‘You even been there?’ asked Mario.

Vee realized that she hadn’t heard a single word of the previous sentence. She shook her head, since that was probably the correct answer; she’d never been anywhere.

‘Nothing but stones, miles of little stones,’ said Mario. ‘In the US, we’d call it a driveway!’ She could tell from his expression that this was a punchline, and she gave an unconvincing neigh of laughter, just as the brunette snapped her compact closed. The girl’s gaze flicked in her direction and lingered critically for long enough to allow Vee to feel like the oldest woman in the world.

‘Hey,’ said Mario, ‘how about we go for a walk?’

‘A walk?’ She sounded like a dolt, repeating the word, but who went for a walk after dark in December, with the wind snapping at your ankles like scissors?

‘Just a little stroll somewhere quiet,’ he added, and she felt a premonitory lurch of the stomach. The infectious looseness of American morals had been the subject of many dark discussions at the knitting circle, especially the ability of GIs to turn Nice Girls Who Ought To Know Better into Little More Than Street-Walkers at the wave of a pair of nylons. Also notable, apparently, was their willingness to extend appreciation of the female form to those who would normally consider themselves exempt. Mrs Ogden had had her thigh stroked in the blackout while queuing for a bus, and had shone her torch into the face of the perpetrator, to discover that he was approximately the same age as her grandson. He had appeared completely unabashed, saying ‘Good evening, ma’am’ with exquisite politeness before offering to carry her shopping.

‘Are you drinking this?’ asked Mario, indicating her gin. Vee shook her head. ‘What it is,’ he said, leaning his huge head in towards her, his voice dropping to a low rumble, ‘is that I have to ask you something.’ Almost absent-mindedly, he downed the gin.

‘Oh,’ said Vee. ‘Can’t you ask it here?’

‘It’s kind of private,’ he said.

‘Right. Only it’s perishing out, I can’t think how I’ll ever keep warm.’ Which sounded, she realized instantly, exactly like a phrase from a lurid newspaper article about good-time girls; she might as well have snapped her garter and named her price. Fortunately, the corporal was lighting a cigarette, and didn’t see her wince.

‘All right, then,’ she said, buttoning up her coat. ‘Just a quick one.’ God almighty, and now she sounded like Max Miller. ‘I mean, a walk – I mean, a quick walk – that’s what I meant.’

‘You OK?’ he asked, squinting through the smoke at her.

‘Yes, I’m very well,’ she said primly, and followed him out into the polar wind.