Numbers of RAF staff at the Manor grew even further. The training school for RDF – radio direction finding – operators was expanding fast. Until now most of the new trainees had been men, but before he left Robert Watson-Watt had recruited three women from the secretarial staff. Although all the men had been sceptical, the women had quickly proved excellent at the task, being both meticulously precise and also patient with the delicate fine-tuning required.

As more women arrived, the atmosphere at the Manor subtly shifted. Sunday evening variety shows were replaced with dances, and Frank, who fancied himself a ladies’ man, never missed the opportunity to brag about his conquests each Monday morning. Although, superficially, the two teams had begun to work well together, Vic could sense tensions growing.

It was Scott who mentioned it first. He’d overheard some of the girls complaining about Frank’s ‘sleazy’ ways – the very word they’d used – and had suggested a plan for ‘bringing him down a peg or two’. At first Vic flatly refused – the combination of music, dancing and having to make conversation with girls was his idea of hell – but following a bad-tempered team meeting at which Frank was being particularly odious, he reluctantly agreed.

Good on you, Mac. Tame that snake before he bites, Johnnie whispered.

That following Sunday he dressed in his best suit – great heavens, if you could see me now, Johnnie boy – and joined Scott in the bar for a couple of stiff whiskies before following the sound of jazz being played at top volume on a wind-up gramophone in the main hall. Vic had never witnessed such a scene before: fully a hundred people, men and women, jiggling about on the dance floor, doing strange things with their arms and legs. It terrified him. The touch of Scott’s hand on his back propelled him forward. At the centre was Frank, showing off his best moves, encircled by ten or twelve of the most glamorous girls fawning over him, giggling and dancing suggestively. He was revelling in the attention.

As soon as Vic and Scott appeared those same girls shrieked with apparent delight, abandoning Frank. Vic was led into the centre of the dance floor. Following their instructions, he began awkwardly to move his feet and arms about, taking the hand of one girl then being twirled along to another, while the others called out encouragingly; ‘Ooh Vic Mackensie, what a smooth operator,’ one proclaimed. ‘Doesn’t he just make a girl swoon?’ another said, and ‘Where have you been hiding, handsome?’ Plentiful kisses were planted on his cheeks, the whisky warmed his stomach and his feet felt as though they were gliding all by themselves. It was like a crazy dream, and after a few moments he realised that he was actually enjoying himself.

From the corner of his eye, he spied Frank sloping away from the dance floor. When he’d gone, Scott gave the thumbs up.