It was a line of thought she couldn’t let herself pursue. She shook her head and turned her attention back to Dan’s letter but then Warren slid into a seat at the bar next to her, his toothiness recovered, and she wondered if the previous week’s glimpse behind the facade had been a hallucination.

“Well?” she demanded, stubbing out another of the countless cigarettes she and Marty were working their way through.

“You’re to discuss the matter with your editors,” Warren replied as serenely as if they were discussing what to have for afternoon tea.

“Why?” Martha asked.

“It’s somewhat…delicate,” Warren said, unable to stop the corners of his mouth twitching.

“More delicate than accusing me of sleeping with half the U.S. Army in order to get my stories,” Jess said collectedly.

“You didn’t get the information about wasted parachute training places just by asking around.” Warren didn’t bother to restrain his smile this time. “The U.S. Army is very keen to protect your special skills.”

Jess’s stomach contracted. She had no idea what he meant but she knew it didn’t sound good.

“If you really would prefer to hear it from me, rather than someone who might handle it more sensitively, then here goes,” Warren continued with faux concern. “As you can see, none of the staff sections could provide any reason why women should be prevented the right to descend by parachute into France.”

He passed a letter to Jess and her nausea somersaulted into excitement. She looked across at Martha and grinned. No reason they couldn’t go! Then they’d be at the next jump training session. But if Warren hadn’t got his way, his bosses at SHAEF PR were likely furious with him. So he should be downcast at the very least. Instead, he bore a strong resemblance to the proverbial canary-eating cat.

“Except for a major in the office of the Surgeon General,” Warren said, leaning back and draping his arm along the back of Jess’s stool. “He was very concerned about the effects on the female anatomy of dropping out of a plane going 115 miles per hour. Add to that the brusque upward thrust of the opening parachute canopy and one doesn’t like to think about what might happen to the delicate female apparatus.”

Absolute silence followed. Neither Jess nor Martha could make their mouths form a single word of response. How Warren must have searched high and low for that major. How he must have relished receiving that report and showing it to his superiors to prove that he was doing such a good job of keeping the women quarantined and out of the invasion fleet.

Then Warren let his hand drop, seemingly accidentally, onto Jess’s shoulder.

She shot to her feet. “And what does the Surgeon General’s office have to say about the effect on the dangling male apparatus? Oh, that’s right, it’s used to brusque upward thrusting but we women are too delicate to know anything about it. And I suppose if one has no balls in the first place, like PROs who sit in hotels rather than fighting for their country—for God’s sake, I’ve seen more of the war than you have!—then we shouldn’t be too concerned about any adverse effects on those balls.”