Another week went by. Surely by now she would be at her first real posting? His requests for leave had thus far been refused ‘due to operational priorities’, but he was certainly due some time off, and hoped to use it to visit Kath. But where was she?

And then, on the very same day, two envelopes arrived in his pigeonhole. The first was addressed in Kath’s rounded, generous hand.

Dear Vic,

Thank you for the two letters, which I picked up from home when I came back on leave a week ago. I’m sorry for the long silence and hope this reaches you now that you are doing so much travelling. Still I am sure your work is interesting, as ever, and you are achieving yet more great things!

You won’t believe it but I’m back here, where we first met. The place is full of memories and reminders of the times we had here. Not that I’ve had much time to think, trying to get used to the crazy shift patterns and feeling dog tired most of the time. Also, the weather is so miserable I haven’t been able to get out into the gardens. Our favourite walk is out of bounds anyway, covered with barbed wire and the rest, as you can probably imagine.

I had a very exciting week at HQ before this, seeing what they do with what we tell them. I half wondered whether I might see you there, but no luck. Being there brought it home to me, all over again, how critical your work has been, and still is. Hats off to you all!

I’m still a novice, but learning fast. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and exhausting all at once. I’ve got no idea when I’ll get leave, but will let you know. In the meantime, if you’re ever up this way it’d be so lovely to see you. Write again soon.

Fondest regards,

Kath

The news was better than he could have possibly hoped. That they were allowing women back to Bawdsey was surely a sign of the Allies’ growing confidence that the dangers of enemy invasion or air attack were receding. The world suddenly seemed less bleak, and he was so thrilled by the warmth of her words that he lost himself in a brief reverie and almost forgot to open the second envelope. It was the official buff variety marked CONFIDENTIAL, TOP SECRET and Not to be opened by any unauthorised person. It contained a rail warrant with the usual cryptic instruction: Report to USAF Martlesham 1400 hours Friday. That was in just two days’ time.

He ran to the lab and pulled down a map. USAF Martlesham was, by a quick reckoning, just a dozen or so miles from Bawdsey. ‘Thank you, gods,’ he gasped, barely able to believe his good fortune.

He allowed the reverie to return, imagining Kath on board the ferry, in one of the rooms in the Red Tower or the White Tower, or with her head bent over a screen in one of the bunkers along with her fellow WAAFs. The image now began to include himself, walking those paths hand in hand with her, the gardens filled with spring flowers, the sun in her hair, her laughter, the feel of her lips . . .