But she was cut off as Pam gasped and held up a hand as though stopping traffic. ‘Oh! It’s “Till the Lights of London Shine Again”!’ she said, tilting her head towards the gramophone, as a new record started to play.

‘So it is!’ Nancy agreed.

‘That’s our song. Mine and Jim’s,’ Pam said, darting a look at Ray.

They all listened politely to the music. Maggie twirled the glass of wine in her hands. Ray fidgeted and looked over the top of their heads, as though he’d rather be somewhere else.

‘Oh, I say,’ Pam said suddenly, all thoughts of ‘their song’ apparently forgotten. ‘Dreamboat at three o’clock, Nancy!’

Maggie frowned, unsure where she was supposed to look, but Nancy, judging from her widening eyes, had understood immediately. They all followed her gaze.

The ‘dreamboat’ – a young airman in RAF uniform, his right arm in a sling – was marching towards them from the direction of the lawn. As he got nearer – and stopped for a moment to talk to someone – they all quickly averted their gaze. He was rather dashing. It was the uniform, of course. Men couldn’t help but look dashing in uniform.

‘He’s injured, poor thing,’ Nancy murmured, smothering a giggle. ‘I’d kiss it better! Although, up close he might be all burned or pimply. We’ve been disappointed like that before.’

Ray rolled his eyes. Maggie wanted to beg him not to leave her with Pam and Nancy but it was too late.

‘I’ll leave you girls in peace,’ he said, backing away. ‘You’ve clearly got important matters to discuss.’ He raised his glass of wine at them and Maggie imagined his relief, as he joined a group of chaps standing nearby. He slapped one of them on the back, making him jump and the other men roared with laughter.

Now, the airman was heading their way again. He was within touching distance. Maggie held her breath and cast her eyes at her feet, expecting him to walk straight past, but she felt him looking at her and glanced up. Nancy needn’t have worried; his skin was perfect. He was perfect. For a moment, their eyes locked.

‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said, tipping his cap and smiling.

‘Good evening!’ they chimed.

He had high cheekbones and the whitest teeth. Gosh, Pam was right, he was a dreamboat. And to think, if Maggie had missed this party, she’d have missed him too.

He barely broke his stride. Almost as soon as he’d appeared, he was gone again, through the French doors and into the house.

Nancy fanned herself with her hand as though she might faint. She frowned. ‘Did a gorgeous airman just wish us a good evening or were we all dreaming?’