Eileen craned her neck, standing on tiptoe and hanging on to the lamppost for balance. Uniform, uniform …

“I see her!” Binnie said excitedly.

“Where? Show me where she’s standing.”

“There,” Binnie said, pointing. Eileen sighted along her outstretched arm. “On the porch.”

“No, she ain’t!” Alf shouted from halfway up the lamppost. “She’s comin’ down the steps.”

“Where?” Eileen still couldn’t see her, and if she’d started down the stairs already … “Where?”

“There. At the foot of the stairs.”

If Polly had already gone down the stairs, she had already seen her standing by the lion, was already leaving for her drop in Hampstead Heath.

“Did you see her?” Binnie asked.

“No,” Eileen said, “but it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t necessary for me to see her.”

But she’d hoped so much that she would catch a glimpse of her. All these last four years, she’d held to that hope, that she’d see her again, if only from a distance.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Binnie said.

“It’s all right.” She gave Binnie a hug. “Let’s go get some supper.” She looked for Alf, but he was no longer on the lamppost. “Where’s Alf?” she asked. “Can you see him anywhere?”

“No,” Binnie said, scanning the crowd.

She darted off suddenly into the middle of the square. “Binnie, wait! No!” Eileen said, grabbing for her, but she was already out of reach.

And out of sight. The crowd closed about her as if it was water, leaving no trace. “Binnie! Come back!” she called, starting after her through the crush.

And saw Polly. Polly was only a few yards away, working her way against the current toward Charing Cross. She looked younger than Eileen remembered, nearly as young as Binnie, her face without the worry and sorrow it would have. And without the transcendent joy it had had that night when Colin came.

Because none of it’s happened yet, Eileen thought.

She had hoped for one final look, but this wasn’t the end, it was the beginning. Everything—the escape from Padgett’s and the race to St. Paul’s the night of the twenty-ninth and Christmas dinner with Miss Laburnum and Miss Hibbard and Mr. Dorming—was all still to come. Standing in line together at the canteen and walking home from Notting Hill Gate in the foggy dawn after the all clear and sitting on the platform after everyone else was asleep, talking of Mrs. Rickett’s appalling meals and the trials of wrapping parcels and mending stockings.

“Oh, Polly,” she murmured, “we’re going to be such good friends!”

And though she couldn’t possibly have heard her, Polly turned as if she had and looked straight at her. But only for an instant, and then a group of GIs pushed in front of Eileen, blowing on noisemakers, hiding Polly from sight.

Eileen had thought she’d lost her, but she hadn’t. Polly was still there, moving steadily toward the tube station and her drop and Oxford. Where she’ll see me walking to Oriel and she’ll tell me I must get a driving authorization first and I’ll tell her Colin’s in love with her and we’ll go to Balliol and stand talking to Michael Davies in the sunlit quad.