‘Oh yes,’ Philip said airily as he got in beside her. ‘I’ve recommended you for promotion. You’ll be made up to corporal next week.’

Kate was thankful for the darkness for she knew her face was pink with pleasure.

‘You should have seen the East Markham CO sitting rigidly in the middle of the back seat, hardly daring to move!’ Kate regaled the others with her story later that night. ‘And then poor old Ph . . .’ Quickly she corrected herself. ‘Our poor old CO, when he got out to help me, started sneezing his head off. Seems he gets a type of hay-fever from horses and dogs.’

Mavis was nodding. ‘My dad does and so does my younger brother. It can be hereditary, evidently.’

‘Really?’ Kate said. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it before. I know about ordinary hay-fever of course, but not from animals.’

‘Good job you don’t get it, Kate, brought up among all the moo-moos and gee-gees, you’d never stop sneezing!’ Isobel drawled.

Kate glanced across at Isobel lying languidly on her bed blowing smoke rings into the air. Isobel would never change completely, she thought. The odd snide remark slipped out occasionally. Right now she was probably feeling miffed at the news of Kate’s promotion.

Kate smiled to herself. There was a vast difference in one way, though; now Kate was strong enough not to be hurt by anything Isobel said.

The early months of 1941 had been gripped with wintry weather and operations were often cancelled. But with the coming of spring, activity at Suddaby increased. Almost nightly there were bombing raids over enemy territory and Philip never left the station when ‘his boys’ were away on a raid. Kate was kept busy driving him around the huge airfield; to briefing sessions, watching the ground crews bombing-up, and then later out to dispersal. Often he would ask Kate to drive the bus taking the crews out to the waiting aircraft, climbing aboard the vehicle himself and staying with the airmen until the last moment.

Kate’s admiration for the pilots and the other members of the crews grew. They laughed and joked on the bus, as if they were on a jolly works outing, flirting a little with her as they clattered down the steps in their bulky flying jackets and boots.

‘See you later, sweetheart.’

‘How about a date on Saturday night, gorgeous?’

On one such trip, she met Sandy Petersen again when she drove him and the rest of the crew of T-Tommy out to their aircraft. Sandy, with hair the colour to match his nickname, was a little more persistent in his approach. ‘There’s a good film on in Lincoln on Friday. If we’re not flying would you like to go?’

Kate smiled. ‘Yes, thanks, Sandy. I would.’