‘This is more like it. This is a fucking palace.’ The guard shushed and scowled at him. ‘What’s the matter, cock? Don’t you allow the peasants in?’

I pulled him into the next room.

‘All right! I don’t know how to behave. You’ll have to teach me some manners.’

‘You’re supposed to talk in subdued tones.’

‘Ooh,’ he said, in a nasal, Bluebottle voice, ‘subdued tones.’

‘And you’re supposed to look at the art.’

‘It’s very pretty,’ he said, peering at a delicate study of some cattle in a meadow at sunrise. ‘I like a nice cow.’

‘You’re bloody hopeless.’

‘And you love me for it, don’t you?’

A lady in a raffia hat raised her eyebrows as Wright put his arm round my shoulders. ‘It’s all right, love,’ he said, ‘we’re getting married.’

She said, ‘Well!’ and marched out of the gallery.

Wright ran out into the sunshine, laughing. ‘Come on. Pubs are open. Let me buy you a pint.’

‘Isn’t it a bit early?’

He just looked at me, head down, brow furrowed, through his long eyelashes.

Two pints later – he ‘misheard’ my request for a half – we paid our pennies and strolled along the pier. The sun was out, the gulls were fighting with the wind, and the girls – all those girls who were nowhere to be seen last night – were teetering along the planks in their high heels, holding on to their headscarves while their skirts blew up to show stocking tops and suspenders. They screamed, and Wright whistled. He can whistle very loudly.

‘See that one? She’s undressing me with her eyes. Hello darling! Fancy a RAF sandwich?’

The pretty brunette stopped and whispered in her dumpy blonde friend’s ear.

‘They’ll come over now. Watch me reel ’em in.’

I felt sick, and wondered if it was the beer.

‘Lovely day, girls. Cigarette?’

The dark-haired one, with a Jacqmar headscarf and a thin spring coat, allowed Wright to give her a light. Her short, plain, bespectacled friend waited for me to do the honours.

‘You’re from London,’ said the brunette. ‘You talk funny.’

‘No, love, you talk funny. Eeeh, aye, eh, oop.’

‘Glahss, bahth, grahss.’

‘That’s the Queen’s English, my girl. Isn’t it, Aircraftman Medway? You’ve met the Queen, haven’t you?’

‘Oh yes. And the Queen Mother.’

‘We know all the queens, don’t we?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You’re mental,’ said the girl, and started walking away. Wright skipped into step with her; I brought up the rear with the sidekick.

‘Don’t run away, gorgeous! We were just saying, me and my mate here, that we needed to find two beautiful young ladies to accompany us to the dance tonight.’

‘Oh, were you indeed.’

‘And when we saw you, we said to ourselves, “There’s a pair of smashers.”’

‘A pair of smashers, eh?’ She giggled.

‘Yeah. Nicest pair I’ve seen for ages.’

‘Oh, you …’

‘So how about it, baby?’

‘We haven’t got tickets.’

‘No problem. We’ll see to all that, won’t we, Mickey?’