You have no idea, Daisy thought; at least, I hope you don’t.

‘The exercise was brought forward by a day,’ he explained. ‘No time to warn you.’

‘So you’re here for the night,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

And Lloyd was leaving in the morning.

‘You don’t seem very pleased,’ Boy said. He looked at her dress. ‘Did you have something else planned?’

‘Such as what?’ she said. She had to regain her composure. ‘A night out at the Two Crowns pub, perhaps?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘Speaking of that, let’s have a drink.’ He left the room in search of booze.

Daisy buried her face in her hands. How could this be? Her plan was ruined. She would have to find some way of alerting Lloyd. And she could not declare her love for him in a hurried whisper with Boy around the corner.

She told herself that the whole scheme would simply be postponed. It was only for a few days: he was due back next Tuesday. The delay would be agonizing, but she would survive, and so would her love. All the same, she almost cried with disappointment.

She finished putting on her stockings and shoes, then she went into the little sitting room.

Boy had found a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. She took some to be convivial. He said: ‘I see that girl is making a fish pie for supper. I’m starving. Is she a good cook?’

‘Not really. Her food is edible, if you’re hungry.’

‘Oh, well, there’s always whisky,’ he said, and he poured himself another drink.

‘What have you been doing?’ She was desperate to get him to talk so that she would not have to. ‘Did you fly to Norway?’ The Germans were winning the first land battle of the war there.

‘No, thank God. It’s a disaster. There’s a big debate in the House of Commons tonight.’ He began to talk about the mistakes the British and French commanders had made.

When supper was ready, Boy went down to the cellar to get some wine. Daisy saw a chance to alert Lloyd. But where would he be? She looked at her wristwatch. It was half past seven. He would be having dinner in the mess. She could not walk into that room and whisper in his ear as he sat at the table with his fellow officers: it would be as good as telling everyone they were lovers. Was there some way she could get him out of there? She racked her brains, but before she could think of anything Boy returned, triumphantly carrying a bottle of 1921 Dom Pérignon. ‘The first vintage they made,’ he said. ‘Historic.’

They sat at the table and ate Maisie’s fish pie. Daisy drank a glass of the champagne but she found it difficult to eat. She pushed her food around the plate in an attempt to look normal. Boy had a second helping.

For dessert, Maisie served canned peaches with condensed milk. ‘War has been bad for British cuisine,’ Boy said.