Since the attack on Pearl Harbor a few months earlier, Britain had no longer been alone; now she had a powerful ally and everyone was far more optimistic about the eventual outcome. Even so, they all knew the end of the war was still a long way off.

The weeks turned into months and still there was no news of Danny. As far as his squadron were concerned he became another statistic. Not forgotten, but gone, and there was no time, not yet, for indulging in mourning. There were too many to mourn.

For the WAAFs the ghosts of the young men lost still haunted the station. ‘Do you remember Jim or Bill or Nick . . .?’ was often whispered in the darkness of the hut. It kept the memories of the brave young men alive and the girls liked to think that their lost friends would be pleased that someone thought of them still.

‘CO wants you and the car at his office now.’ The corporal popped her head round the door of the hut.

‘Now?’ Kate echoed in surprise.

The corporal nodded and shrugged. ‘Must be something important for him to be going somewhere this late. You’d better hop to it.’

Minutes later, Kate pulled up in the staff car outside Philip’s office and opened the back door for him to climb in. She saluted smartly, but he waved her aside and went round and sat in the front passenger’s seat.

Kate got back into the car. ‘Sir . . .?’

He was sitting staring straight in front. ‘It doesn’t matter any more, Kate,’ he said quietly. ‘Just drive into the countryside, darling. I have to talk to you.’

Fear leaped in her breast as she bent and pressed the starter. As they paused at the gate to register their departure, she couldn’t fail to notice the guard’s glance into the car and the slight raising of his eyebrows. But Philip just sat passively beside her.

What had he meant – it didn’t matter now? Had their affair been found out? Was there trouble brewing for him – and her too? Was this what he wanted to tell her?

She drove the few miles to their favourite spot. Her hands were clammy with nervousness on the steering-wheel.

She switched off the engine and half-turned to face him. Slowly he turned to look at her. He seemed to be taking in every tiny detail of her face as if to commit it to memory; as if it was important that he should know every line of it.

‘You do know how very much I love you, don’t you, Kate?’ he said at last, his voice deep with emotion.

Her heart was thumping, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, hoarsely. ‘Whatever is it, Philip? Tell me – please!’

‘I – I have to go home . . .’

‘Is that all?’ She almost laughed with relief but then it died immediately as she saw him shaking his head.