“Being fond of stout at her local pub, she formed an unfortunate habit of broadcasting details of her tasks. She was out doing just that when Private Leary had to climb through her window so the major and I could help load her supplies onto our trucks. With her neighbors curiously watching, it made quite the spectacle.”

Envisioning the farcical scene, I struggle for a moment to identify the relevance. “So the standoffish treatment I’ve gotten, it’s been for fear that I’m another civilian broad of Hutton’s who can’t keep a secret?” At the affirming scrunch of Lenora’s face, I muse with a grin. “And all these months, I assumed it was mostly just for being American.”

She considers this and lifts a shoulder in her baggy uniform. “Perhaps a spot of that too.”

When my laugh slips out, she joins in with a soft giggle, though her gaze just as soon dims.

I encourage her gently. “If there’s something more, feel free to say so.”

She nods. “It’s only that…I never expressed my appreciation, and how deeply I’m indebted to you, for saving my life outside the shelter.”

I bristle slightly. Not at the sentiment but the topic.

“We English won’t speak of such events. We’re taught the stiff upper lip, you see.”

It’s only logical that the deaths we witnessed would have affected her too. But hearing it verbalized brings me a dose of unexpected comfort.

“There’s no need to thank me,” I tell her. “It’s clear we were there for each other.”

Her eyes lighten, a look of gratitude filling them, and she nods again. With a bolstering breath, she says, “Now then. I oughtn’t hold you up longer, Miss Vos.”

“Please. It’s Fenna.”

“Only if I’m Lenora,” she says with warm sincerity, and I agree.

As she starts to pivot away, I blurt out, “Lenora, would you…be up for an outing sometime? Whatever chums here do for fun?”

She smiles, face aglow in the sunlight. “How about Saturday? A matinee?”

No need to check my calendar.

We’re settling details when the business of scheduling reminds me: “Geez, my meeting with Crockatt. I’d nearly forgotten why I’m here.”

“Oh my. Off you go.” She cheerily ushers me off toward the colonel’s office, where—oddly, as I’m precisely on time—the welcome that awaits me glares in contrast.

Chapter 42

Seated at the desk in his office, a reasonably spacious room with tidy stacks of files and a European map pinned to the wall, Colonel Crockatt invites me in with a rigid wave. I’m well accustomed to his Royal Scots uniform—replete with tartan trousers, combat decorations, and the Scottish bonnet set on his desk—but not the lack of his trademark wit and agreeable nature.

“Have a seat, Miss Vos.”