Rita rolled her eyes and swung over the threshold with ease before hurrying down the path towards the throaty burble of a well-tuned machine.

Ivy giggled. ‘I ain’t seen her that lively for weeks, but I reckon it ain’t all to do with getting ’er bike back. You should see the bloke what brought it.’

‘I hardly think she’d have her head turned so quickly after losing Matt,’ said Peggy rather sternly, and then saw the tall, handsome young man climb off the motorbike and smile down at Rita, who was grinning delightedly back at him. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘His name’s Peter Ryan,’ said Ivy rather breathlessly. ‘He’s an Aussie bomber pilot,’ she added unnecessarily, since this much was obvious from the insignia on his dark blue uniform and cap. ‘And certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t ’e?’

Peggy and Cordelia took in the long, rangy figure, broad shoulders and handsome face beneath the closely cropped brown hair which shone like a conker in the last of the sun, and silently agreed with Ivy.

‘What’s he doing with Rita’s bike when the Yanks were supposed to be fixing it?’ asked Peggy.

Ivy shrugged. ‘I dunno, but it sounds like he done a good job.’

Peggy and Cordelia watched with avid interest as Rita and the young man chatted happily while they inspected the motorbike. ‘They certainly seem to have taken to one another,’ said Cordelia.

‘I’m not surprised,’ replied Peggy with a chuckle. ‘The Australians we’ve met have always been able to charm the birds out of the trees. Remember how they took over the cooking that Christmas and brought us our first chickens hidden in their overcoat pockets?’

Cordelia giggled. ‘Indeed I do. A bunch of scallywags, but very likeable.’

‘Look out,’ hissed Ivy, patting her hair in place. ‘She’s bringing him over.’

Peggy stood to greet the young man as Rita made the introductions.

‘G’day, Mrs Reilly,’ he drawled, his large hand swamping her fingers. ‘How ya goin’?’

‘I’m going very well,’ she replied, looking up at a tanned face and straight into a pair of thickly lashed, startlingly blue, mesmeric eyes. Gathering her senses, she introduced Cordelia, who twittered and blushed as the Australian shook her hand and smiled at her.

‘Peter’s done a marvellous job on the bike,’ enthused Rita. ‘It’s running better than ever.’

The Australian looked rather bashful. ‘Aw, it was no bother, Rita. I’ve got bikes at home, and I enjoy tinkering with engines.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Peggy, hoping she’d find out more about this charismatic young man over a cup of tea.

He twisted his cap in his hand. ‘That’s real kind of you, missus, but I thought Rita might like a ride before I have to get back to Cliffe.’

Peggy gasped. ‘Oh, I don’t think—’