They arrived at RAF Oakley at three in the morning, and were driven straight to the military hospital in the Commanding Officer’s car. A nurse took charge of the children and whisked them away to the nursery, and then Matron led them along endless corridors to the Intensive Care Ward.

‘Wing Commander Pargeter has, amongst many other things, typhoid fever and has had to be isolated in a side room,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s in a bad way, I’m afraid, and mostly in a state of delirium, so don’t be too upset if he doesn’t acknowledge you.’

‘He’ll pull through, though, won’t he?’ asked Charlotte, on the brink of tears.

‘We are doing all we can, Mrs Pargeter, but I should warn you that he’s extremely weak and it’s doubtful whether he has the strength to fight the many infections he’s suffering from. You should be prepared for the worst, I’m afraid.’ She handed Charlotte and Kitty masks and gowns. ‘You must wear these to protect yourselves,’ she said gravely.

Charlotte became ashen faced, her hands fumbling with the mask and gown, her eyes haunted as she fought to keep a stoic resemblance of calm. She and Kitty clasped hands to bolster their courage and followed Matron into the dimly lit room. But nothing could have prepared them for the shocking sight that greeted them, and they stood there unable to equate this stranger with the man they knew and loved.

Freddy’s handsome face was gaunt, his sunken eyes and cheeks making him look like an old man. His hair had been shaved off, frostbite had attacked his ears, lips and nose, and his skin was the colour of parchment. He lay muttering and rolling his head against the pillow, his eyelids twitching, his almost fleshless hands clawing at the bedclothes.

Charlotte approached the bed and reached for his hand. ‘Freddy? It’s me, Charlotte. Kitty’s here too, so please wake up, darling.’

There was no response, even when Kitty took his other hand.

‘You’re home, Freddy,’ Kitty urged. ‘It’s all over and we’re here to take care of you.’ She gripped his bony fingers. ‘Come on, Freddy,’ she urged. ‘You’ve got to fight this thing and live to see your twins growing up.’

His eyelids fluttered and he took a rattling breath. ‘Twins?’ he managed.

‘Yes, Freddy,’ said Charlotte eagerly. ‘You never did things by halves, did you, and we’ve got twins. David and Hope.’ She gripped his hand. ‘Oh, darling, you must get better. They are so beautiful.’

Freddy was struggling to breathe, his face streaked with sweat as his thin chest rose and fell with the effort. ‘Twins,’ he rasped again.

‘Would you like to see them, Freddy?’ urged Charlotte. ‘They’re here. I could bring them to you.’