“You are twenty-eight. It’s close enough to be in the -ish range.”

“But I don’t look it! I take a great deal of care not to look that old. You wouldn’t describe me as thirtyish, would you?”

“Oh, twenty-fourish, no question,” said Iris, smirking.

Gwen gave her the Stare.

“No, I meant nineteen, certainly,” Iris amended hastily. “Fresh out of boarding school, strawberries and cream. Any man who sought you would be robbing the cradle.”

“Stop,” said Gwen. “The damage has been done. There will be no repairing my ego today.”

She picked up the Hamleys bag and stared at the money inside.

“We could go on a massive shopping spree,” she said. “I would feel so much better after.”

“Moral compass,” said Iris. “Remember?”

“Right,” sighed Gwen. “Come, Muscle.”

“Call me that again, and I may hit you.”

“That’s why I bring you along. Damn!”

“What?”

“I should have demanded cab fare while I was being so mercenary. I guess that will come out of our fee. I have so much to learn as a bagman. Shall we?”

“Ours not to make reply,” said Iris, grabbing her bag. “Ours not to reason why. Ours but to do and die.”

“Do,” said Gwen firmly. “Only do.”

It took over an hour for the cab to get from Mayfair to the head of Brunswick Street. The cabbie took one look at the wreckage littering the street and pulled over.

“This is as close as I get,” he said. “Can’t risk damaging the tyres. Are you sure this is where you want to go?”

“It is,” said Gwen, paying him. “Thank you for your time.”

“How are you getting back?” he asked. “Should I wait?”

“We may be a while. We’ll find our way.”

They got out and stood at the intersection, looking down towards the Thames. There were graving docks and warehouses still in working order off to their left, but the view directly in front of them was a war zone, untouched by repairs. Ruined warehouses lined the road, caved-in roofs surrounded by scorched walls. The road itself was lined with twisted rails, their jagged ends bent up towards the heavens in a final rictus of agonised steel. At the end of the street, a large crater marked where one of the heavy bombs had hit, bricks and cobblestones strewn carelessly about its edges.

“Cheerful sight,” said Iris. “I don’t suppose there will be tea available.”

“We’re early,” said Gwen. “Do you think he’s here yet?”

“I think he’s here and watching us already,” said Iris.

“Do you think he knows it’s us?”

“Unless there have been other pairs of similarly dressed ladies wandering about, I should think we’re obviously us. Let’s go. And mind your footing.”

“I never wear the right shoes for our more criminal endeavours,” complained Gwen, looking at the broken surface dubiously.

They walked carefully down the street, stepping around the shards of broken glass and metal littering their path.

“I’m glad it’s the last warehouse,” said Iris. “It would be difficult to tell which of these ruins to count otherwise. You brought your torch, I hope?”