She’d certainly had stars in her eyes then, but the war had brought ugly experiences to them both, which had changed her, and certainly must have changed him. The long separation and lack of communication had undeniably dulled her fervour and caused the dreams to fade, and although she’d determinedly kept those hopes and memories alive, she now wasn’t really sure how she actually felt about him. She had no photograph to remind her of what he looked like, and as she tried to conjure him up, the image was hazy – a mere impression of a tall, dark-haired, vigorous figure in uniform.

Was it the same for him? Did he even think about her as he endured the POW camp, or had he been too occupied with trying to stay alive to remember the girl he’d left behind?

Perhaps her mother had been right when she’d gently warned her not to look at the future through rose-tinted glasses – to realise that absence might make the heart grow fonder, but it could also distil the passion and urgency, turning what had been vital and all-consuming into fading, bitter-sweet memories.

Cissy stubbed out her cigarette and, with new-found clarity, wondered if she’d been as foolish as April Wilton who now lived in the station cottage with her daughter, Paula, and worked at the telephone exchange. April had been a Wren before she’d arrived at Beach View, homeless and penniless, and she’d believed the GI’s lies and been left literally holding the baby.

‘At least I made certain that didn’t happen,’ she muttered thankfully. ‘But I might very well have let my stupid heart rule my head.’

She wrapped the cardigan around herself and leaned against the pillows as she coolly appraised her situation. She’d always dreamed of going to America, especially in the days before the war when her rather ridiculous ambition had been to be plucked out of the chorus line into the starry world of Hollywood films. Had Randy picked up on that, and fed her fantasy just to get her into bed? Or had his heart been true and he’d really meant all the things he’d said?

There again, was it the dream of America that had made her so enamoured with him, or had she genuinely loved him for himself? He’d been very dashing and terrific company as well as an exciting lover, but looking back on those heady days, were those reasons strong enough to tie herself to him for the rest of her life?