As they left the station and went their separate ways, the stresses and strains of the past years began to tell on Peggy, and she decided to go to the little church that overlooked the sea to the east of the town. It was peaceful there and she needed a few quiet moments to pray for the boys and girls who were risking their lives so their country could be free – and to gather her senses so she could face the coming hours and days with strength of purpose to keep the home fires burning and everyone’s spirits high.

Ron straightened his tie which threatened to strangle him, brushed the damp from his greatcoat and smoothed back his hair. Taking a deep breath, he walked purposefully up the alleyway to the side door of the Anchor. Deciding it might be best if he knocked first instead of just waltzing in as usual, he ordered Harvey to shake himself dry, for Rosie wouldn’t appreciate him doing it indoors.

He rapped on the heavy oak door and waited. But there were no answering footsteps on the other side. He frowned and shot a questioning look at Harvey, who whined as he put his front paws against the door and began to scrabble with his claws.

Ron’s apprehension rose as he knocked again, waited impatiently for half a minute and then reached for the doorknob. Rosie had locked the door. He stood and stared at it as if by sheer will he could force it open. There were several explanations as to why it was locked; Rosie might still be in bed; she could be busy in the bar getting ready for the lunchtime session; or she could be out walking Monty. Or – and this sent a shiver through him – she was in there and refusing to see him.

He left Harvey whining and scrabbling at the back gate and strode out of the alley to peer into the windows, but was frustrated by the closed shutters and blackout curtains. He stepped back into the street and looked up at her windows, saw that she’d opened the curtains up there, and wondered if she was hiding from him. Looking round, he managed to find a couple of bits of loose grit on the pavement and threw them at her sitting-room window.

‘Rosie,’ he called. ‘Rosie, I know you’re there. Stop messing about and let me in.’

‘You’re wasting your time, Ron. She’s gone out.’

Ron swung round to face his old friend Sergeant Williams, the local policeman. ‘Where is she, Bert? I need to see her.’