The young woman turned. She looked disheveled, her fair hair badly windblown, and smears of soot on her cheeks and forehead. Not an ARP warden, Eileen thought. A patient.

“Eileen! Oh, thank God!” the young woman cried, and began to run toward her.

“Polly?”

Polly flung her arms around her. “I was so afraid I’d be too late. It took me hours to get here,” she said, nearly sobbing. “There were fires everywhere, and I couldn’t get through … and I thought I’d never find the hospital … but here you are, thank God!”

They were both talking at once. “How did you find me?” Eileen asked. “I thought you were at St. Paul’s. I was just leaving to look for you. Where’s Mike?”

Polly pulled back from her. “Isn’t he here with you?”

“No, I … we got separated. I thought he went to St. Paul’s. He’s not with you?”

“No. Where did you see him last?” She stopped, staring at Eileen in horror. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

“No. You mean because I’m here at St. Bart’s? I was dragooned into driving an ambulance and—”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“No, I’m not,” Eileen said, and looked down at herself. The entire front of her coat was covered in dried blood. Her hands were bloody, too. A crooked line of blood had trickled down the back of her hand and wrist and into her sleeve. No wonder people had kept asking her if she was injured.

“It’s not mine,” she said. “There was a lieutenant who was bleeding. I had to apply direct pressure.”

“And I ’ad to drive,” Binnie said, popping up beside her.

“I told you where to go, you pudding’ead,” Alf said. “You’d ’ave ended up bein’ burnt to ashes if I ’adn’t.”

“I would not,” Binnie said.

“You would so.” Alf turned to tug at Eileen’s bloody sleeve. “What’re you doin’ ’ere? The ambulance is that way.” He pointed back down the corridor. “And who’s she?”

“My friend Polly. Are you certain Mike didn’t come to St. Paul’s?” Eileen asked Polly. “That’s where he said he was going.”

“Who’s Mike?” Binnie asked.

“Hush,” Eileen said. “Might you have missed each other somehow?”

“Yes … I don’t know. He might have come while I was on the roofs—”

“Or he might have gone back to Blackfriars tube station to find me,” Eileen said. “He told me to wait there for him. Come along, we’ve got transport. We’ll go to St. Paul’s first. Mike may have told Mr. Bartholomew where—”

“Who’s Mr. Bartholomew?” Alf asked.

“Shh,” Eileen said. “Mike may have told him where he was going, and if he didn’t, we’ll tell Mr. Bartholomew to search between St. Paul’s and Pilgrim Street—that’s where we got separated—and we’ll go to Blackfriars and look—”

“No,” Polly said. “Mr. Bartholomew’s here!”

“Here?”

“Yes, in this hospital.”

“Oh, well, then, that makes it simple. He can go back to St. Paul’s and look for Mike there, and we can go to Black—”