She still hadn’t given Jack her answer. He wasn’t rushing her; he’d gone back to his squadron and assured her he would wait. But she couldn’t keep him hanging on much longer. Perhaps, on the journey to and from London, she’d finally be able to make her decision.

Mrs Mason nudged her. ‘You could call in and see your folks while you’re there.’

That was an idea. She could go and see Dad and make the peace, if he’d let her, and end 1940 on a good note.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it. When do we leave?’

* * *

‘Here you are, Miss. The Dorchester,’ Brummie announced from the driver’s seat, as he pulled in and braked sharply outside the entrance.

Maggie looked out. On either side of the hotel’s front door, sandbags were stacked ten feet high and a doorman in smart livery and top hat was stepping towards them.

They’d had an early start and Brummie had told her on the journey that, after the lull over Christmas, the bombing had started up again overnight, with a vengeance. He’d heard it on the wireless. The fires were still raging. Maggie had a moment of doubt but then dismissed the thought. Nothing bad would happen. It was a flying visit. They’d be heading back to Snowden before she knew it.

In London, there were shells of buildings, shrapnel and rubble on the streets and firemen and fire engines everywhere. Those old familiar barrage balloons were still bobbing overhead.

The red double-deckers and black taxi cabs were still trundling along, doing their best to get through. It was business as usual; life was carrying on. Maggie felt a sudden burst of pride in the city and the people who lived here. They were made of stern stuff.

The doorman opened the passenger door and Maggie got out, remembering how Charity had instructed her to keep her legs firmly together at the knees and to ‘swivel’.

‘There’s a case in the boot, if you don’t mind, chum,’ Brummie called out. He tilted his head towards Maggie. ‘And, Miss, remember, don’t be late!’

Maggie was checking the angle of her hat in the reflection of the car window. She nodded. Brummie had warned her he’d be leaving London at three o’clock on the dot, before it got dark.

‘Them’s my orders. You’re to meet me outside the bank, understood? And if you’re not there, Miss, I can’t wait. I shall have to leave without you.’

There was plenty of time; she’d easily be there by three. She’d leave the case at the reception desk for Lady Ashford and then catch a bus over to Poplar, to face the music. She was finally going to see Dad.

Brummie revved the engine and drove off with a cheery toot of his horn.