He tramped across the rolling hills, acknowledging greetings from the soldiers manning the big guns that lined the clifftops who’d become friends over the past few years, and was just about to descend towards the alleyway when he was disconcerted to see Bertie Grantley-Adams striding towards him.

Bertie was looking his usual dapper self – the ultimate country gentleman in plus fours, tweed jacket and hat, and sturdy brogues – but behind that facade and bristling moustache was a man of great bravery and intelligence who’d honed his skills as a saboteur and spy during the first shout, and was now working secretly for MI5. Ron hadn’t known him before he’d become a constant companion to Cordelia, but soon realised they had a good deal in common, for although they were retired, they both still had an allegiance with their old paymasters, and were often called upon to do some undercover work.

Peggy and the girls at Beach View had come to like and respect Bertie, even though they fondly mimicked his plummy accent and called him Bertie Double-Barrelled behind his back.

‘Hello, old chap,’ said Bertie heartily. ‘Thought I might find you up here.’

‘It’s not like you to be out and about at this hour,’ said Ron. ‘Has something happened I should know about?’

Bertie took a moment to light a small cheroot and watch the planes going out over the Channel. ‘I heard from a mutual friend early this morning,’ he said in the sudden lull between the flights.

‘Oh aye?’ Ron tamped down on his impatience, for Bertie never got straight to the point and he’d learnt long ago that it did no good to rush him.

Bertie continued to smoke his cheroot as another squadron of planes took off. ‘She would have telephoned you, but with so many people in the house, she couldn’t be sure of getting hold of you.’ Bertie’s eyes gleamed in the early morning sun as he turned to regard Ron. ‘She knows you well enough to realise you’d probably be out at this early hour.’

Ron realised then that he was talking about Pauline’s mother, Dolly Cardew, who unbeknown to her daughters was working for the SOE and not living out a quiet retirement in Bournemouth. Dolly was in direct contact with several agents who were being flown into enemy territory, and one of them was Danuta, the young Polish girl who’d lived at Beach View at the start of the war. ‘Is this about Danuta?’ he asked fearfully.

Bertie nodded, his expression glum. ‘She was betrayed and taken by the Gestapo the night she was due to return to England,’ he said. Seeing the shock in Ron’s face, he hurried on, ‘But it’s not all bad news. The Allies bombed the prison and she managed to escape to a safe house, and will very soon be on her way to England by fishing boat.’