‘Here, what’s the bloody game?’ he demanded.

The Gunner ignored him, concentrating completely on Doreen, whose ample charms were prominently displayed, for the girdle of her kimono, loosely fastened, had come undone.

‘By God, but you’re a sight for sore eyes, he said, sincere admiration in his voice.

Having had time to take in the Gunner’s bedraggled appearance, the sailor’s alarm had subsided and there was an edge of belligerency in his voice when he spoke again, ‘I don’t know who the hell you are, mate, but you’ll bloody well get out of it fast if you know what’s good for you.’

The Gunner looked him over and grinned amiably. Why don’t you shut up, sonny?’

The sailor was young, active and muscular and fancied himself as a fighting man. He came round the end of the bed with a rush, intending to throw this rash intruder out on his ear and made the biggest mistake of his life. The Gunner’s left foot slipped forward, knee turned slightly in. The sailor flung the sort of punch that he had seen used frequently and with great success on the films. The Gunner swayed a couple of inches and the punch slid across his shoulder. His left fist screwed into the sailor’s solar plexus, his right connected with the edge of the jaw, slamming him back against the far wall from which he rebounded to fall on his face unconscious.

The Gunner turned, untying the cord of his dressing-gown, ‘How’ve you been keeping them, darlin’?’ he demanded cheerfully.

‘But Gunner – what happened?’ she said.

‘They had me in the Infirmary for a check-up. One of the screws got a bit dozy so I took my chance and hopped it. Got any clothes?’

She opened a drawer, took out a clean towel and gave it to him, an expression of wonder still on her face. ‘No – nothing that would do for you.’

‘Never mind – I’ll take this bloke’s uniform.’ He turned her round and slapped her backside. ‘Find me something to drink, there’s a girl. It was no joke out there in this rigout on a night like this.’

She went into the kitchen and he could hear her opening cupboards as he stripped and scrubbed himself dry. He had the sailor’s trousers and shirt on and was trying to squeeze his feet into the shoes when she returned.

He tossed them into the corner in disgust. ‘No bloody good. Two sizes too small. What have you got there?’

‘Sherry,’ she said. ‘It’s all I could find. I was never much of a drinker – remember?’

The bottle was about half-full and he uncorked it and took a long swallow. He wiped a hand across his mouth with a sigh of pleasure as the wine burned its way into his stomach.