When he paid her later that week, she noticed he had added a shilling more an hour to her wages. A kindness he took no thanks for, but merely reminded her of her six-month commitment. From which she would doubtless emerge with a brilliant letter of recommendation.

Viv was doing equally well at Harrods where her boss had commended her ability to help women find just the right clothes to complement them. Grace and Viv had fallen into a routine upon returning home from work, both around four in the afternoon, to meet in the kitchen for tea to discuss their day, sometimes with the company of Mrs. Weatherford when she wasn’t off running errands.

They sat together one afternoon while rain pattered at the windows, a comfortable silence between them, when Viv gave a long, unexpected sigh. “Isn’t it just driving you to distraction?”

Grace looked up from where she’d been mesmerized by the raindrops melting into one another before trickling down the windows. “Isn’t what driving me to distraction?”

Viv looked longingly outside. “The boredom.”

Grace could have laughed. She’d been anything but bored with how busy she stayed at the shop.

Viv rolled her eyes. “You’re not bored, I know, but this war has been interminable.”

“But nothing’s happening,” Grace protested. After all, there hadn’t been any more air raid sirens. Nor had there been any attacks or rationing. There were rumors, of course. But there would always be rumors and so far all had been unfounded.

“Exactly.” Viv’s eyes widened with exasperation. “I thought London would be all glitz and glam with theater tickets and late nights out dancing.”

“We could try to go to the cinema again,” Grace offered hesitantly.

Viv pinned her with a sullen stare, no doubt recalling the failure of their last attempt. The building had been black as death’s cloak, and they’d nearly fallen over several times as they tripped their way down the partition that formed something of a corridor leading to the paybox. It was so dark inside, they could scarce see the coins they counted out. Then on the way home, they’d nearly been struck by a car that was quite obviously exceeding the newly enforced speed limits.

The attempt to go to a theater had been an equal failure. They’d forgotten their gas masks, a common occurrence of late, and were turned away. While their return home had been uneventful, it had been met with a lecture from Mrs. Weatherford on the importance of gas masks and why they shouldn’t have been left in the first place.

Besides, Grace had had enough of venturing into the blackout. Between her terrible experience the first week, nearly being run down together after the cinema and all the reports of muggings and assaults in the newly darkened city, they had decided against risking going out later.