He gave a wry laugh. ‘Both! It’s mad, isn’t it? It’s all absolutely mad. A waste of young lives.’

‘But, sir . . .’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m as patriotic as the next man and I know full well what we have to do. But – oh, dear Lord – just sometimes I get so sick and tired, so desperately tired, of seeing all those fine young men flying off into the sky and knowing that by the law of averages some aren’t going to come back.’

‘I know – I feel exactly the same sometimes.’

‘I thought you did,’ he said, so quietly that she almost didn’t catch his words. In the car, side by side, there was an intimacy between them that had nothing to do with a commanding officer and his driver.

Kate was emboldened to ask softly, the use of his Christian name coming naturally at this moment, ‘And how about you, Philip? How are things with your family?’

He gave a long, deep sigh. ‘So-so,’ he replied, his tone non-committal.

Kate stared at him but his face was in heavy shadow and she could not read his expression. Questions buzzed around her brain, but Philip volunteered no more and she could hardly pursue the matter.

He pulled a pipe from his pocket and began to pack it, more, it seemed, to give his hands something to do, rather than because he needed to smoke it. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked her, indicating the pipe.

‘No – no, of course not.’

‘I suppose,’ he said in staccato clauses between puffs, ‘we had – better be – getting back.’

As she started the engine and eased the car off the grass verge and down the incline, Philip said suddenly, ‘Am I imagining things, or is that aircraft?’

Kate opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment a small bomb fell into the road about two hundred yards in front of them. The whole world seemed to explode in a flash and Kate gave a cry and swerved. The car bounced across the grass verge and settled, nose-first, into a ditch. Kate groaned and thought, irrationally at such a moment, there I go again falling back into my bad ways!

‘Out the car, quick!’ Philip was out of his side and scrambling round to the driver’s side. He tugged at the door. ‘Open the door, Kate.’

‘I can’t – it’s stuck.’

‘Slide across to the other side,’ he shouted, and struggled back round the car again. He bent and reached in to grasp her hand and pull her out. She fell out of the car into his arms.

‘You’re not hurt, are you?’

‘No – no . . .’

‘Come on then, we must get away from this car. If a bomb drops on this, we’ll be toast.’