“I was, when they were trying to get that plaster off my foot. And in that pasture with that bull last night. What did she say to you?”

“She asked me to elope. She said The Mummy was her favorite film and asked me to run off to Gretna Green with her.”

“All right, don’t tell me,” Cess said. “I’m off to bed.” He left and then leaned back in the door. “I’ll get it out of you eventually, you know.”

No, you won’t, Ernest thought, though Cess wouldn’t know what it meant if he did tell him, and she had probably told hundreds of soldiers the same thing. But it had cut a little too close to the bone.

He waited five minutes, typing up the fictitious wedding of Agnes Brown of Brixton to Corporal William Stokowski of Topeka, Kansas, “currently serving with the 29th Armored Division,” till he was sure Cess had really gone to bed. Then he took the manila envelope from the bottom drawer of the desk and rolled the story he’d been writing yesterday into the typewriter. But he didn’t begin to type. Instead, he stared at the keys and thought about the Queen and her words to him.

“Your King appreciates your sacrifice and your devotion to duty,” she’d said. “He and I are grateful for the important work you are doing.”

What of the future? … Will the rocket-bomb come? Will more destructive explosions come?

WINSTON CHURCHILL,
6 July 1944

Golders Green—July 1944

THE BRIDGE LAY JUST AHEAD, AND THERE WERE NO TURNOFFS that Mary could see. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, she thought. The bridge was less than a hundred yards from the ammunition dump. If this was the bridge the V-1 had hit, they’d be blown to bits. She glanced at her watch. 1:07.

Beside her in the ambulance Stephen Lang was still talking about the ineffectiveness of England’s rocket defenses. “The only way to stop them is to prevent them from being launched at all. I say, slow down a bit. You’ll get us both killed.”

Not if I can get us over this bridge before 1:08, she thought, stepping on the accelerator pedal. She shot over the bridge, braced for the blast and trying to gauge how far away they had to be to not be hit.

“The meeting’s not that important,” Stephen protested.

“I have orders to get you there on time,” she said, roaring down the lane.

And there was the road she’d taken to Hendon. Thank God. She turned south on it and, now that they were out of range, slowed down. “You were saying the only way to stop the rockets is to prevent them from being launched?” she asked.

“Yes, which is why I should be flying a bomber in France instead of being stuck here—not that I’m complaining. After all, it affords me a chance to be with you again,” he said and smiled that heartbreakingly crooked smile. “Where were you before?”