‘Ah, Captain Burrows, meet my little sister Kathleen, and her friend Joan,’ he said as they approached.

‘My pleasure.’ The man gave a formal little bow, and his handshake was warm and firm. He was tall and blond with a small ginger moustache and a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

‘Captain Burrows is a test pilot,’ Mark said unnecessarily, as though she hadn’t already guessed.

‘But you’re wearing a navy uniform,’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t it be air force, if you’re a pilot?’

‘What sharp eyes you have, young Kathleen,’ the captain responded, with a smile that seemed to light up his face. ‘That’s because I fly a seaplane. Have you seen her outside?’

‘Sorry, seen what?’

‘My bird.’

Bird?

‘The Swordfish out there on the apron.’

Apron?

‘Let me show you. You can sit in the cockpit if you like.’ He could be talking Greek, but Kath barely cared. She was already mesmerised. Moments later she and Joan were being led past a queue of people, under a rope barrier and up a set of metal steps beside the plane. From the platform at the top they could see into the cockpit, narrow, bare and uncomfortable-looking.

‘That’s the navigator’s seat,’ Captain Burrows said, pointing to a vaguely chair-shaped angle of leather-covered metal, ‘and behind him is the rear gunner, which is why he faces backwards. This one in the centre is the pilot. That is, me. Who’s going in first, then?’

Joan shook her head. ‘Not for me, thanks.’ Kath wasn’t that keen either, but felt it would be impolite for both of them to refuse.

‘Swing one leg over first,’ he said, steadying her arm with a firm grip until she found herself uncomfortably straddling the hard edge of the metal fuselage, wishing that she hadn’t shortened the hem of her skirt quite so much.

‘Now support yourself on your arms and swing the other leg over so you can lower yourself down inside.’ She got the distinct impression that he was enjoying her discomposure. With arms shaking from the effort she managed to manoeuvre herself onto the small hard seat, her skirt bunched up to her thighs on either side of the joystick. In front of her was a dizzying array of dials and switches.

‘Good show.’ The Captain’s eyes twinkled, unfeasibly blue. ‘I reckon you’re the first female ever to have entered my lair. How does it feel?’

‘It stinks of oil,’ she said.

‘Just wait till you’re up there,’ he pointed to the sky, ‘with the wind in your face and all your cares left down below. It’s like no other feeling on earth, literally.’ He chuckled at his own joke. ‘You never really notice the discomfort, though one’s bum can get a bit numb after a few hours.’

He gave her a brief run-down of what some of the instruments did.

‘Have I whetted your appetite yet?’ he said.

‘Me, do you mean? What for?’

‘Learning to fly.’

‘Me, a pilot? Do they take girls?’