Elisabeth Lind filled in the gap. “You needn’t call me Sergeant unless I’m in uniform—as your guest, Miss Lind will do nicely. I would like to go to my room now, if I may, and freshen up before I visit the aerodrome. I never do sleep on the train.…”

She leaned in closer to Nan and added in a low voice, “And if you could make me a cup of coffee it would be the best present I have ever been given.”

“There’s only ersatz coffee,” Nan said sulkily. “Chicory syrup. I daresay it’s not what you’re used to.”

“Indeed I am,” the translator said triumphantly. “It’s the same in every RAF canteen since the war started. I would be delighted to receive a cup of ersatz coffee.”

She dropped back down on her heels and took a keek at her surroundings: wishing coins, piano, gramophone, stone floor, fireplace, white-haired old woman, brown-skinned Louisa.

“Hello.” She gave Louisa that crooked smile of hers, friendly.

“Miss Lind,” Louisa answered politely like a good wee Colonial. “I’m Louisa Adair. I look after Mrs. Campbell’s aunt Jane.”

Mrs. Warner waved hello from her chair by the fire.

“Oh.” Elisabeth Lind laughed again. “A house full of women! I am glad. I was worried they would make me stay at the air base.”

I did not dare catch anyone’s eye. I could not imagine the fireworks when she came up against Wing Commander Cromwell.

But I knew she was a canny and a clever lass, good at getting her own way, and perhaps she’d be better able to manage him than Jamie or I.

“I’ll show Miss Lind to her room,” said Nan. “She can have Number Four. The best double. Louisa, bring her up a cup of coffee, would you?”

“Please don’t be long,” Phyllis said anxiously. “Wing Commander Cromwell is expecting us.”

“I won’t be two ticks,” said Sergeant Lind. “Just the time it takes to finish my coffee and change!”

I felt limp with relief when she left the room.

Jamie:

Cromwell brought her into the officers’ lounge to introduce her.

“Sergeant Elisabeth Lind will be with us for a week or so as a German translator.”

Elisabeth Lind? Well, it wasn’t the first time she’d made me call her by some made-up name.

Every young man in that room catapulted to his feet. Ignacy bowed. She was wearing an air-force blue WAAF uniform exactly like Phyllis’s, but we didn’t meet many new girls, and this one, as I knew well, lapped up attention. People leaped to pull out a chair for her, light her cigarette, get her a tea. Gavin Hamilton and Dougie Kerr squabbled over who’d hold her gas-mask bag. When Dougie lost, she made it up to him by listening attentively to his life’s story.

I had enough trouble with my lads. I didn’t need this.