‘Then I’ll go to the fire station and get John Hicks to drive me to all her usual haunts first,’ said Peggy with determination. ‘She could be all alone in a state about her father, or worse still could have had an accident on that motorbike and be lying out there somewhere injured and in need of help.’

Ron strode through the gathering gloom, the mournful sound of the foghorn echoing his mood. The day had been a disaster so far, but he was determined to end it on a high note. He’d come to the conclusion that he’d been in Rosie’s bad books too often to placate her with flowers or chocolates, and that if he was to keep her, he’d have to go about things differently. The long walk in the hills had cleared his head and made him see their relationship from her point of view, and he’d been chastened to realise how careless he’d been towards the woman who meant so much to him.

He opened the door to the Anchor fully expecting to see the Major in his usual place at the end of the bar by the till, but there was no sign of him – which was a relief, because he wasn’t yet ready to face him and be polite. Pushing through the crush of people, he noted how few servicemen there were, and that the majority of the customers were locals and factory workers – a sure sign that something was afoot with regard to this rumoured invasion.

Ron finally managed to get to the bar, but one glance told him Rosie wasn’t there either. He tried not to let his imagination run away with him, and waited patiently until one of the part-time barmaids caught his eye.

Beryl and Flo usually worked in the factory canteen up on the industrial estate, and when Rosie was in a bind, she called on them for help, even though they weren’t as efficient as her usual two women.

‘Hello, Ron,’ said Beryl, her matronly figure swathed in a floral wrap-round apron, her plump face flushed with her exertions. ‘Rosie said you might pop in to lend a hand, and goodness knows, me and Flo could use you tonight.’

‘Where’s Rosie? Upstairs, or changing barrels?’

‘She had to go out,’ said Beryl, swiftly clearing dirty glasses from the bar as Flo continued to pull pints. ‘Didn’t say how long she’d be.’

‘She were looking ever so smart,’ piped up Flo. ‘So she were off somewhere important, I bet.’

That nugget of information didn’t make him feel the least bit better, but as both women were clearly struggling to cope, he took off his coat and hat and dumped them on the coat rack in the hall before returning to the bar.