“I was showing him the shelter,” Binnie said.

“We can see that,” Pudge said dryly. She looked around at the shelter. “My, this is cozy.”

“And much nicer than I remember shelters being,” Talbot said. “We were looking for you, Goody. You must come see the ambulance display. You drove an ambulance.”

“I’ll come in a moment,” Binnie said. “Mr. Knight and I weren’t quite done—”

“Obviously,” Talbot said.

“I only have one or two more questions,” Colin said, belatedly pulling out his notebook. “Would you mind if I borrow Mrs. Lambert for a bit longer?”

“Of course not,” Talbot said. “We shouldn’t want to stand in the way of true love.”

“Don’t be a noddlehead, Talbot,” Binnie said. “Mr. Knight’s a reporter—and young enough to be my grandson.”

“Impossible,” Colin said gallantly. “And at any rate, I’ve always liked older women.”

“In that case,” Talbot said, taking his arm, “you must come with us to see the ambulance display.”

“Yes,” Camberley said. “It looks exactly like the ones we drove.”

“You can ask her your questions on the way there,” Talbot said, leading him, her arm still firmly linked in his, toward the ambulance exhibit, but he had no chance to ask Binnie anything. Half a dozen women latched on to her before they reached it, asking her questions, and when they reached the ambulance, half a dozen others were waiting for her. They insisted she climb into the back and then the driver’s seat.

He pushed through the crowd to her and leaned in the window. “If you could just clear up a few details, Mrs. Lambert,” he said. “You mentioned the bombing of Westminster Abbey. When did that happen?”

“May tenth,” Camberley said before Binnie could answer.

And so much for that clever idea, Colin thought.

“I remember,” Camberley said, “because I was supposed to go to dinner and a show that night with a simply gorgeous flight officer, and instead I spent the entire night ferrying casualties. I’ll never forgive Hitler for ruining my evening.”

“What show was he taking you to?” Binnie asked.

This is no time to be discussing “Theater During the Blitz,” Colin thought in annoyance.

“Was it the naughty revue at the Windmill?” Talbot suggested.

“ ‘We never closed,’ ” Pudge quoted.

“Nor wore any clothes,” Talbot said.

“No,” Camberley said. “He took me to a play! And I wore—”

“What sort of play?” Binnie asked. “A pantomime?”

“A pantomime?” Camberley said. “Pantomimes are for children.”

“I saw a pantomime once during the Blitz,” Binnie went on as if she hadn’t heard her. “Sleeping Beauty. At the Regent. Sir Godfrey Kingsman was the Bad Fairy.”

“Oh, speaking of sleeping,” the woman who’d passed out the name badges said, “you all must see the display on ‘Sleeping Through the Blitz.’ Do you remember Horlick’s? And those siren suits? It’s this way,” she said, and they all started through the doorway and down the corridor, taking Binnie with them.

Colin followed, but before he reached the door, a new group of women with Union Jacks on their name badges swept in, and by the time he made it into the corridor, he expected her to have vanished. But Binnie was only halfway down it, stopped in front of a black-and-white photograph of a church, its tower in flames.