‘Heavens, is that the time already? I’ve got to get back for supper. Thank you for showing me the gardens. I’ve enjoyed it.’

‘Me too. Makes such a change from talking shop.’ A pause. ‘Would you . . . erm . . .’ He tried again. ‘Would you, perhaps . . . another day . . .?’

‘That’d be lovely,’ she said.

Over the coming days they exchanged smiles at mealtimes but he said nothing more, and she began to wonder whether he’d had second thoughts. She wasn’t even sure herself. He’d shown no sign of wanting anything other than to walk and talk. Perhaps it was, as he’d said, that he’d enjoyed her company, nothing more. She’d certainly enjoyed the conversation, once they got going. He was so interesting, so well informed and so clever. So different from anyone else she knew. Despite his shyness, she felt relaxed in his company; and that smile, when it came, was enough to melt anyone’s heart.

So when, two weeks later, he’d passed her a note at the serving table – This evening, same time? – her heart seemed to lift. This time they went to the Cliff Path. The wind was from the west, he said, so it would be sheltered there. He was right. They sat in one of the concrete niches and she produced the carrot cake that she’d wrapped carefully in her shoulder bag.

‘My favourite. What a treat,’ he said.

‘I made it.’

‘It’s the best carrot cake I’ve ever tasted. You’re a genius.’

‘You’re the genius, Vic.’ Then she remembered. ‘And where did you learn to play the piano like that?’

‘You heard me?’

‘A while ago, yes. I hid behind a door to listen.’

‘You sneaky thing.’

She laughed. ‘You were playing some jazzy number and I just had to hear it to the end. Then you played something classical, really sad.’

‘Chopin, probably. It makes me sad too, but it’s cathartic, you know?’

She hadn’t a clue what that meant, so said nothing.

‘It’s so peaceful. I love it here,’ he said after a moment.

‘I wish it could always be like this.’

‘Me too.’

‘I envy you, you know, doing something positive to defend our country, having a real purpose,’ she said. ‘My brother is doing his bit, out there flying his fighter planes. I wish there was more I could do.’

‘What you do is important, too.’

She laughed. ‘That’s what you said before. The human race wouldn’t exist without food.’

‘I said that?’

‘You did.’

‘How profound.’ It wasn’t always easy to tell whether he was joking or not, but he was smiling. They watched the clouds tinged with pink from the sunset behind them, just as before.

‘Seriously, though, I wish I could do something more . . .’ She struggled for the word. ‘Purposeful, important. I don’t know. That would make a real difference.’

‘You could join the WAAFs,’ he said, quite suddenly.