‘It’ll be funny seeing her.’ Molly was trying to get used to the idea.

‘In Civvy Street? Yes, it will. It’s been a long time for me, of course.’

Ruth had not been in the battery that went to Belgium – she had returned to England and been demobbed sooner than Molly.

They sat at a sunny window table in the cafe, where they could see the street, and ordered cups of coffee.

‘Ah,’ Ruth said, after a few minutes. ‘There they are – bang on time, of course!’

Through the window Molly saw a slender, elegant young woman in a pastel green shirt-waister, wearing a white cardigan on top and white low-heeled sandals. Her dark-brown hair was still much as she had always worn it, cut into a neat collar-length bob and caught behind one ear. It was unmistakably Win Leighton. And in those seconds Molly took in that Win had, in a kind, subtle way, established a protective relationship with the dumpy, awkward-looking woman walking beside her, dressed in a belted suit of brown-and-tan tweed, which looked too heavy for the weather. Once more it wouldn’t have been possible to mistake Phoebe Morrison for anyone else – there was the black hair scraped up in a bun now, the solid, busty figure and the strong, determined face. Yet she looked smaller, as if, Molly sensed, she too had been diminished by civilian life.

They were all saying hello then. Molly was taken aback to be kissed on the cheek first by Win and then, as if following her example, by Phoebe Morrison. She caught the old smell of stale cigarettes as they were close together for a second.

‘Ruth, Molly – how absolutely wonderful to see you!’ Win gazed, beaming from one to the other of them, and Molly realized she was genuinely moved to be back with them again.

‘Hello,’ Molly said, nodding and smiling at them both shyly, realizing that she had no idea what to call Phoebe Morrison now. She couldn’t keep calling her ‘Ma’am’, could she?

Win did a very good job of making everyone feel comfortable and at ease, while they sat and drinks were brought. And Molly, who had Phoebe Morrison to her left at the little round table, saw her draw her cigarettes gratefully from her bag and light up.

‘For you?’ She held out the packet to Molly.

‘Thanks very much.’ She accepted a light as well, glad to have something to do with her hands.

‘So . . .’ Win beamed round the table, taking charge as she always had done. ‘We must catch up. Do let’s share what we’ve all be up to!’

Win seemed exactly the same, Molly thought, as during that first week in the ATS, when she had been self-appointed head of dorm and had taken charge of switching off the lights. She felt a warm gratitude towards her. Back then, when she had no idea how to fit in, Molly had resented this automatic public-school authority. Now, she just felt fond. She knew from experience about Win’s considerable good side.