Mike moved his chair, trying to see his face. No luck. He looked down at his crossword for a moment, then up again, tapping his pencil against his nose, waiting for the guy to turn around.

The men in the corner were leaving, stopping as they went out to talk to the girls at the table between Mike and the sandy-haired guy.

Get out of the way, Mike thought, leaning so he could see past them.

“Good Lord,” a man’s voice behind him said, “you’re the last person I expected to see here.”

Mike looked up, startled. He’d completely forgotten about the possibility that Phipps might recognize him. But it wasn’t Phipps standing over the table. It was Tensing, the officer he’d conspired with in the sunroom of the hospital at Orpington.

We’ll Meet Again.

—WORLD WAR II SONG

Dulwich—Summer 1944

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU’VE REMEMBERED WHERE WE met, Officer Lang?” Mary said, trying not to look as cornered as she felt seeing him standing there in the common room of the ambulance post. “I thought we agreed that line of chat didn’t work.”

“It’s not a line, Isolde,” he said, and smiled his crooked smile. “I have remembered where we met.”

Oh, no. Then she had met him—or rather, would meet him—on her next assignment. And now she’d have to pretend she remembered him, too, without knowing how well she’d known him or under what circumstances. And she’d have to hope he hadn’t remembered what her name had been—correction, would be.

Where’s Fairchild? she thought, looking toward the door. She promised she’d come rescue me.

“You said you have good news to tell me as well?” she said, stalling.

“I have indeed.” He bowed formally. “I’m here to deliver my thanks and the thanks of a grateful nation.”

“The thanks … for what?”

“For giving me a smashing idea, which I shall tell you all about when I take you to that dinner I owe you, and don’t say you can’t because I’ve already found out from your fellow FANY here that you’re off duty tonight. And if it’s flying bombs you’re worried about, I can assure you there won’t be any more tonight.”

“But …,” she said, glancing hopefully back at the door. Where was Fairchild?

“No buts, Isolde. It’s destiny. We’re fated to be together through all time. Not only have I remembered where we met, I also know why you don’t remember.”

You do? Could she somehow have betrayed her identity, and he knew she was an historian? I should have told Fairchild to come in immediately instead of waiting five minutes.

“I only just remembered, I forgot to log in,” she said, starting toward the door. “I’ll be back straightaway.” But he grabbed her hand.

“Wait. You can’t go till I’ve told you about the flying bombs. I’ve found a way to stop them. Remember how I told you the generals were after me to invent a way to shoot them down before they reached their target?”