My dear Emmy,

I have some news. I was going to say good news, but you probably won’t think that it is. I have been certified fit to go back and join my squadron. I leave on Monday. So this will be the last time we’ll see each other for a while. I’m really hoping we can spend the whole day together on Sunday. Do you think they would let you get off work early on Saturday and you could come into Plymouth and we could have the evening together then? I know there are boarding houses close to the hospital where wives and sweethearts stay when they come to visit. I could arrange to put you up in one of those. Let me know right away and I’ll get things arranged.

I can’t wait to see you, my darling girl,

Your Robbie

Emily sat on a bottom bunk, not moving, staring down at the letter. She knew it was inevitable that this was going to happen, but after a day of physical exertion and the horrible scene with her parents, it was one thing too many. She felt tears welling in her eyes and tried to squeeze them back. She had never cried in public before. She pressed her hand to her mouth, then looked up as Alice came into the room. “Good news, love?” she asked. Then she saw Emily’s face. “Oh no. It’s not bad news, is it?”

“It’s my sweetheart, Robbie. He’s been in hospital, and now they’ve certified him ready to go back to his squadron in France. This will be the last chance I have to see him.”

Alice put a bony arm around her. “You have a good cry, my love. That always helps.”

“I’m not a very good crier, I’m afraid.” Emily attempted a smile. “But I’m so worried for him, Alice. At the convalescent home where we met, the nurse told me that the life expectancy of a flyer was six weeks.”

“He’s survived this long, hasn’t he? With any luck, the war will be over before you know it.”

“Oh, please God, I hope so,” Emily said.

She splashed cold water on to her face so that Miss Foster-Blake would not see she had been crying and went to find her. She was in the small office going over paperwork.

“Next batch of recruits due to arrive on Monday,” she said, looking up as Emily entered. “Only seven this time. Not enough, really. Still, I expect we’ll muddle through. Did you want something?”

“I have a special request,” Emily said. “Would it be possible for me to get off a little early on Saturday and go into Plymouth? You see, my young man is about to be discharged from the hospital there and sent back to France. It will be the last time I see him for a while. So then we’d have Saturday evening and Sunday together.”

“Saturday evening or Saturday night?” Miss Foster-Blake asked sharply. “I don’t think that would be a wise move, Miss Bryce. You have your reputation to think of.”

“Oh no,” Emily said, blushing. “It’s not like that at all. Robbie is still in the naval hospital. He said he’d fix me up with one of the boarding houses where the wives and sweethearts stay. He’s a very respectable person, Miss Foster-Blake.”

“Your parents didn’t seem to think so. They told me he had been a bad influence on you.”

“My mother doesn’t like him because he’s Australian. He doesn’t care a fig for our petty conventions, and he’s not the sort of match she would have made for me. But he’s a good person.”

“So you plan to marry him after the war and go to Australia with him?”

“He hasn’t asked me yet.” Emily felt herself blushing. “But if he does, I think I might say yes.”

“Where does he live in Australia? In one of the cities?”

“No, on a big farm in the outback. A sheep station, he calls it.”

“Think about it very carefully, won’t you? Thousands of miles from home and a life of drudgery. None of the things you are used to, I’d imagine. No nice shops, theatres, educated people to talk to. And a harsh climate.”

“I know. He’s done everything he can to put me off. He’s even told me it’s no place for a woman.”

“There you are then. At least he’s honest.”

“But these last weeks have proved to me that I can cope with hard conditions. And I really think I love him. What if he’s the one I’m meant to be with? The one I’ll be happy with?”

Miss Foster-Blake stood silent for a moment. “You’re a sensible girl, Miss Bryce. I expect you’ll do the right thing. Very well, I give you permission to leave at four and be back by Sunday evening.”

“Thank you, Miss Foster-Blake.” Emily beamed. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I do know in wartime we have to take any sliver of happiness that is offered to us,” the woman said. “Now go and clean yourself up. You’re still covered in mud.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

By Saturday, the weather had cleared up, and a fresh breeze was blowing in from the sea as Emily hitched a lift into Tavistock and then took the train to Plymouth. Robbie was waiting downstairs in the hospital foyer, dressed in his uniform, his hair slicked down. He looked different from the boy in the dressing gown with the unruly hair, and she was reminded of the evening at her party.

“You made it,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “I was afraid that old battleaxe of yours wouldn’t let you go at the last minute.”