“Were Miss O’Reilly and Mr. Davis …?” He hesitated.

“Romantically attached? No. He was like a brother to us, and Eileen’s taking his death very hard.”

Polly glanced at her watch. It was nearly closing time, and she didn’t want Eileen to see the vicar till she’d had a chance to explain the situation to him. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll ask my supervisor if I can leave early,” she said, and hurried off to speak to Miss Snelgrove, who was nowhere to be found.

“She went up to sixth,” Sarah said, and the closing bell rang.

Polly hurried back, but she was too late. Eileen was already there. “I was so sorry to hear of your loss, Miss O’Reilly,” Mr. Goode was saying.

Eileen stiffened.

Oh, no, Polly thought, she’s not going to listen to him any more than she has to anyone else.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he said.

Eileen was glaring at her.

She knows exactly why I sent for him, Polly thought.

“Miss Sebastian’s letter had to be forwarded on to me,” the vicar said. “And then it took several days to arrange for leave.”

“Leave?” Eileen echoed.

“Yes. I haven’t told you, I’ve enlisted as a chaplain in His Majesty’s Army.”

The color drained from Eileen’s face.

Oh, no, Polly thought, I’ve only made things worse.

“I couldn’t stay in Backbury,” he said, “preaching sermons and heading up committee meetings when so many others were making sacrifices. Like you, facing danger every day here in London. I felt I had to do my bit, as it were.”

“But you can’t,” Eileen said, and burst into tears. “You’ll be killed. Just like Mike was.”

Boyfriends were more important than bombs.

—TRANSLATOR AT BLETCHLEY PARK

Croydon—October 1944

MARY WAS LYING FLAT ON HER BACK.

I must have slipped on something and fallen when I came through, she thought. The shimmer must have blinded me. She remembered that the light had been much too bright, and then …

There was a sudden deafening cr-rack, and immediately after it, a second one. That was the double boom of a V-2, she thought, suddenly panicked. I’ve come through too late. And remembered where she was. She and Fairchild had heard the V-2—no, that was wrong, it had been a V-1—and they’d come back to Croydon to see if there were casualties, and Fairchild had—

Fairchild! She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t. There was something on top of her, crushing her so she couldn’t get any breath in her lungs, couldn’t—

Oh, God, don’t let it be the printing press, she thought, gasping for breath, and then, I’m buried in the rubble.

She tried to feel what was pressing down on her, but there was nothing on her chest, no fallen beams or bricks on her throat, so why …?

Somewhere far off, she heard an ambulance’s bells. Croydon, she thought, straining to hear better and, in the attempt, stopped gasping for breath. And as soon as she did, she found herself able to breathe again, able to raise her head.