape from its harsh realities in drink and ‘having fun’; others, like Katie herself, avoided anything other than friendship with young men, for fear of the emotional pain of losing them, whilst women like Peggy Groves, engaged or married, prayed every night that their men would return home safely. If she and Luke Campion had still been engaged, she too would have been one of those waiting and praying and hoping against hope.

But she was not still engaged to Luke, Katie reminded herself. That was over and in the past, just like the despair she had suffered when Luke had first broken off their engagement. But ending it had been the right thing for both of them. As much as she had loved Luke – and she had – she had found his dark moods and jealousy difficult to cope with. The turbulence of her parents’ marriage had left her yearning for the calm of a love based more on the comfort provided by friendship than passion, Katie admitted, but she had not known herself well enough then to be able to see that. She had not known herself and she had not really known Luke either; they had never properly discussed themselves with one another. No, she no longer wept for their broken engagement or her own broken heart.

‘What do you reckon, Corp? Think we’re going to make it?’ Andy asked Luke as they kept their heads down, waiting for the landing craft they were on to get close enough to Salerno’s beachhead for them to disembark.

Luke and Andy had joined up virtually together, trained together, and fought together in the desert, and now here they were about to disembark onto Italian soil.

Their unit, along with the remnants of other British units, were now being deployed in Italy under the command of General Mark Clark, of the American Fifth Army, the aim, to break through the German defences and push all the way to Rome.

Right now, though, Luke reflected, as he tried not to let the screams and moans from a landing craft that had just been hit by a German shell, get through the protective wall that every soldier learned to draw around himself, for some odd reason it was Katie who was at the forefront of his mind. Determinedly he pushed her image away to focus on his men and his responsibility to them.

On the beach ahead of them men from the advanced landing craft had started up a smoke screen to protect the landing of the infantry and the equipment.

The sergeant in charge of their troop was giving the command for the men to make for the beach. Wading through churning water, Luke chivvied his own men on, ignoring the sight of a corpse floating in the sea next to them.

All along the landing area men were coming ashore, amid the cacophony of noise and the acrid smell and taste of smoke, and the enemy shells falling around them, to get their equipment safely beached, before starting to push inland, alongside 146th Field Regiment RA, which was now attached to the 7th Armoured Division.

‘Fighting this ruddy war certainly doesn’t get any easier,’ Andy found time to mutter, in an aside to Luke, as the men fell in and started to push forward. The first rule of any beach landing was that you got off the beach as fast as you could, and as far as the enemy would let you.

This time that distance wasn’t very far, a mile or so Luke reckoned, before all hell broke loose and they were under attack from the Germans.

She had done it. Lou felt like whooping with joy as she taxied her plane neatly to a standstill, after her tenth cross-country flight. This one had been the hardest of all: from Thame to the Castle Bromwich aircraft factory – the largest Spitfire factory in the country – surrounded on three sides by barrage balloons to protect it. Lou had not had to land on the airstrip there this time to avoid clogging it up when it was needed for the removal of Spits to the maintenance units. Instead she had been instructed to drop down almost to a landing height and then lift off again. As the barrage balloons stretched to the western side of the airstrip, all landings had to be made to the west and all take-offs had to be made to the east. Today, even with good visibility and a lightly buffeting wind, Lou had been aware of what a challenge it must be to perform those manoeuvres when weather conditions were unfavourable.

Lou had been glad she had listened to the advice of her instructor, Margery, who had told her to return via the maintenance units of Little Rissington, Kemble and Aston Down, where ultimately she would be expected to deliver the new Spitfires for their mechanical fitting out, and then Number 6 Ferry Pool at Ratcliffe before returning to Thame. Since the Fosse Way passed the boundary to Ratcliffe’s airstrip, once she had the road in her view, Lou had stuck with it, holding her breath when they had run into some unexpectedly low cloud.

Technically she was not allowed to fly above it but if she dropped down too low to get under it she could end up dangerously close to the ground. In the end she decided to keep to a steady course and fly through it in the hope that it was only an odd patch. To her relief her guess had been right, and they were soon out of the cloud. Even better, she had been able to maintain a steady course.

It was her longest and most complex cross-country so far, and she was thrilled when, once they were both outside the aircraft, Margery told her approvingly, ‘Very nice, Campion. Well done.’

Just seeing those gleaming Spitfires all lined up awaiting transportation had filled Lou with excitement. It had been a wonderful day, she acknowledged happily to herself, removing her flying helmet and shaking her head to free her tangled curls.

She had allowed June to persuade her into going to a dance this evening at a nearby American bomber base. A whole crowd of them were going, thanks to an invitation passed on to them via a male American ATA pilot. Several American male pilots had joined ATA in its early days, before America had joined the war.

Although ATA had now opened its doors to girls from ordinary backgrounds, the ethos put in place by the original eight pilots, all young women from privileged and well-to-do backgrounds, still prevailed. ATA pilots were not subject to any of the rules and regulations imposed by the Armed Forces: there was no parading, no drill, no hierarchy, no jankers, no rules about wearing uniform instead of civvies. Instead what there was were a set of unspoken ‘rules’ accepted and adhered to as a matter of principle and honour.

These included such practical aspects of their work as upholding the reputation of ATA for delivering planes to their destinations safely and efficiently; but, equally importantly, unwritten rules such as always presenting a feminine appearance, wearing lipstick, and nail polish, not getting out of one’s plane at an RAF base until one had removed the ugly flying helmet and replaced it with a pretty silk scarf.

The newer intake of ATA pilots might not be in a position to take off in their cars for London to have dinner at places like the Savoy and the Ritz, and go to exclusive clubs like the 400, but when the opportunity came to attend social events ATA girls were on their honour to look good, which was why Lou blessed the insight and the generosity of her aunt Fran as she changed into her outfit for the evening.

The arrival, for her birthday earlier in the year, of a large parcel that had contained several stunningly pretty dresses from her aunt had truly delighted Lou.

In the note that had accompanied them, Francine had written that she hoped that Lou might be able to make use of the dresses, which she no longer needed.

Luckily, all the females of their family seemed to share the same neat waist and slender figure, and the dresses were a perfect fit. Lou had later learned that their aunt’s birthday gift to her twin had been some beautiful Egyptian cotton bed linen for the bottom drawer Sasha had started now that she was engaged.

Tonight Lou had decided to wear the dress that was her favourite. In a shade of soft green silk printed with large white polkadots, which somehow deepened her summer tan whilst emphasising the way the sun had bleached the ends of her hair, the dress was halter-necked, with a neat-fitting bodice, which fastened with pretty white buttons and a white belt that fitted round Lou’s small waist, whilst the semicircular skirt floated prettily against her legs. To complete the outfit there was a little short white jacket lined in the same fabric as the dress.

Lou and June were being given a lift in her car by Hilary Stanton, one of the more senior girls, who was standing beside her car smoking a cigarette as they went to join her.

‘Good choice of frock, Campion,’ she praised Lou. ‘I’ve heard that several of the American pilots based at Ratcliffe, who’ve joined ATA, will be there tonight, so we’ll definitely want to put on a good show.’

‘Of course, we all know why Hilary disapproves of the Ratcliffe pilots,’ June had commented to Lou earlier. ‘It’s because of all the talk going round about the American pilots being real dare devils. Like I said before, there are all sorts of stories going round about them buzz-diving the general public for fun, flying under low bridges, flying above the cloud cover, and showing off.’ June had pulled a face and added, ‘They like to think of themselves as dead-end kids who are up for anything and everything, and who can fly planes when the weather is so bad that even the birds are walking.’

‘That’s all very well for them,’ Lou had answered, ‘but we’ve got a job to do that matters more than showing off and partying.’

Now, as she and June piled into Hilary’s car along with two other girls, Lou acknowledged that she wasn’t all that keen to go to the dance. However, she had promised June that she would, having had to refuse to go to London with her at the weekend, and then of course there was the added lure of the fact that the music would be provided by none other than Glenn Miller’s band.

It didn’t take them long to reach the American airbase, driving down narrow winding country lanes that lay almost hidden between high hedgerows, heavy now with blackberries and wild rosehips, and through picture-perfect villages, drowsing in the fading September sunlight.

As soon as they got close to the base, though, the scenery changed. Barbed wire replaced the hedgerows, and the gently undulating landscape was ironed flat, and pinned down with all the paraphernalia of an air force base: hangars, searchlights, wind socks, landing strips and the obligatory guard house by the entrance, through which they were allowed to pass once they had given the American ATA pilot’s name.

As they drove past the airfield they could see the long line of bombers outside the hangars.

The base was a large one and, of course, relatively new, the area outside the mess where the dance was being held busy with American airmen in immaculately smart uniforms.

Not that the girls needed to be in the least bit ashamed of their appearance, Lou decided, proud to champion her own colleagues as, once the car was parked and they had all climbed out, she and June went to join the small crowd of ATA pilots who had already arrived.

‘It’s not going to be Glenn Miller after all,’ one of the girls warned Lou, obviously disappointed herself. ‘They’ve got another band playing instead.’

They all went into the mess together, exchanging greetings with the Americans who came forward to welcome them.

The American airmen’s mess was far smarter than any mess she had ever been in before, Lou felt obliged to admit, trying not to look too impressed as she strained to listen to what the young American airman standing next to her was saying to her above the noise of other conversations around them. He was pleasant enough, with good teeth and a nice smile.

‘Look over there,’ June suddenly hissed directing Lou’s attention to where a diminutive blonde with a mass of curls was sitting on a table, holding court to the group of men pressing round her. Unlike the other women in the room, who were all wearing frocks, she was wearing a pair of American jeans rolled up to reveal her enviably tanned and slender ankles and calves, a leather belt drawing the fabric in at her waist to show off its narrowness. She was chewing gum, and drinking beer from a bottle, and generally acting as though it was her right to be the centre of attention. For no reason that Lou could rationalise she felt a sharp stab of hostility towards her.

‘Joyce Botham has just told me that she’s one of the American ATA pilots. Her name’s Frankie Truebrooke.’

Lou nodded and was about to turn away when the sight of an RAF uniform amongst the American pinks and greens caught her eye.

Perhaps she had stared too hard and for too long, Lou didn’t know, but Frankie Truebrooke suddenly gave her a hard look and then turned to say something to the RAF pilot, whose face was hidden from Lou’s view by the other men crowding around her. The RAF pilot moved, obviously directed to look at her by Frankie Truebrooke, and Lou’s heart did a steep dive at such speed that she could hardly breathe.

Kieran Mallory! Tall and broad-shouldered with coal-black hair, grey eyes and a knowing smile, Kieran Mallory was strikingly handsome. And of course he knew it, Lou thought bitterly. Kieran Mallory was the very last person she ever wanted to see again. Quickly Lou looked away, not wanting to make eye contact with him, because she didn’t want any kind of contact with him at all. What had Frankie Truebrooke said to him about her? And, more important, what would he say to the American about Lou? Would he tell her that both Lou and her twin sister had once had huge crushes on him; that he had deceived them both into believing that they were special to him? Lou could feel her face beginning to burn with angry humiliation. She was a different person from the silly girl she had been then. He and Frankie Truebrooke were well suited, Lou decided, with a toss of her head.

The band had started to play – indeed not Glenn Miller’s band, sadly, but they sounded pretty good anyway, Lou acknowledged. The young airman, Cliff, with the good teeth and the nice smile, to whom she had been introduced, politely asked her to dance and, just as politely, Lou accepted.

Dancing sedately with Cliff to the tender strains of ‘Moonlight Becomes You’, Lou noticed that towards the end of the number Frankie Truebrooke, who was dancing with a fellow American, pulled away from her partner and ran over to say something to the band leader.

Then as the notes of ‘Moonlight Becomes You’ faded away Frankie Truebrooke, who was still standing in front of the band, clapped her hands together and announced, ‘This is an American airbase, filled with fine American airmen, and we’re gonna show you Brits that we can outdance you as well as outfly you.’

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and exchanged uncertain looks, and then one of the airmen whooped in approval of Frankie’s challenge and grabbed hold of her hand just as the band swung into a hot-paced jitterbug number that quickly turned into a floorshow given by Frankie and her partner whilst other dancers stood back.

She was good, Lou acknowledged, but not as good as Lou and Sasha themselves had been. There were many many times when Lou missed her twin and their old relationship, with its closeness and its shared ambitions, but right now she really wished that Sash was here so that they could do their bit for British morale and show Frankie a thing or two about really good jitterbugging.

Impulsively she turned to Cliff and demanded, ‘Can you jitterbug?’

When he nodded, Lou didn’t waste any more time. Grabbing hold of his hand she hurried him onto the floor, immediately picking up the beat of the music. She and Sash had loved dancing so much, and the magic it had always held for her was still there; there were some things, some skills, that were never forgotten.

As she let the music seize her and take her, Lou could hear the astonished and admiring gasps from the ATA girls now crowding round the edge of the dance floor to watch them, and cheer her on, their support reinforcing her determination to make Frankie Truebrooke regret her arrogant claim.

Cliff, who had initially looked apprehensive, was now throwing himself into the spirit of things. Luckily he was a good dancer himself, but it was Lou who held everyone spellbound and who the band played for as they recognised her skill, whilst her comrades clapped and cheered her on.

Thank goodness she’d decided not to bother wearing stockings because her legs were tanned, Lou thought, as Cliff swung her round, then up and then down again.

Laughing up at Cliff, she wouldn’t have seen the bottle that Frankie had thrown down deliberately to trip her up if it hadn’t been for the fact that Kieran Mallory had moved, no doubt wanting to get closer to the American, and his movement had caught her attention, showing her the bottle rolling towards her. She heard her friends gasp; she could see the look of malicious triumph on Frankie Truebrooke’s face, but Lou knew what to do. In a manoeuvre that had been part of one of the routines she and Sasha had taught themselves, Lou changed feet, and hands, and spun round anticlockwise, turning under Cliff’s arm, in a movement that pushed him to the side, and took them both safely away from the bottle.

The roar of approval and the hand clapping that resulted from the British ATA contingent said everything that needed to be said, Lou recognised, both about Frankie’s spitefulness and her own quick reaction to it.

Of course, when she came off the dance floor all the Brits gathered round her, wanting to praise her.

‘Well, you’re a dark horse,’ said June, tugging on Lou’s arm. ‘You never said a word about being able to dance like that.’

‘It’s just something Sash and I taught ourselves,’ Lou insisted, feeling uncomfortable about all the attention she was getting now that she had stopped dancing.

‘You were a wow,’ another of the girls approved. ‘You knocked that show-off American sideways, you were so good.’

Everyone was making such a fuss that Lou began to wish that she hadn’t given in to the impulse to show Frankie that she wasn’t the only one who could jitterbug.

‘You didn’t just outdance Frankie Truebrooke, you’ve outclassed her as well,’ Hilary told Lou, later on in the evening when they were on their way back to their own base. ‘She needed teaching that kind of lesson, and I for one am glad that one of us was the one to do it. She’s got a reputation for being spoiled and wild,’ Hilary continued, ‘and she likes stirring up trouble. One of my pals was posted to Ratcliffe and she said that Frankie was always trying to prove how much better she is than everyone else, but especially the British ATA pilots. Apparently she likes to boast that the ranch her father owns in Texas is bigger than the whole of England and that she’s been taught everything she needs to know.’

‘Except good manners,’ June pointed out trenchantly.

‘Absolutely,’ Hilary agreed. ‘You really put her nose out of joint tonight, Campion. It was about time someone showed her what it means to be British and I am so glad that it was one of us. I felt dreadfully sorry for that nice RAF flight lieutenant she was trying to lead on, though.’

Lou had to bite on her tongue not to retort that Kieran Mallory was far from nice and would certainly not need any leading on.

FOUR

The first thing Lou noticed after she had stepped out of Liverpool’s Lime Street Station, packed with travellers, most of them in uniform, was how grey and grimy Liverpool looked after the pretty English countryside she had been living in. Quickly she pushed away her disloyal judgement on the city. Liverpool was her home, it was the place where she had grown, and most of all it held the people she loved.

She was wearing her uniform, more for her parents’ benefit than her own. Her father was a traditionalist and a bit old-fashioned, and Lou suspected that he wouldn’t understand or indeed approve of the way things worked in ATA. Not that she minded wearing her smart tailored navy-blue skirt with its matching jacket worn over a lighter blue blouse. Unlike the well-to-do pilots, who all had their uniforms tailored for them at a store in London called Austin Reed, Lou had been perfectly happy with the neat fit of her regulationsized clothes. Rammed down onto her curls was the peaked forage cap that none of the girls really ever wore, her golden wings stitched proudly to her jacket denoting that she was now a Third Class ATA pilot.

After the sleepy green peacefulness of the narrow country lanes around their base, connecting small rural villages and towns, the busyness of Liverpool’s streets, teeming with traffic and people, came as something of a shock. Her strongest memories of her home city were those of the dreadful days of Hitler’s blitz at the start of May 1941 and the terrible time after that when her sister had nearly lost her life in the bomb-damaged streets. Then the city had been silent, mourning its dead, and filled with grief, its people weighed down with the enormity of the task that lay in front of them.

Now all that had gone and in its place was a sense of expectation and energy, brought about, Lou suspected, by the country’s growing hope that Hitler was going to be defeated.

The city centre was busy and bustling with men and women in every kind of uniform: British Army, Royal Navy, and the RAF; American infantry and airmen, Poles, Canadians New Zealanders and Aussies.

As she passed the street that led to the Royal Court Theatre, Lou felt her heart give a flurry of angry thuds. It was there that she and Sasha had first met Kieran Mallory, the nephew of its manager, Con Bryant. They had gone there naïvely hoping to be taken on as dancers. Instead of sending them on their way, Kieran and his uncle Con had deliberately encouraged them to believe that they had a stage future ahead of them. And by playing each of them off against the other, pretending to each behind the other’s back that he liked her the best, Kieran had cleverly come between them, fostering a mistrust and jealousy that had ultimately almost led to a terrible tragedy.

That was all in the past now, Lou reminded herself. Sasha was happily engaged to the young bomb disposal sapper who had saved her life, and Lou herself had achieved her ambition of becoming a pilot.

But the division between them was still there.

Not because of Kieran Mallory, Lou assured herself. He meant nothing to either of them now and she certainly wasn’t going to give him an importance in her life that he didn’t deserve.

Her nose, accustomed now to the smell of aviation fuel, hot engines, and Naafi food, set against a countryside background, was now beginning to recognise the smells of home: sea salt-sprayed air mixed with smoke and dust; the smell of vinegar, fish and chips wafting out of a chippy as she made her way up through the city streets toward Edge Hill; the scent of steam and coal from the trains in the Edge Hill freight yard, those smells gradually fading as she walked further up Edge Hill Road, leaving the city centre behind her, so that by the time she was turning into Ash Grove, Lou could have sworn she could smell the newly turned earth from the row of neat allotments that ran behind the houses and down to the railway embankment, one of which belonged to her own father. Her heart lifted, and just as though she were still a little girl, she suddenly wanted to run the last few yards, just as she and Sasha had done as children, racing one another to see who could reach the back door first, and somehow always getting there together, falling into the kitchen in gales of giggles. It had always been Sasha, though, who had still looked neat and tidy, whilst Lou had always been the one with a ribbon missing from one of her plaits and her ankle socks falling down.

In those days, when they had got home from school they had measured the days from the way the kitchen smelled. Mondays, the smell would be of lye soap and laundry, because Monday was wash day, just as on Fridays the smell would be of fish. They were not a Catholic family but their mother had still followed the traditional habit of serving fish on Fridays. Thursday’s smell had always been Lou’s favourite because Thursday was baking day, and they would return home from school to find the kitchen wonderfully scented with the aroma of cakes or scones, or whatever it was their mother had been baking.

Those had been such happy days. She had never dreamed then of what might lie ahead of them, never imagined that there would ever be a time when she and Sasha would not do everything together. Then such a thing had been unthinkable. Then…

The back door was half open. A pang of unexpected happiness, tinged with uncertainty, made Lou hesitate, suddenly conscious, now that she was here, how very much she wanted to make things right with her twin and for them to be close again.

She pushed open the door.

‘Lou!’

Jean stared in delight at her daughter, taking in her air of calm confidence and the smartness of her appearance.

‘Mum.’ Lou’s voice thickened with emotion as she was enveloped in her mother’s loving embrace.

‘You’ve grown,’ Jean told her. ‘A least an inch.’

‘It’s this cap,’ Lou laughed. ‘It makes me look taller. Oh, Mum, it’s lovely to be home. I do miss you all, especially Sash.’

The once bright yellow paint on the kitchen walls might look a little faded and war-weary now, but the love that filled the small room hadn’t changed, and nor had her mother.

‘Tell me all about everyone,’ Lou begged her mother. ‘I get letters, but it isn’t the same as seeing people. How’s Grace liking Whitchurch? And what about Auntie Fran? And Sasha, Mum, how is she?’

Jean sighed and shook her head slightly.

‘I’m worried about her,’ she admitted. Normally she would not have dreamed of discussing one of the twins with the other, but Lou had such an air of quiet competence about her now that unexpectedly Jean discovered that it was actually a relief to be able to voice her concerns about Sasha to someone who knew and understood her so well.

‘There’s nothing wrong between her and Bobby, is there?’ Lou asked anxiously.

‘I don’t think so, Lou. I just don’t know what’s wrong with her, except that nothing seems to please her these days.’

Outside the back door Sasha stiffened, anger and resentment filling her. So that’s what she got for using some of her precious time off to come home early to welcome her twin – overhearing Lou and their mother talking about her behind her back.

Sasha pushed open the door and marched into the kitchen, her unexpected appearance forcing an uncomfortable silence on the room.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she told her mother and sister. ‘I’ll go up to my room so that you can go on talking about me behind my back.’

‘Oh, Sasha, love, don’t be like that,’ Jean pleaded.

She was upsetting her mother, Sasha could see, and immediately her anger turned to guilt and misery. She knew that her mother was anxious about her, but how could she tell her about the shameful secret that was eating into her? How could she tell her what a coward she was, especially now with Lou standing there in her smart uniform. Lou, her twin, whose letters home were full of the exciting and dangerous things she was doing.

Wanting to change the subject and lighten the mood in the kitchen, Lou announced, ‘I wish so much you’d been with me last night, Sash. A group of us went to this dance and there was this dreadful show-off American girl pilot who was trying to prove that us British girls couldn’t jitterbug, so I had to show her that she was wrong. I did pretty well but it would have been so much better if you’d been there.’

Was that a hint of a smile relaxing Sasha’s frown?

‘Oh, and I’ve got to tell you this. You’ll never guess who was there,’ Lou continued. ‘Kieran Mallory, and—’

Immediately Sasha’s smile disappeared. ‘Kieran Mallory? Why have you got to tell me about him? Do you think I actually need reminding about what he did, or how keen you were to get in his good books? I thought we’d agreed that we’d never talk about him again.’

Lou didn’t know what to say.

‘It was thanks to you and him that I nearly got myself killed,’ Sasha threw at her, red flags of emotion burning in her cheeks. ‘I would have been killed an’ all if it hadn’t been for my Bobby, saving me like he did by taking my place in that bomb shaft.’

Guilt filled Lou. ‘Sash, you know how dreadful I feel about that.’ Remorsefully she reached out her hand to her twin, but Sasha stepped back from her.

‘It’s easy enough for you to say that, but it doesn’t seem to have stopped you taking up with Kieran again.’

‘I haven’t taken up with him,’ Lou protested. ‘I only mentioned him because I wanted to tell you that he was with this dreadful American girl!’

‘And that’s why you wanted to outdance her, isn’t it? So that you could show off to him.’

‘No,’ Lou protested. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’

‘Then why are you so keen to tell me that you’ve met up with him again? If you’re trying to make me jealous of you, Lou, you needn’t bother. My Bobby is worth a hundred of Kieran Mallory. You’re welcome to him. Don’t bother making me any tea, Mum. I’m meeting Bobby at tea time and we’ll have something at Joe Lyons.’

Lou was too astonished and, yes, hurt as well, by Sasha’s unexpected and unjustified attack on her to say anything to defend herself. She’d only mentioned the incident because she’d wanted to take Sasha back to a time when they’d been close to one another. It had never occurred to her that Sasha would place the interpretation on her little story that she had.

Without waiting for any response Sasha pulled open the door into the hall and walked out.

Jean and Lou looked at one another in silence as they heard her feet going up the stairs.

‘It isn’t like Sasha thinks, Mum. I wasn’t telling her about Kieran for any reason. Sasha’s right, though,’ Lou continued soberly. ‘What happened to her was my fault. If we hadn’t quarrelled and she’d decided to go home without me, she’d never have gone across that bombed-out building and fallen into that bomb crater. I should have gone back with her the moment she said she didn’t want to go any further, instead of waiting like I did, thinking she’d change her mind and come running after me and Kieran.’

Lou looked so guilty and upset that Jean’s heart ached for her.

‘It was an accident, with no one to blame, Lou love, and thankfully in the end neither of you came to any harm. I can’t tell you how many years it aged me and your dad when we saw the two of you in that bomb crater, you holding on to Sasha for dear life and her half under that bomb.’

Jean exhaled and then said firmly, ‘I’m going to put the kettle on and make us all a nice cup of tea.’

She turned away from Lou to fill the kettle. ‘And as for this Kieran Mallory…’ she continued, her back to Lou as she turned on the gas and then struck a match to light the burners.

‘He doesn’t mean anything to me now, Mum,’ Lou assured her. ‘Me and Sasha were well and truly taken in by him and that uncle of his who managed the Royal Court Theatre.’

Jean was glad that she had her back to her daughter. Somehow, perhaps because at the time she had been so dreadfully anxious for Sasha and then so relieved when she was finally safe, she’d never made the connection between Kieran Mallory and Con Bryant, although Jean recognised that it must have been there for her to make. Now that she had, though, a fresh apprehension filled her. Con might be dead and buried – Jean had seen the announcement of his death in the local paper – but that did not alter the fact that he had been the cause of such dreadful misery and potential shame to the family when he seduced Francine, and left her pregnant, something which Lou and Sasha knew nothing about. And now here was his nephew, coming between her daughters, a nephew who sounded very much as though he was made in the same mould as his uncle; the kind of man no mother wanted going anywhere near her daughters.

Lou had said that he didn’t mean anything to her, and Sasha was safely engaged to Bobby so there was no real reason for her to worry, Jean tried to comfort herself.

Irritably Charlie Firth gunned the engine of the Racing Green MG and dropped it down a gear so that he could overtake the lumbering army lorries travelling in convoy ahead of him. He hadn’t been in the best of moods when he’d left his base in the South of England for the long drive home to Liverpool, and the slow crawl along roads filled with military traffic hadn’t done anything to improve that mood. Spending, or rather wasting, what could well be his last bit of decent leave before his battalion was posted overseas and into action on a visit to his mother was the last thing Charlie would have chosen to do – not when London and all it had to offer in terms of a good night out with a pretty and willing girl was so conveniently close to the base. Unfortunately, though, he’d had no choice. Thanks to his ruddy wife and her equally ruddy parents, and their insistence on Charlie doing the gentlemanly thing and giving his wife a divorce.

Charlie swore viciously as he took a sharp corner at speed and almost knocked a pair of cyclists off their bikes. He could just imagine how his mother was going to react to the news that Daphne wanted a divorce. Not that Charlie really cared how his mother felt; it was the effect the news of his divorce was likely to have on her willingness to ‘help him out’ with those useful ‘loans’ he kept tapping her up for that worried him. His mother was a snob. She had boasted to anyone who would listen that he, Charlie, was marrying a girl with a double-barrelled surname and she wasn’t going to like what Charlie had to tell her. And he did have to tell her because if he didn’t there was no guarantee that if he didn’t get his side of the story in first, his in-laws, the Wrighton-Budes, just might give her theirs.

They’d never considered him good enough for their daughter, although Charlie had only discovered that on his wedding day, when Daphne’s cousin had let slip that Daphne’s parents and, indeed, Daphne herself had been expecting a local land-owning neighbour’s son to propose to her, and when he had married someone else instead marriage to Charlie had been seen by them as a face-saving exercise.

Now, though, this neighbour’s son was a widower, thanks to the war, and free to remarry, and it seemed that the woman he wanted to marry was Charlie’s wife.

Naturally Charlie had expressed shock and anger when this news had been relayed to him by his father-in-law, but the old fart had outmanoeuvred him by announcing that he knew all about the girls Charlie saw when he was on leave in London, because he had apparently been having Charlie followed, so that evidence could be gathered to back up Daphne’s claim for a divorce. Charlie’s father-in-law had actually had the gall to add that in view of his taste for variety, Charlie might actually welcome the freedom of a divorce.

Charlie, however, wanted no such thing. Announcing that he was married, as he had discovered, was a very effective way of sorting out the girls who wanted to play the game his way and have a good time, from those who were after something more permanent. Now his father-in-law was demanding that Charlie did the decent thing, so that Daphne, her name clear of any wrongdoing, could get her divorce and be free to remarry.

No, he wasn’t looking forward to the coming weekend at all, Charlie admitted.

There’d be no point in trying to tap up Bella, his sister, for a few quid; they’d never been what one might call close, but their relationship had really deteriorated after Bella had taken in that girl who reckoned that he’d fathered her brat.

He had reached the outskirts of Liverpool now, the Mersey a grey gleam to his left, made even greyer by the hulls of the naval vessels and merchant convoys filling the docks.

Liverpool was the port used by most of the convoys crossing the Atlantic, bringing in much-needed supplies of raw materials and food. Not that the vitally important role his home city was playing in the war effort interested Charlie.

Wallasey was considered far more exclusive than Liverpool, the town holding itself apart from the city in the manner of a ‘lady’ keeping her distance from her servants, whilst being dependent on them.

The last few miles of the drive increased Charlie’s ill humour. He’d have given anything to turn the car round and drive back to London, he acknowledged as he pulled up outside his mother’s house.

In the front window a lace curtain twitched ever so slightly, but Charlie was too preoccupied with his own sense of injustice and ill-usage to notice.

‘Bella, it’s Charlie. He’s here,’ Vi Firth announced, letting the lace curtain drop and then hurrying into the hallway, patting the rigid waves of her new hairdo, before going to open the door.

Lord, but his mother looked drab and dull; no wonder his father had left her for someone younger and livelier, Charlie thought unkindly as he submitted himself to Vi’s tearful embrace.

‘Such a shame that dearest Daphne couldn’t come with you. I can see that I’m going to have to travel down to see her,’ Vi informed Charlie, before turning towards the kitchen and calling out in a far sharper voice, ‘Bella, do hurry up with that tea. Your poor brother has been driving for hours.

‘Having Bella living here with me is so difficult at times, Charles. You wouldn’t believe how selfish she can be,’ Vi confided to her son in a lower tone. ‘I blame that nursery. I never wanted her to go and work there, or marry that Pole. Of course, if your father had been here to put his foot down…’ Fresh tears welled in Vi’s eyes.

‘No one would have stopped me from marrying Jan, Mummy,’ Bella announced, appearing in the open doorway from the hall to the kitchen, obviously having overheard their mother’s comment.

‘Where is that tea, Bella?’ Vi interrupted her.

‘In the kitchen,’ Bella answered her.

‘Oh, really, Bella, I thought you’d have made more of an effort for your brother, and prepared a tea tray for the lounge. This dreadful war is causing standards to slip dreadfully,’ Vi complained to Charlie.

Charlie fought to conceal his growing irritation. A good stiff drink was what he wanted, not a cup of tea, but he judged it wiser not to say so, not with the old girl almost having turned into a bit of a lush herself after his father had left. It wouldn’t do to fall out with his mother before he’d won her round, gained her sympathy and got some money out of her, and there was no point in falling foul of Bella otherwise she’d set off giving him an ear-bashing.

An hour later, having spent most of that time forced to listen to his mother cataloguing her various grievances, Charlie was beginning to wish that he had thought to bring a bottle of army rations gin with him to calm his mother down and put her in the right mood for what he had to tell her.

‘…and I still don’t see why you couldn’t have let Charlie sleep in your bed tonight, Bella, whilst you used the spare room,’ his mother was now berating his sister. ‘He needs a decent night’s sleep after driving up here.’

Scenting an opportunity to deliver his bad news, Charlie assumed a morose, mournful expression and heaved a heavy sigh.

‘Don’t worry about me, Ma. I’ve hardly slept a wink this last week since…’

‘Since what?’ Vi demanded anxiously when Charlie deliberately did not continue.

Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t want to burden you with my problems, Ma, especially after what you’ve been through with Dad.’ He paused and waited, and, true to form, just as he had expected she would, his mother immediately pressed him.

‘Charlie, I’m your mother; you must tell me what’s wrong.’

Charlie shook his head and then cleared his throat as though struggling with his emotions.

‘I’m not going to blame Daphne. It isn’t her fault. It’s mine. I should have realised when her cousin let the cat out of the bag about how Daphne had been involved with someone else before she met me, that she might not love me as much as I love her.’

‘So much that you got another girl pregnant whilst you were engaged to her,’ Bella cut in in a sharp voice, earning herself a look of censure from their mother and a rebuking.

‘I won’t have you bringing that up, Bella. If anyone was to blame, it was that dreadful girl.’ Turning back to Charlie, Vi told him firmly, ‘I shouldn’t let it worry you if you and dearest Daphne have had a bit of a tiff, Charlie.’

Trust his mother to be obtuse, Charlie thought impatiently. She’d always been good at not seeing what she didn’t want to see, and making a fuss over bits of something and nothing because it suited her to do so.

‘A bit of a tiff? I wish that it was just that, Ma.’ Charlie stood up and paced the kitchen floor as though in the grip of an intense emotion that was almost too much for him. ‘Like I said, though, I’m not blaming Daphne.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘No, if anyone’s to blame for her turning against me then it’s her mother. She never really liked me.’ There, that should do it, Charlie reckoned. His mother had never forgiven Daphne’s mother for the way she had behaved over the wedding, treating Vi as though she was a poor relation she’d rather not have known the mother of her daughter’s husband-to-be.

Vi’s reaction was as gratifying as it had been predictable. Her mouth pursed, her bosom swelling with righteous indignation.

‘And who is she when she’s at home, not to like you? You saved her son’s life – well, as good as. It wasn’t your fault that he went overboard again and drowned after you’d rescued him at Dunkirk. Mind you, I have to say that I never really took to her. Well, look at the way she was always interfering and stopping poor Daphne from coming up here. Selfish, that’s what I call it.

‘You must speak to Daphne, though, Charlie, and be firm with her. She’s your wife now, after all.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that now.’

‘Too late? What do you mean?’ Now Vi was seriously alarmed.

‘Daphne wants a divorce. And the truth is, well, I feel honour bound to agree, especially knowing that—’

‘Knowing what?’ Bella challenged her brother. She knew Charlie far too well to be taken in by the little side show he was putting on for their mother. And besides, being honour bound to do anything simply wasn’t Charlie. If Bella had needed any confirmation of that she only had to think of the way in which Charlie had stolen her jewellery and then tried to blame the theft on Jan. And, even worse, how he had seduced poor Lena and then deserted her, leaving her pregnant.

Charlie exhaled unevenly.

‘This chap – the chap who Daffers was involved with before me – is a widower now, and it seems that he…that they – well, I’m pretty sure that all Daffers intended to do was to offer him her condolences, since he’s a close neighbour, and that he’s the one to blame for things getting out of hand. She’s not the sort to deliberately…Well, like I said, I can’t and won’t blame her, but the truth is that things have gone further than they should and poor Daffers…’ Charlie paused for effect, and heaved a deep sigh.

Her brother really ought to have gone on the stage, Bella thought grimly.

‘Charles?’ Vi begged.

Charlie took another deep breath. ‘I hate to have to say this but the fact is that they were caught out in a compromising situation and now, for her sake, the sooner this chap is able to make a decent woman of Daffers, the better. Of course I could refuse to co-operate, but – well, when you love someone you want them to be happy, and if the only thing I can give her to show her how much I love her is my agreement to being named as the guilty party in our divorce, to protect her, then that is what I will do.’

There were a dozen probing questions at least that Bella wanted to ask but now wasn’t the time.

Vi, who had half made to stand up, was now sitting back in her chair, one hand placed over her heart, the other clutching the edge of the table for support.

Bella knew how much Charlie’s news would upset her mother, and what a blow it would be to her. Pity for her softened Bella’s awareness of how difficult their mother could be. Charlie’s divorce would be very hard for her to bear, and she would see it as another humiliation on top of the humiliation she had already suffered over their father leaving home to live with his assistant.

Everything that Bella was thinking was confirmed when her mother turned to Charlie and told him, ‘Daphne may have behaved very badly, Charlie, but she is your wife. I shall write to her for you and tell her that, and I shall write to her mother as well…’

The last thing Charlie wanted was his mother getting in touch with Daphne or her family and discovering the truth. Furious with his mother for making things difficult for him, he longed to be able to escape – from her and from the problems she was causing him. As always when he was confronted with an obstacle to his plans, he blamed everyone apart from himself.

‘No! You mustn’t write to Daphne or her parents,’ he began furiously.

‘Why not?’ Vi demanded.

Bella had seen and heard enough. She could tell from Charlie’s expression that things weren’t going the way he had planned and that the situation was going to get very unpleasant unless she did something to avoid that.

‘Mummy, you can’t interfere. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be dignified, or worthy of you. Charlie has just told us that he feels honour bound to let Daphne have her divorce and it is only right that you respect his decision, and be proud of his…his generous and honourable treatment of her.’

Charlie listened to Bella with relief. She certainly knew how to handle their mother.

‘That’s right, Ma,’ Charlie agreed. ‘A man’s honour is very important to him. Especially when he’s in uniform and he’s about to go into action. I’m not saying that I wasn’t tempted to plead with Daffers to change her mind, but a man’s got to be a man – and honourable, of course.’

Charlie was right, Vi acknowledged reluctantly. It was important that he did the right thing, and that he put being honourable above his own feelings. And that would certainly show that stuck-up Mrs Wrighton-Bude, Daphne’s mother, which of their two children knew the right way to behave. How ashamed she must feel having to explain to all her friends – her ‘bridge club set’ – that her daughter had behaved in such a shameful way and her with a husband who loved her, who had saved her brother’s life and who was about to be sent overseas to fight for his country. In her shoes Vi didn’t think she’d have been able to show her face anywhere. She, on the other hand, would be able to tell everyone just how well Charlie had behaved. Poor Charlie, whose heart had been broken.

‘Well, I suppose I shall have to feel sorry for Mrs Wrighton-Bude,’ Vi announced, ‘for having been so shown up by her daughter in such a dreadful way. She must feel so ashamed, because of course it will reflect on her and the way she has been brought up.’

‘I wanted to come up and tell you rather than send a letter.’ Charlie quickly picked up the ball Bella had set rolling for him, keen to get the most benefit he could from his mother’s sympathy for him. ‘Not that it was easy. All the way up here I kept on thinking that Daphne should be with me…’

‘You’re over-egging the bread,’ Bella warned him in a quiet murmur, but Charlie ignored her, going over to Vi’s chair.

‘These last few weeks have been pure hell, and to make the whole thing even worse, I’ve practically bankrupted myself driving over to see Daphne and her parents and then sorting out…well, everything that needs to be done, so that I can provide the necessary evidence that will enable Daphne to sue me for adultery.’

When Vi shuddered, Charlie assured her untruthfully, ‘It’s all right, Ma. It’s all done very neatly; the solicitor arranges it all. I just have to say that I was at such and such an hotel on such and such a night with a Miss A – even though neither of us was anywhere near the place. Our names will appear in the hotel register and that will be enough. Of course, the whole thing is damnably expensive. More so than if I had actually been guilty of adultery. My solicitor was rather shocked that Daphne’s father hadn’t offered to cover all my expenses, but, well, call it foolish pride, but I couldn’t bring myself to go cap in hand to him, to ask him to help me out, even though three hundred pounds is nothing to him.’

‘Three hundred pounds?’ Vi gasped.

‘Yes. Luckily I’d got a bit put by. I’d been saving for after the war, thinking that me and Daphne would be wanting to buy our own home then.’

Vi’s emotions overwhelmed her. ‘Oh, my poor boy, I’ll do what I can to help you, but the most I can manage is a hundred.’

He’d done it. Charlie crowed inwardly in triumph.

‘I hate taking money from you, Ma, especially after what Dad’s done. I’ll pay you back, I promise. At least now all I’ve got to worry about is doing my bit for the country, and making sure we get this war won.’

‘It’s definite that you’re going into action, then?’ Bella asked.

‘Looks like it,’ Charlie confirmed. ‘All leave’s cancelled after this weekend, and we’ve been told we’ve already got orders to ship out. No one’s saying for definite, but it’s got to be Italy, with Sicily already invaded and won, and some of our men already with the American Fifth Army at Salerno.’

Bella nodded. What Charlie was saying confirmed what everyone seemed to be expecting. She had no idea what part her own Jan would be playing in any invasion of Italy. Jan’s fighter pilot squadron based in the South of England covered the South Coast and the Channel, and as far as Bella was aware, it was the heavy bombers, both American and British, that were being used to make raids on Germany’s defences in Italy and Germany itself.

If Italy could be captured then the way would be open for the Allies to really drive back the Germans.

Italy – that willing little bed partner Bella had made all the fuss about had had an Italian look about her, Charlie reflected, well pleased now with the result of his hard work, and typically and conveniently forgetting that it had been Bella who had saved the day for him.

Life just didn’t seem fair, Vi thought bitterly.

She had been so proud when Charlie had married ‘up’ to a girl with a double-barrelled surname, and so had Edwin. But then Edwin had been tempted away from her by that dreadful scheming creature who had worked for him and with whom he was now living openly in sin, despite the fact that, technically at least, he and Vi were still man and wife. And now here was Charlie, her son, saying that his wife wanted a divorce. How could life be so cruel and unfair, especially to her? She had always lived a blameless life, selflessly devoting herself to the good of others, looking around for the right kind of husband; marrying Edwin for practical, sensible reasons, unlike her twin, Jean, who had fallen in love with the first man who had asked her out, and then marrying him without even considering what his future prospects might be.

Then she’d taken in their younger sister’s illegitimate child, who had caused her nothing but trouble, only to have Fran carry on as though she and Edwin had been cruel to the boy instead of giving him the best of everything.

She’d even insisted that Edwin buy this house here in Wallasey, for Edwin and her children’s sake rather than her own, so that Bella and Charlie could mix with a better class of people. It was because of the sacrifices she had made that Edwin had done as well as he had, and the family had risen to the position where others looked up to them and envied them.

Then the country had gone to war and everything had changed, and Vi didn’t like those changes.

But it was poor Charlie she must think of, not herself. She must make sure too that people knew how badly Charlie had been treated, and how honourably he had behaved in return. Just mentally thinking the word ‘honourably’ made Vi feel better. No one could argue against or criticise a young man who behaved honourably.

FIVE

‘Oh, you’re still awake.’

The tone of Sasha’s voice made it very clear to Lou that Sasha didn’t welcome the fact that Lou was sitting up in bed in their shared bedroom, instead of being asleep.

Lou had been giving a great deal of thought to Sasha over the course of the evening, her concern for her twin growing with everything that her mother had said about Sasha – and, more importantly, everything she had not said.

Lou had learned that ‘Sasha isn’t doing Bobby any favours by trying to force him to turn his back on his comrades in the bomb disposal service by asking for a transfer into other military duties’ – her father’s comment.

And, ‘I can understand that poor Sasha worries about Bobby doing such a dangerous job, but having a go at your dad because he won’t help her to persuade Bobby to ask for a transfer isn’t the right way to go about things. Your dad’s a man of principle and he respects Bobby for insisting that he intends to stick with his comrades’ – their mother’s statement. And all the things in between that hadn’t been said but which Lou had been able to sense with the maturity that being in uniform and having to work as part of a team with others had brought her.

‘I could tell this afternoon that she wasn’t herself,’ Lou had admitted to her mother when they had been in the kitchen together after tea, washing up the tea things, a family ritual that Lou had once done everything she could to escape, but that today she had loved because of the opportunity it gave her to share a special closeness with her mother, as two adult women.

‘I thought that it must be because of me and because she thought I’d been talking about her behind her back.’

Jean had sighed and shaken her head. ‘There’s no reasoning with her these days. I wouldn’t mind so much if I thought that she was happy, but when I can see that she isn’t…’ She’d turned to Lou, her hands still in the washing-up water, red and slightly chapped from all the hard work they did. Looking at them, Lou had felt a surge of fierce love for her mother, and an equally intense wish that she could do something not just to put things right between her and Sasha, but to help her mother as well.

‘I’ll try and talk to her, if you like,’ she had offered. ‘I’d planned to tell her anyway how sorry I am that I was so mean to her when she and Bobby first started going out, because I didn’t want things to change and I just wanted it to be me and her, like it had always been.’

Lou had guessed that their mother had expected Sasha to return home early from her tea out with Bobby because Lou was home, and that she was upset because Sasha had not done so. Because of that Lou had set herself the task of showing her parents, and especially her mother, that she was not upset or offended and that she was happy in their company, telling them about her own life in ATA, or at least giving them a carefully edited version of it so as not to alarm her mother, listening to the news with them, laughing when her father reminded her of the racket she and Sasha used to make with their music and their dancing, and listening with genuine interest whilst Jean brought her up to date on things that were happening within the family.

But all the time Lou had been trying to think of the best way to break down the barriers between her and Sasha.

‘No,’ she answered her twin now with a warm smile, ‘I wanted to wait up for you so that we could have a proper chat. Do you remember how we used to talk so late into the night that Mum threatened to make us sleep in separate rooms?’

When Sasha didn’t respond but turned away from her instead, and started getting ready for bed, Lou tried again.

‘Mum and Dad were both saying how much they like Bobby.’

Sasha, who had put one foot on their shared bentwood chair whilst she removed her stockings, stiffened but didn’t say anything.

‘I’m really sorry that I was such an idiot and behaved so badly when you and Bobby were first seeing one another, Sash,’ Lou apologised generously. ‘I was so immature and selfish, wanting to keep things between us the way they had always been.’

Sash had returned to removing her stockings. Her twin had lost weight, Lou recognised. Even the dim light of the bedside lamp couldn’t conceal how pinched her face looked. Lou looked towards the window with its heavy blackout covering. If only Sasha would just make some response, but her twin was behaving as though Lou simply wasn’t there.

Lou wasn’t going to give up, though. Not for one minute.

‘I was so jealous of Bobby,’ she continued, laughing at herself, ‘him being with bomb disposal and being a real hero. You must be so proud of him, Sasha.’

Now at last her twin reacted, turning to face Lou, her eyes blazing with emotion in her pale face.

‘Proud of him for risking getting himself killed when he knows what that would do to me? When he could ask for a transfer out?’

Sasha’s voice held so much anger and so much pain that Lou could feel that pain in her own heart.

‘I hate this war. I hate it and I just want it to be over, before it can take Bobby from me,’ Sasha burst out.

In a flash Lou was pushing back the bedclothes and getting out of bed, her one thought to comfort her twin, as she ran across the space that divided their single beds.

‘Oh, Sash, I’m so sorry.’ Lou reached out to put her arms around her twin.

‘No you’re not. You’re enjoying this war, like everyone else: Mum and Dad, and Grace and Seb, and…and everyone. Well, I’m not enjoying it. I hate it. I hate everything about it, everything.’

Sasha had torn herself free from Lou’s embrace before Lou could stop her, snatching up her toilet bag, obviously intending to go to the bathroom.

Lou watched her go, her heart aching for her twin, knowing instinctively, because they were twins, that what Sasha had really wanted to say was that she hated everyone involved in the war rather than merely everything.

Poor Sasha. Of course her twin must be worried about Bobby, especially with him having such a very dangerous job. Lou wasn’t in love herself so she felt that she couldn’t truly appreciate how it must feel to know that the person you loved and wanted to spend the rest of your life with might be taken from you. On the other hand, she did know girls who were engaged and married, and whilst they were naturally anxious for their loved ones their feelings about the war did not match Sasha’s. Feeling very troubled and concerned for her twin, Lou went back to bed.

Sasha was an awfully long time in the bathroom. Because she was upset or because she was hoping that Lou herself would be asleep by the time she returned, Lou wondered. If that was the case, perhaps right now the best thing she could do for her twin was grant her that privacy, Lou accepted tiredly as she stifled a yawn. It had been a very long day and hopefully there would be time for them to talk properly to one another tomorrow, when Sasha was feeling calmer.

When she opened the bedroom door and saw that the room was in darkness, Sasha let out her pent-up breath in shaky relief. There was no point in her trying to explain to her twin how she felt. Lou simply wouldn’t understand.

Putting her wash bag on the dressing table, Sasha felt in the pocket of her dressing gown for the familiar reassuring security of her small torch. She had bought it and its batteries on the black market, and it and Bobby’s engagement ring were her most precious possessions. Both of them gave her comfort and helped her to feel safe.

Very carefully she put the torch under her pillow and then quickly removed her dressing gown. If she concentrated and didn’t think about the dark and the ice-cold shudders of fear it sent crawling down her spine, she could be in bed and reaching for her torch before it had the chance to take hold of her. What she must not do once she was in bed was think about how the weight of the bedclothes reminded her of being trapped in the bomb shaft, knowing that if Lou let go of her she would slip completely beneath it, swallowed up by the darkness, and the weight of the bomb and the earth around it pressing down on her smothering her.

She was in bed now but she was trembling so much she couldn’t get hold of the torch. A cold sweat was filming her forehead, panicky nausea gripping her stomach, her heart pounding and her lungs refusing to expand to take in air. A horrible choking sensation tightened her chest, as the seconds ticked by, her panic only releasing her when she finally held the torch and switched it on. Light. It made her feel so much safer and calmer. With the little torch on she knew she wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night fearing that she was still trapped beneath the bomb and that she was going to die.

It had all been so different when she had first been rescued. She had been so happy then, so grateful to Lou for staying with her, and even more grateful to Bobby for taking her twin’s place and then her own so that she could be rescued. It had been only after Lou had joined the WAAF that she had started having these awful feelings of panic and fear, flashbacks to how it had felt to be trapped under the bomb. At first she had tried to ignore those feelings, hoping that if she did they would simply go away, but they hadn’t. Instead they’d grown worse, tormenting her at every turn, making her afraid to go to sleep in case she woke up in the darkness thinking she was still trapped. The torch protected her, keeping the darkness at bay, but nothing could protect her from her fears. Fears that were all the worse for her knowing that every day Bobby risked losing his own life because he worked in bomb disposal. The thought of him being trapped as she had been terrified her. She had forbidden him to talk to her about his work because she simply couldn’t bear hearing about the shafts they had to dig to get down to some of the bombs. She had nightmares about those shafts; about being trapped in one of them with the earth burying her, slowly choking her to death.

There was no point in her trying to explain to anyone how she felt. Who would understand? Not Bobby, who laughed at her when she said that his work was too dangerous, not Lou, who loved nothing more than risking her own life flying in a plane, not the girls she worked with at the telephone exchange, who all had boyfriends or husbands, doing their bit for the country, not her elder sister, Grace, either, who talked about the bravery of the wounded soldiers she nursed, and certainly not her parents, who were so proud of Luke. They would all think she was a coward and be ashamed of her. She felt ashamed of herself. Ashamed and afraid and so very alone.

Tears trickled down Sasha’s face, her hold on the little torch tightening, her last thought before she fell asleep that she must wake up before Lou so that she could switch off the torch so Lou wouldn’t know about it.

SIX

‘That’s nearly a full week’s ration of butter you’ve just spread on your toast,’ Bella pointed out crossly to her brother, as she poured herself a cup of tea. Her mother’s kitchen was nothing like as pretty as her own, or as homely and comfortable as her aunt Jean’s, even though Vi had had the kitchen newly fitted out with the very latest gas oven, and a smart metal unit painted cream and green, as well as a brand-new table and four chairs, when the family had moved into the house just a couple of years before the start of the war.

‘Well, you can get some more easily enough from that nursery of yours, without anyone being the wiser, since you run it, can’t you?’ Charlie demanded, without lifting his gaze from the paper he was reading.

‘You may think it acceptable to steal from others, Charlie, but I certainly don’t,’ Bella told him pointedly.

Charlie heaved an irritable sigh. ‘Oh, for God’s sake stop moralising, Bella, just because you’ve become a Goody Two-Shoes. I remember how you persuaded Alan to marry you, even if you’d rather forget.’

Bella wasn’t going to deny that she had tricked her first husband into marrying her. She had been a different person then, a stupid shallow selfish person who had learned the hard way that what she had done was wrong. Alan was dead now and she had been given the chance to make a new life for herself with the man she loved.

‘What I did was wrong, but I’ve paid for my wrongdoing. Unlike you, Charlie.’

Charlie threw down the paper. ‘If you’re referring to that brat you keep insisting is mine, I’ve a good mind to go round and see—’

‘Don’t you dare go anywhere near Lena. She’s happy now, with Gavin, and she doesn’t need you upsetting her,’ Bella interrupted him, realising too late when she saw the look in his eyes that she had said too much and by doing so had created exactly the situation she had wanted to avoid, sparking Charlie’s interest in Lena, instead of protecting her.

‘Who says I’d be upsetting her? She might be glad to see me. She certainly was the last time I saw her.’

Charlie goaded Bella with a leering smile that made Bella fear even more for Lena. Lena had loved Charlie so much. He had broken her heart, and even now she was still so young.

She was worrying over nothing, Bella told herself. Lena had no interest whatsoever in Charlie. She wasn’t in love with him and she didn’t secretly yearn for him. She had told Bella that herself when she had told her how much she loved Gavin. But even so, Bella felt anxious on Lena’s behalf.

‘Do you see much of the old man?’ Charlie asked, judging it wise to change the subject.

‘Nothing at all,’ Bella answered. ‘Nor do I want to. He’s treated Mummy dreadfully. And if you’re thinking of taking your sob story about Daphne to him, Charlie, in the hope that he’ll be as easily taken in and as generous as Mummy has been, I really would advise you not to. Pauline will soon see through you and she certainly won’t let Daddy give you any money.’

Bella was too shrewd by half, Charlie acknowledged.

‘She never had that kid she was supposed to be expecting, did she?’ he asked.

‘No. I think she must have been pretending to be pregnant as a way of making sure that Daddy left Mummy, but once she realised that Mummy wasn’t going to divorce him and that the best she could hope for was to be his mistress, a pregnancy was probably the last thing she wanted.’

‘Hmm, well, I still might as well go and visit the old man, seeing as I’m up here,’ Charlie told Bella, ignoring the look she was giving him. ‘He’s still living out at Neston, I take it?’

‘As far as I know, yes,’ Bella confirmed. She didn’t think for one minute that their father would be as generous towards Charlie as their mother had been, but at least while he drove out to the Wirral she wouldn’t need to worry about him deliberately trying to cause trouble and upset Lena.

‘Thanks for agreeing to come with me to this official do at the American Embassy tonight, Katie, especially at such short notice,’ Gina told Katie gratefully as they sat in the café in Peter Jones in Sloane Square, drinking tea.

Katie smiled at her friend. They had originally met at work and had got on well from the moment Gina had introduced herself. Although she came from a well-to-do county family, there was no edge to Gina.

Gina told Katie ruefully, ‘I dare say I only got the invitation myself because they’re a bit short of females and my name happened to be on one of those dreadful lists of “respectable and acceptable” young women the American top brass seem to insist on.’

They smiled at one another in mutual amusement, two stylish young women anyone observing them would think acceptable anywhere. The camel-coloured coat Gina had on toned perfectly with the fallen leaves outside, her brown beret toning with her hair and matching her well-polished dark brown shoes. She was taller than Katie and her good complexion was her best feature.

Katie was wearing a cherry-red hat trimmed with some feathers from one of her mother’s old stage outfits, with her own grey winter coat, the little hat tilted at a slight angle like the hats on the models in Peter Jones.

‘I wouldn’t go, but one feels it’s one’s duty to represent our own Armed Forces and remind the Americans how proud we are of them. Of course, I wouldn’t be going if Leonard wasn’t at sea,’ Gina continued.

Katie eyed Gina affectionately. Leonard, Gina’s husband, was a captain in the Royal Navy, and they hadn’t been married very long.

‘I was only thinking this morning of the way things work out.’ Gina shook her head. ‘If you and I hadn’t gone to Bath when we did, then we would never have met Leonard and Eddie.’

‘You and Leonard were obviously meant to be,’ Katie responded gently. She knew from what Gina had told her when they had first become friends, just after Katie had transferred to the Holborn Office of the Postal Censorship Department, that Gina had expected to marry another young man before she had met Leonard. That young man had been killed in action and it had taken courage on Gina’s part to risk loving another man in uniform.

‘What about you and Eddie?’ Gina challenged her. ‘After all, one day he will inherit his father’s title.’

Katie laughed and shook her head. Eddie was Leonard’s younger cousin, Leonard’s mother and Eddie’s father being sister and brother. Like Leonard, Eddie was also in the navy. Terrific fun and an equally terrific flirt, Eddie made Katie laugh and she liked him as a friend, but that was all.

‘Eddie and I are just friends. I’m glad that you’ve asked me to go with you,’ Katie responded to Gina’s initial comment. ‘I know this sounds selfish of me but it will be a pleasant change to go out and be a guest instead of being the one running around after others.’

‘You, selfish?’ Gina scoffed. ‘You are the least selfish person I know, Katie. You’re working far too hard, you know, all day at the Censorship Office and then nearly every single evening at Rainbow Corner. I thought you were only going to be there three nights a week?’

‘I was, but they’ve got so busy with all the Americans being brought over that they’re desperately short of volunteers.’

‘Do you think it’s true, Katie, what everyone’s saying about the Forces getting ready to invade France?’ Gina asked.

‘Well, we shall have to if they’re going to defeat Hitler,’ Katie answered.

‘I know,’ Gina acknowledged, ‘but after what happened to the poor men in August last year when the invasion of Dieppe failed and so many men were killed and wounded…’

The two girls exchanged sad looks. The young men who had gone so bravely to their deaths had all been Canadian volunteers from overseas, who had wanted to do their bit for the country with which so many of them had family ties.

‘I’ll come to you for six o’clock, shall I? Then we can walk round to the American Embassy from your billet?’

Katie agreed.

‘I’m hoping to visit Leonard’s parents next weekend,’ Gina told her as they both stood up. ‘I promised Leonard that I’d try to go and see them and the children as often as I can whilst he’s away.’

Leonard had two children from his first marriage to a Frenchwoman, a son and a daughter of four and three. Odile, their mother, had been killed in a car accident with her lover, and the two children lived in the country with Leonard’s parents.

‘The children are so sweet,’ Gina confessed. ‘Little Adam asked me ever so seriously the last time I saw them if he and Amy could call me Mummy. Poor little things. Leonard told me that Odile didn’t have much time for them. I’ve never thought of myself as maternal, but now…I’m really beginning to miss them when I’m in London.’

‘I think that they are very lucky to have you as their stepmother, Gina.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Gina protested, but Katie could see that she was pleased.

‘And Tommy’s housemaster at the Grammar School has said as how he thinks that Tommy is a very bright boy and that I should be thinking about him perhaps going on up to Oxford if he works hard. He says that Tommy’s got a really good ear for languages.’ Emily couldn’t help boasting a little as she worked alongside the other women on that week’s rota for doing the church flowers, at Whitchurch’s historic Queen Anne church, St Alkmund’s.

‘He’s a lovely lad and no mistake, Emily,’ her friend and neighbour Ivy Wilson agreed loyally. ‘Looks ever so smart too in his uniform.’

The Grammar School divided its pupils into four houses, each house represented by its own uniform colour. Emily had been lucky enough to have been told by the dressmaker, who altered her own clothes, that she had another customer whose son had just finished school and who no longer needed his uniform. Acting as a go-between, the dressmaker had negotiated a price for the uniform that was acceptable to both parties, and so Tommy had been able to start Grammar School in a proper uniform.

‘Don’t worry about the blazer being a bit big for him,’ the dressmaker had reassured Emily ‘He’ll grow into it soon enough. Grow like weeds, young ones do.’

‘Well I never, Emily, that was ever such a good idea of yours to add a bit of greenery to the flowers to make them go a bit further. A real asset to the flower rota, you are, and no mistake,’ Ivy continued warmly.

Listening happily to her neighbour’s praise, Emily congratulated herself, not for the first time, that moving here to Whitchurch was definitely the best thing she had ever done.

The church, with its square tower, had been rebuilt from sandstone in the early 1700s, and blended perfectly into its surroundings, the graveyard with its time-worn gravestones testament to the many generations of local families who had worshipped there. Its main claim to fame was that beneath its porch the heart of Sir John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, made famous by Shakespeare, was buried.

The vicar and his wife were a kind, well-thought-of couple, and the female members of the congregation were enthusiastic about doing their bit for the war. In general Emily had found them a friendly group, who had welcomed her warmly amongst them. Apart from Ina Davies, who was eyeing her disparagingly now as she sniffed, ‘Personally I wouldn’t have said that all them leaves are right for church flowers. Not that my opinion matters, of course, but to my mind there’s something a bit common about them.’

Emily and Ivy exchanged looks. For some reason Ina Davies had taken against Emily right from the start when she had first moved to Whitchurch, often making critical and sometimes hurtful comments about Emily in Emily’s own hearing. According to her neighbour, Ina wasn’t well liked in the community but people put up with her out of their good nature.

‘Give over, Ina,’ Ivy protested. ‘They set off them dahlias a treat.’

‘And as for that son of yours being good at languages,’ Ina continued, ignoring Ivy’s comment, ‘I should think he would be, given the amount of time that German POW spends at your house. I don’t think I’d want any lad of mine spending so much time with someone like that, a Nazi! ‘Oo knows what he might be telling him.’

‘Wilhelm is not a Nazi. He was forced to join up and fight,’ Emily protested.

‘That’s easy enough for him to say now. Stands to reason he’s going to want to protect himself by pretending he was forced to support Hitler. Mind you, I’ve got to say that it seems to me that there’s something funny going on when someone who reckons to be British starts defending a German. My Harry says he’s never seen the like of it,’ Ina continued. ‘A German POW coming and going like he does, making himself at home, brazen as anything and acting like he isn’t a POW at all…’ She pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘My Harry says he’s surprised that someone hasn’t said something to the authorities and got something done about it.’

The atmosphere in the church had changed, the other women looking meaningfully at one another and, Emily thought, questioningly at her, the happy mood in which they had all been working together changing to one of discomfort.

It was a relief to Emily when the flowers were finished and she was free to leave.

‘Don’t worry about what Ina had to say,’ Ivy tried to comfort her as they walked home together. ‘She’s always had a nasty side to her and been a bit of a troublemaker. I reckon she’s jealous that you’ve got Wilhelm looking after your garden for you, and doing a good job on it too, whilst she’s got to rely on her Harry who wouldn’t know one end of a carrot from another. Course it doesn’t help that their Christopher was taken prisoner at Dunkirk. She reckons the POWs we’ve got here have it easy compared with her Christopher, but that’s not your fault and she’s got no right picking on you like she did. Not that anyone will pay any attention to her, not knowing what she’s like.’

Emily was grateful for her neighbour’s kindness, but Ina’s comments had left her feeling upset and uncomfortable.

SEVEN

Things hadn’t gone as well in Neston as he had hoped, Charlie admitted as he drove through Wallasey, heading for his mother’s. His father had flatly refused to give him any money, demanding to know how Charlie expected him to be able to afford to give him money when he was having to support two households. And that despite the fact there had been two cars parked on the drive of the fancy house his father was renting, and Pauline had been tricked out in what looked like three strands of real pearls and a ruddy great solitaire diamond ‘engagement’ ring. Charlie had tried flattering her, hoping that by buttering her up a bit she’d weigh in on his behalf with his father, but he hadn’t reckoned on how hard-faced she was, Charlie admitted, scowling as he remembered how his father’s mistress had waited until his father wasn’t there before telling him that any spare cash his father had would be going into her bank account and not Charlie’s.

Hard as nails, that’s what she was, and now he’d wasted almost the whole of Saturday and his precious petrol driving out to Neston to no purpose. He couldn’t wait to get back to his base and then into London for some decent fun.

Charlie started to turn into the road where his sister’s house was, intending to take a short cut down it to his mother’s. A young woman wearing a swing-back brown coat, a neat-fitting hat perched on her dark hair, was walking along the pavement, her child in a pushchair. Charlie recognised Lena immediately, with a feeling like a violent punch in the chest.

God, but she was pretty. Pretty, willing, married to another man, and Bella had warned him off her. Any combination of two of those facts would have been enough to have Charlie itching to break the rules and have some fun. Throw in his bad temper and his boredom, and seeing Lena was exactly the antidote he needed to cheer himself up.

Lena was aware of the car on the road behind her slowing down. Automatically she turned round, assuming it must be one of their neighbours, the colour coming and going in her face as Charlie brought the low-slung MG alongside her, slowing it down to match her walking pace as he leaned towards her and gave her his best smile, stopping the car and telling her cockily, ‘Hello there, gorgeous. Remember me?’

She should have ignored him, Lena knew that. He was nothing to her after the way he’d treated her. She had a good husband now in Gavin, and in another few months she and Gavin would be giving Janette a little baby brother or sister – a baby that would have a father who had wanted it right from the word go. Not like Charlie.

Her legs had turned to jelly and she was glad to have Janette’s pushchair to hold on to. She’d forgotten how confident Charlie was, and how good-looking. She waited for her heart to react to him with the excitement it had done when she had first known him but instead of thudding with excitement it was thumping with dismay and anxiety. She wished he wasn’t here, she wished he hadn’t seen them; she wished he hadn’t stopped and most of all she wished that Gavin was with them, Lena acknowledged.

It was a funny feeling knowing at last, after all the times she’d secretly worried about how she might feel if she ever saw him again, that she was truly safe, and that she felt nothing at all other than deep gratitude for the fact that Gavin loved her and she was safely and happily married to him. In fact, it was a marvel to her now that she had ever found Charlie attractive at all, despite his good looks. Good looks were nothing when compared to a kind and loving heart.

‘Pleased to see me, are you?’ Charlie grinned at Lena. ‘I’m here all weekend; I could come round and we could have a bit of fun together, just you and me.’

‘We’re both married now,’ Lena pointed out firmly.

‘So what? Come on, Lena, you remember how good it was with you and me, don’t you?’ Charlie coaxed, moving close to her, putting his hand on her arm and looking down at her breasts, feeling his body harden in anticipatory eagerness.

High up in the old oak tree at the bottom of the garden, sawing off one of the branches, Gavin had a clear view of the bottom of the street and what was happening there. He’d been on the point of climbing down when Charlie had first stopped his car, but now, with Charlie holding Lena’s arm and his wife showing no signs of moving away, Gavin felt too heartsick to do anything. Lena had really fallen for Charlie – Gavin knew that – and although she’d told him that she hated Bella’s brother now for the way he’d treated her, in his own heart Gavin had secretly worried that Lena didn’t love him as much as she had done Janette’s father. Now it looked as though he’d got proof that he had been right.

‘I’ve got to get home. My Gavin will be waiting for his tea,’ Lena told Charlie, pulling away from him. ‘And little Janette will be wanting to see her daddy as well,’ she added pointedly.

Charlie frowned. ‘Her daddy? The kid’s mine, not his,’ he told Lena, her refusal to play along with him making him belligerent. Charlie hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the child he had fathered, apart from being relieved that his parents had flatly denied that it could be his, and yet now hearing Lena refer to someone else as its father, a dog-in-the-manger possessiveness took hold of him.

‘Gavin is Janette’s father,’ Lena contradicted him. ‘He’s the one who’s provided for her and he’s the one she loves.’

Before Charlie could stop her she had wheeled the pushchair past him and was walking away from him as fast as she could.

Ruddy women, Charlie cursed her under his breath. Well, there were plenty more where she’d come from. And as for the kid, why should he care about someone else being her father? He didn’t want to be saddled with her or any other kid. The man who’d married Lena was a proper fool. You’d never catch him taking on another man’s kid.

Getting back into his MG, Charlie slammed the door and roared off at speed. He’d had enough of Wallasey, and he couldn’t wait to leave the place and the people in it behind him, he decided as he drove past Lena.

‘See anyone whilst you were out?’ Gavin asked Lena as casually as he could. Lena had called him into the kitchen for the cup of tea she’d made for him.

Lena hesitated. She desperately wanted to tell Gavin what had happened but she knew him and she knew how protective of her he was. If she told him there was no saying that he might not go straight round to Bella’s mother’s and call Charlie to account for the way he had behaved towards her. Lena didn’t care what her Gavin might do to Charlie, but she did care about Bella, and she knew it would cause trouble between Bella and her mother if Gavin went rampaging round there, demanding that Charlie gave an account of himself. Mrs Firth doted on Charlie. He could do no wrong in her eyes, as Lena herself had good reason to know.

No, it was best that she didn’t say anything to Gavin, she decided, as she shook her head and fibbed, ‘No.’

Lena had lied to him. Gavin felt the pain explode inside his chest. His Lena, whom he loved so much, had lied to him and all because of that no-good rotter who had already hurt her so much. Gavin looked away from Lena. Janette was smiling up at him from her high chair. The minute he’d stepped inside she’d held up her arms to him to be lifted out, and Gavin had felt that same spike of emotion now that he’d felt the very first time he’d held her, minutes after her birth. She was his girl, his child, the child of his heart, and he loved her every bit as much as he would do the new baby Lena was carrying.

The new baby. A knife twisted in his heart. Was Lena wishing that she hadn’t married him and that she wasn’t having his child now that she’d seen Charlie again?

They were almost midway through September, but although the days might be growing shorter, double summertime meant that thankfully it was still possible to go out in the evening in daylight, even if blackout curtains had to be put in place ready for one’s return in darkness, Katie reflected, carefully applying a thin coat of precious lipstick, using a small brush so as to use as little as possible of what was left of her favourite Max Factor pink, bought just before the war. Once that was done she ran her comb through her thick naturally curly dark gold hair and then studied her reflection critically in her bedroom’s full-length mirror. The outfit she was wearing had been a second-hand find, bought when she and Gina had spent a couple of days together in Bath, just before it had been badly bombed, and the silk of her dress floated delicately round Katie’s slim legs. She did feel rather guilty about the fact that she was wearing a pair of silk stockings that had been given to her by a grateful young American GI who had enjoyed the tour of London’s historical sites she had planned for him so much that he had insisted on giving them to her as a ‘thank you’. The ATS girls with whom she shared the house in Cadogan Place had teased her unmercifully about both the stockings and the young GI, but Katie knew that his desire to thank her had been genuine and not a prelude to some sort of ‘come on’.

She had been extremely lucky in her billet, she knew; the house, right in the centre of the city, was in a terrace of elegant late Georgian buildings. Her bedroom was enormous, with a high ceiling and its own bathroom. Luxury indeed, as Katie’s parents were fond of reminding her when she made her fortnightly visits to Hampstead, where her mother and father were now living with friends in a rather run-down Victorian house, both of them missing living in the city, having moved further out during the blitz.

From her bedroom window Katie could see Gina walking towards the house, which fortunately was only a short walk from the tube station close to Harrods. Gathering up her handbag and the warm woollen silk-lined stole on permanent loan to her from her mother, Katie made her way downstairs to join her friend.

The American Embassy was situated in Grosvenor Square and within easy walking distance of Cadogan Place, as Gina had already said.

‘I had a wonderful surprise when I got back to my aunt’s this afternoon,’ Gina told Katie as they set out. ‘Leonard telephoned from Devonport. They’re under sailing orders, and of course he couldn’t say where they were going, although my guess is that it has to be Italy, now that we’ve got a toehold in Sicily. It was lovely to hear his voice. Hearing that he’d got some leave coming up would have been even better, of course. I mustn’t be greedy, though. Not after him getting two weeks’ leave when we got married, and a forty-eight-hour pass the other weekend. He couldn’t say outright, but he did hint that he might be home for Christmas. I do hope so. Leonard’s parents living so close to my own means that we could see both families, and, of course, the children. Once the war is over we want them to come and live with us full time, but of course it’s best that they stay where they are for now.’

A pair of smartly dressed American marines were on duty outside the American Embassy, faces fixed in stern expressions, eyes forward. An equally smartly uniformed young woman checked their names off her guest list, in the imposing hallway with its marble busts and highly polished floor, the American flag very much on display.

‘I rang and told them I’d be bringing you with me,’ Gina murmured to Katie, who nodded in response. It was well known that with so many good-time girls on the fringe of London society eager to strike up friendships with the Americans, especially those who were officers, only unattached women who had been vetted were on the official invitation lists.

The American Embassy was very much the hub of the American Military Command in London. Military uniforms outnumbered the diplomatic uniform of city suit and Brooks Brothers shirt almost ten to one, from what Katie could see, as she and Gina stood together just outside the double doors leading into a large reception room, its crimson-papered walls hung with portraits of past presidents, the elegant plastered ceiling and cornices painted white with the detail picked out in gold. Beyond this room a further set of double doors on the opposite wall were open to reveal another room, this one painted a rich royal blue, its windows framed by royal-blue velvet curtains trimmed with gold braid. All very rich and expensive-looking, Katie thought, and not a bit shabby as so many British buildings had become.

A group of what looked like newspapermen were all clustered together on one side of the room, drinks in hand, cameras slung from their shoulders, as they studied the other occupants of the room, a group of military men standing in front of the imposing marble fireplace.

It was easy to see which women were Americans, Katie reflected. All the British women there might have done their best, but their clothes, no matter how smart, did not have the up-to-the-minute freshness and fashion of those sported by the Americans.

‘Ah, Gina, there you are. Dreadful crush, what?’

‘Uncle Rupert, I’m surprised you managed to spot me in this crush,’ Gina laughed as she was enveloped in a bear hug by her relative. ‘Uncle Rupert, I’ve brought Katie with me. She was my bridesmaid.’

‘Of course, remember her well. Delighted to meet you again, m’dear. Dashed pretty girls, both of you. We’ll show these Americans a thing or two, what? What are you drinking? Champagne, I expect. Best drink for pretty girls.’

With that skill possessed by upper-class men of a certain age and confidence, out of nowhere, or so it seemed to Katie, a waiter was summoned to produce two glasses of freshly poured champagne.

‘And where’s that husband of yours, Gina?’

‘I really couldn’t say,’ Gina informed him.

‘That’s right, good girl. Careless talk costs lives and all that. Still enjoying your job? Not getting too many saucy letters to read, I hope?’

Behind her uncle’s back Gina gave Katie a rueful look, which made Katie both want to laugh and at the same time made her feel sad. So many of the letters they had to check did contain the most intimate of messages, sent, though, from the heart, in most cases, from men desperately missing the one they loved and equally desperate to assure them of their love and be reassured in turn that they were loved.

It wasn’t long before Gina’s uncle Rupert had introduced them both to an American colonel of his own generation, who announced immediately that he must introduce two such charming girls to his junior officers, adding with a smile, ‘Because if I don’t, they will think that I’m keeping you to myself, and then I reckon I could be in danger of having to subdue a mutiny.’

Two minutes later Gina and Katie were almost surrounded by half a dozen young Americans in army uniform,

‘Definitely Ivy League,’ Gina murmured in a swift aside to Katie. ‘That’s the equivalent of our Eton and Sandhurst cadets.’

Katie nodded. Her father’s pre-war career as the conductor of some of London’s most famous bands, and the fact that she had always accompanied him when he played, to help him with all the practical aspects of his work, meant that she had had enough contact with the upper classes and the well-to-do not to feel awkward or intimidated in the company of people from a social class above her own.

The young Americans might be inclined to be a little boastful and a little thoughtless about how a British girl might feel hearing them talking about how they were going to win the war, but Katie was wise enough to put their comments down to excitement and inexperience, although she noticed that Gina looked rather nettled, and so wasn’t surprised when her friend excused them both with the fib that they had to ‘catch up with some friends’.

‘I know they are our allies, but I hate it when they are so beastly about our boys,’ she told Katie crossly once they had escaped. ‘Talking like that about showing Hitler what real fighting men are and showing us a good time.’

‘I don’t think they meant any real harm,’ Katie tried to pacify her. ‘They’re only young and, unlike our boys, they don’t really know what war is all about yet.’ Unlike Luke. He knew what war was all about. Luke! Hadn’t she made herself a promise that she would not allow him into her thoughts?

‘I do wish you could fall in love with Eddie, Katie.’

Gina’s plaintive words made Katie smile.

‘Eddie doesn’t really want any girl to fall in love with him. He just wants to have a good time with lots of different girls.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Gina told her. ‘Eddie is a flirt, but he’s really keen on you, and I mean really keen. If you were to give him the least bit of encouragement, I suspect he’d have an engagement ring on your finger as fast as anything. He might be a flirt but you can be sure that he knows that he has a duty to provide an heir for the title.’

‘That’s nonsense and you know it. Eddie’s parents will expect him to marry a very different sort of girl from me, and someone from a similar background to his own.’

Katie said this without any feeling of resentment. In her opinion it was only natural, with Eddie’s father having a title, Eddie’s family should want him to marry someone who understood that sort of thing.

‘Once I dare say they would have done,’ Gina agreed, ‘but right now I think they’d just be glad to see him married. As I’ve just said, if anything were to happen to him, there’s no one to succeed him to the title, and there won’t be until he marries and has a son. Not that anyone can get Eddie to talk seriously about that. He maintains that nothing’s going to happen to him because he’s got Leonard to keep an eye on him.’

‘I like Eddie, Gina,’ Katie answered, ‘but that’s all. However, even if I loved him I don’t think we’d be right for one another. Our backgrounds are so very different. Now, whilst the war’s on, that kind of thing might not matter but once the war is over it will be different.’

She was an ordinary girl and whilst she had liked Eddie’s parents when she had met them at Gina’s wedding, and they had been kind to her, Katie knew that a life like Eddie’s mother’s, as the lady of the manor, was not one that she would ever want.

‘I hope them ruddy naval gunners know the difference between our own lines and them panzers,’ Andy told Luke breathlessly, both of them dropping flat to the ground as they heard a fresh burst of exploding tank shells.

It was two days since they’d come ashore at Salerno, followed by intense fighting with the Germans as they’d tried to push them back from their entrenched position. But now, with the panzers having moved down from the hills beyond Salerno to surround the bay, it was looking dangerously as though they were the ones who were going to be pushed back into the sea, not the Germans forced to give way so that the Allies could advance.

The naval guns to which Andy was referring, as the men dug in, belonged to the battle cruiser Warspite and three destroyers out in the bay, all of which were pounding the panzer-infested hills, whilst the panzers returned fire into the Allies’ lines.

‘Hellfire, that was close,’ Andy protested, cramming his helmet down onto his head and wriggling deeper into his foxhole as a shell exploded within yards of their position, sending up a spray of earth and stone to mingle with the blood of the men it had hit, whilst the field guns of the 146th Field Regiment of the Royal Artillery, positioned behind the infantry, tried their best to give the Germans a pounding. The smell of war was everywhere: blood, smoke, cordite, unwashed male flesh and khaki.

‘You know what I think of at times like this, what keeps me going?’ Andy confided to Luke.

Luke shook his head. He knew what, or rather who, he thought of. Katie. He thought of his mum and dad and his family, of course, but first and foremost he thought of Katie and how badly he had treated her. If he didn’t fight to live he would never get the chance to apologise to her. And he wanted to do that. He wanted to set the record straight and square things with her. There was no going back to what they had once shared, but he owed her that apology. It and Katie were on his conscience.

But what if he didn’t survive? What if he never did get the chance to tell her? Did he really want her to go through the rest of her life thinking badly of him, telling the chap she eventually married how badly he, Luke, had treated her?

‘What I think of is me mum’s Sunday roast dinners,’ he could hear Andy telling him wistfully. ‘Aye, and there’s no way I’m ever going to let any ruddy German stop me from tasting one of them again.’

Luke nodded. It was his duty, after all, as corporal to listen to his men and to put heart into them when they needed it, but his most private thoughts were still on Katie.

Katie. How was she going to know everything he wanted to tell her if he never made it home? Another burst of shells exploded around them.

He’d write to her, Luke decided. He’d write to her just as soon as he got the chance – if he got that chance.

EIGHT

‘Good weekend at home?’

‘Yes thanks, June,’ Lou fibbed.

‘I love being in ATA and I always think that I don’t miss my family until I get some leave and I go home,’ June told her. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how we sort of have two separate lives – the one we have here and the one we have with our families? My ma would go spare if she knew a quarter of the things we get up to. I don’t even smoke at home, never mind tell her about the near misses I’ve had flying.’

Lou smiled. In truth she was glad to be back at the base. Because she didn’t want to have to think about Sasha and how much her twin had changed? Lou’s forehead crinkled into a worried frown. She had tried to talk to Sash, hadn’t she, and more than once, but her twin had rejected every attempt Lou had made to bridge the gap between them.

In desperation, before she had left, when they’d been alone in their shared bedroom, Lou had grabbed hold of her sister to stop her leaving and had told her firmly, ‘Look, I know that something’s wrong. We’re twins, remember. Twins, Sash. All I want is for you to be happy.’

‘I am happy,’ Sasha had insisted angrily. ‘Just because I don’t want to learn to fly aeroplanes and go round showing off my uniform and have everyone thinking I’m wonderful, that doesn’t mean that I’m not happy.’

‘Oh, Sash, don’t be like that, please,’ Lou had begged. ‘I wasn’t trying to suggest that what you are doing is any less worthwhile than what I’m doing. When I said you aren’t happy, I meant you, here, inside yourself.’ Lou had touched the spot over her twin’s heart to emphasise what she meant, but once again Sasha had chosen to misunderstand her.

‘Do you really think I don’t know what you really mean?’ she’d demanded. ‘You think that just because you’ve met up with Kieran Mallory again that I’m jealous, don’t you? Well, I’m not. I couldn’t care less about him.’

‘Neither could I,’ Lou had tried to reassure her twin. ‘And I wasn’t talking about Kieran Mallory anyway.’ She’d paused, not sure how much to say, but then deciding that she had to say something. ‘Sash, both nights whilst I’ve been home you’ve fallen asleep with your torch on…’

‘So what if I have? Can’t a person read in bed if she wants to without someone else making a fuss about it?’

Sasha had pulled away from her then, hurrying out of the bedroom before Lou could stop her.

Something was wrong with Sasha. Lou knew that instinctively, even if she couldn’t come up with a logical explanation of why she felt the way she did. On the face of it Sasha should be happy. She was engaged to Bobby, who loved her and who she said she loved in return. She was doing her bit for the war, working at the telephone exchange, and at the same time living at home with their parents just as she had wanted to do.

Was it because of Kieran Mallory that Sasha had been so upset and angry, refusing to make up the distance that now existed between them? Did her twin secretly have feelings for him, even though she insisted that she didn’t?

He had come between them once already and Lou did not want him to come between them again. If Sasha didn’t want to confide in her then perhaps she ought simply to respect her twin’s decision.

‘How was London?’ she asked June now, reluctantly putting her concern about Sasha to one side.

‘Crazy. For a start, it’s full of Americans. You can’t walk down any of the main streets without getting blocked in by Americans passing one another and having to salute. Mind you, I have to admit that they know how to have fun. There was a dance on at our hotel on Saturday night, and before we knew it the place was swarming with GIs. They certainly know how to treat a girl,’ June giggled. ‘We met up with them on Sunday. They picked us up in these Jeeps and then roared round London in them. We ended up at this club – the 400 Club. Members only, supposedly, but after they’d waved some five-pound notes under the doorman’s nose he let us in. There was a terrific band playing. The place was full. I saw one of the upper-crust ATA girls there, Diana Barnato, with a crowd that included several RAF high-ups. You should have been with us, though, Lou.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.