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searchlights, wind socks, landing strips and the obligatory guard house by the entrance, through which they were allowed to pass once they had given the American ATA pilot’s name.
    As they drove past the airfield they could see the long line of bombers outside the hangars.
    The base was a large one and, of course, relatively new, the area outside the mess where the dance was being held busy with American airmen in immaculately smart uniforms.
    Not that the girls needed to be in the least bit ashamed of their appearance, Lou decided, proud to champion her own colleagues as, once the car was parked and they had all climbed out, she and June went to join the small crowd of ATA pilots who had already arrived.
    ‘It’s not going to be Glenn Miller after all,’ one of the girls warned Lou, obviously disappointed herself. ‘They’ve got another band playing instead.’
    They all went into the mess together, exchanging greetings with the Americans who came forward to welcome them.
    The American airmen’s mess was far smarter than any mess she had ever been in before, Lou felt obliged to admit, trying not to look too impressed as she strained to listen to what the young Americanairman standing next to her was saying to her above the noise of other conversations around them. He was pleasant enough, with good teeth and a nice smile.
    ‘Look over there,’ June suddenly hissed directing Lou’s attention to where a diminutive blonde with a mass of curls was sitting on a table, holding court to the group of men pressing round her. Unlike the other women in the room, who were all wearing frocks, she was wearing a pair of American jeans rolled up to reveal her enviably tanned and slender ankles and calves, a leather belt drawing the fabric in at her waist to show off its narrowness. She was chewing gum, and drinking beer from a bottle, and generally acting as though it was her right to be the centre of attention. For no reason that Lou could rationalise she felt a sharp stab of hostility towards her.
    ‘Joyce Botham has just told me that she’s one of the American ATA pilots. Her name’s Frankie Truebrooke.’
    Lou nodded and was about to turn away when the sight of an RAF uniform amongst the American pinks and greens caught her eye.
    Perhaps she had stared too hard and for too long, Lou didn’t know, but Frankie Truebrooke suddenly gave her a hard look and then turned to say something to the RAF pilot, whose face was hidden from Lou’s view by the other men crowding around her. The RAF pilot moved, obviously directed to look at her by Frankie Truebrooke, and Lou’s heart did a steep dive at such speed that she could hardly breathe.
    Kieran Mallory! Tall and broad-shouldered with coal-black hair, grey eyes and a knowing smile, Kieran Mallory was strikingly handsome. And of course he knew it, Lou thought bitterly. Kieran Mallory was the very last person she ever wanted to see again. Quickly Lou looked away, not wanting to make eye contact with him, because she didn’t want any kind of contact with him at all. What had Frankie Truebrooke said to him about her? And, more important, what would he say to the American about Lou? Would he tell her that both Lou and her twin sister had once had huge crushes on him; that he had deceived them both into believing that they were special to him? Lou could feel her face beginning to burn with angry humiliation. She was a different person from the silly girl she had been then. He and Frankie Truebrooke were well suited, Lou decided, with a toss of her head.
    The band had started to play – indeed not Glenn Miller’s band, sadly, but they sounded pretty good anyway, Lou acknowledged. The young airman, Cliff, with the good teeth and the nice smile, to whom she had been introduced, politely asked her to dance and, just as politely, Lou accepted.
    Dancing sedately with Cliff to the tender strains of ‘Moonlight Becomes You’, Lou noticed that towards the end of the number Frankie