Windflower Wedding. Elizabeth Elgin

I don’t feel so bad about getting extra milk – not like sugar, or tea or petrol. Wouldn’t touch those. Wouldn’t risk a seaman’s life.’

      ‘I should think not, and us with a sailor son!’ Alice drained her cup, then upended it into her saucer, gazing at the tea leaves clinging to the sides. ‘Wish Jinny Dobb were here to read our cups. Jin wasn’t often wrong, was she?’

      ‘No. Dear Jin. It’ll be a year on the fifth of October since they were all killed – and a year on the tenth since Mother died.’

      ‘I know.’ Alice reached out for Julia’s hand. ‘I loved her too, don’t forget – I loved all of them. But they wouldn’t want us to fret. None of them would.’

      ‘Mm. And we’ve still got each other, you and me. Sisters to the end?’

      ‘Sisters,’ Alice said, gravely and gratefully, ‘to the end …’

      ‘Have you ever stopped to think, Gracie Fielding, that if this dratted old war goes on much longer you’ll be a time-served gardener?’ Jack Catchpole, sitting on his upended apple box, blew on his tea. ‘That is, of course, provided you don’t go getting any ideas about getting wed and wasting all the knowledge I’ve passed on to you!’

      ‘Married, Mr Catchpole?’ Gracie blushed hotly. ‘Now whatever gave you an idea like that?’

      ‘Gave me? When it’s sticking out a mile and that young Sebastian never away? Don’t know how he manages to get so much leave!’

      ‘Well, he won’t be able to get away so often in future. It was quite easy, once, but now the aerodrome – er – airfield, is ready, Bas says the bombers will start arriving soon and things will be different.’ A whole new ball game, he said it would be.

      ‘Ar. I did hear as how the Americans down south are already going bombing, and serve those Nazis right, an’ all! But young Bas won’t be flying bombers, will he?’

      ‘No. He wanted to, but his hands – well, his left hand in particular, put paid to that.’ She added a silent thank goodness.

      ‘Never mind. His hands didn’t stop him getting to be a vet’nary with letters after his name, so they can’t be all that bad. And it was a miracle he wasn’t taken in that fire like Mrs Clementina was.’

      ‘I never notice his hands, truth known,’ Gracie smiled.

      ‘Of course you don’t. Just a few old scars. Mind, I shall want to know good and early when you and him set a date. I shall take it amiss if you don’t let me do the flowers and buttonholes for you. And think on! We want no winter weddings when there’s only chrysanths to make bouquets of. See that you plan it for the summer when there’s flowers about.’

      ‘Mr Catchpole!’ Gracie jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t think it’s at all wise to get overfond of anyone in wartime. You could get hurt. Look what happened to Tatty.’

      ‘Aye, poor little wench. But wisdom has a habit of popping out of the window, Gracie lass, when love walks in at the door, and don’t you forget it.’

      ‘I won’t. I’m not likely to. I’ve told you that often enough!’

      ‘Aye, but it seems no one has told young Bas. He’s a grand lad, you can’t but admit it.’

      ‘Yes, and he can get pipe tobacco in their canteen and he brings you some every time he comes. You encourage him!’ Gracie said hotly. ‘But you’ve no need to worry about losing me. I want to do my apprenticeship. I want to be a lady gardener when the war is over. I don’t want ever to go back into an office so you’d better accept that you’re stuck with me, ’cos I’m not going to marry Bas Sutton.’

      ‘Now is that a fact?’ Jack Catchpole slurped noisily on his tea. ‘Well, you could’ve fooled me, Gracie Fielding,’ he chuckled throatily. Oh, my word, yes!

       2

      The army car, camouflaged in khaki and green and black, turned sharp left and the driver stopped at a guard post where a hefty red and white gate barred their way.

      ‘Hi,’ the driver said laconically, offering her identity pass, even though she obviously knew and was known by the soldiers who stood guard. ‘One passenger, male.’ She turned to Keth. ‘Your ID sir, please.’

      Keth fished in his pocket, offering his pass. The corporal of the guard switched on his flashlight, studying it in great detail. He handed it back, then shone the light full in Keth’s face. ‘Carry on, driver!’ he rasped, satisfied with the likeness.

      Saluting smartly he motioned an armed guard to open the gate, winked at the driver, who winked back, then waved them forward.

      ‘Very officious,’ Keth remarked mildly, blinking rapidly as black spots caused by the torch glare danced in front of his eyes.

      ‘Just a couple more miles – and another checkpoint,’ the sergeant smiled. ‘Have your ID ready.’

      The black spots were fading and Keth looked around him. The sun had sunk behind the hills, and in the half-light a crescent moon hung silver white at the end of a long avenue of tall pines.

      The driver braked hard as a large bird ran across their path. ‘Damn it!’ she muttered. ‘I should have got it, but I always brake. Instinct, I suppose.’

      ‘What was it?’

      ‘A cock pheasant. Wish I wasn’t so squeamish. He’d have done nicely for the pot!’

      She accelerated, drove at speed down the long, straight drive then slowed as they approached a second checkpoint.

      This time only a pole barred their way; Keth offered his identification without being asked for it, closing his eyes against another beam of torchlight, which did not come.

      ‘’Night, Mick.’ The driver wound up her window then said, ‘There you are. Home sweet home, sir.’

      Keth let out a whistle. Silhouetted against the sky it could have been Pendenys; Pendenys Place, Holdenby, but with more towers. Pendenys was in the North Riding of Yorkshire, though, and the great bulk ahead was in the wilds of Scotland. Somewhere in Scotland, and hidden and guarded and secret.

      ‘What’s it called?’ It was worth a try.

      ‘Home sweet home, sir, like I said.’

      They slowed to a crawl as the car wheels crunched into the gravel of the circular sweep in front of the forbidding entrance.

      Good security, Keth thought. Gravel made a lot of noise, even to walk on. It reminded him of the curving sweep of the drive at Denniston House, where Mrs Anna and Tatty lived, and he wished he were crunching up it now.

      One of the massive double doors swung open, revealing a dimness beyond. The door closed again and torchlight picked them out.

      The ATS driver got out, stretched, then rotated her shoulders.

      ‘Captain Purvis, sir – this way, please.’

      Keth made to pick up the largest of his cases but it was at once grasped by a lance corporal and carried up the steps, together with his canvas bag, a second case and his respirator and steel helmet.

      One, two, three … Mentally Keth counted the steps. Eight in all. He always counted steps as he climbed them; always had done. It irritated him, but still he did it.

      The half-door grated open again, then slammed shut behind them. To his left an armed sentry sloped arms and stamped loudly as Keth passed.

      This must, he reasoned, be the great hall. There had been a great hall at Pendenys with a floor patterned in highly polished tiles, massive arches and a grandiose staircase. The great hall in this secret Scottish castle was higher, its floor