'That's allowed, but unlikely.'

'Do you love me?'

'Dammit, yes.'

'Without doubts?'

'You know that now.'

'I don't know why I'm doing this. I really don't. I don't want to lose you.'

'What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, Gladys?'

'I'm going to get you to Europe.' She stubbed her cigarette out, waved at the waitress, then said, 'Okay, you pick up the check. It's the least you can do.' When he had done so, she led him out of the cafe and headed toward Leicester Square. 'Can you meet me in the bar in the Savoy this evening?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said. 'Sure.'

'About...?'

The question hung in the air, because at that moment they both heard an awful roaring, buzzing sound, a nerve-jangling sibilance that pa.s.sed overhead and suddenly cut out, leaving an abrupt, unnatural, chilling silence.

Bradley saw everyone in the street looking up at the sky, as if frozen where they stood, then, in that fifteen seconds of eerie silence, they threw themselves to the ground.

The V-1 rocket, the buzz bomb, the doodle-bug, exploded in the next street just as Gladys pulled Bradley to the ground. He felt the ground shake, heard the explosion, and rolled into Gladys. He clung to her as more rockets buzzed overhead and lay there as they went silent the sound everyone already dreaded then exploded fifteen seconds later, some nearby, some faraway. The attack didn't last long, but it seemed to take forever, and when it ended, Bradley helped Gladys up and then glanced about him.

A pall of black smoke was rising above the rooftops. When Bradley heard the sirens of the fire brigade, he knew that more fires were burning and more people dying.

'About nine this evening?' Gladys asked him, as if nothing had happened.

'Sure,' he said. 'I'll be there.'

Gladys kissed him fully on the lips and gave him a hug. 'Right,' she said, then waved good-bye and hurried off, heading straight for the ominous pall of smoke that now hung over Soho, to remind him, as so many things did these days, that Wilson was still somewhere out there, being far too creative.

The buzz bombs continued to rain down all day on the southern parts of England and were still falling on London that evening when Bradley made his way to the Savoy Hotel. As he walked along the Strand, he saw a pall of black smoke hanging over St Paul's Cathedral and the rooftops of the city, and even as he turned into the hotel, more bombs exploded.

Though most of the servicemen were now fighting in France, the party in the American Bar was in full swing and packed with army, navy, and air force personnel from Britain, America, Canada, France, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, and even Poland. Most of them were either working in operation centres in London or preparing to join the advance through France. The men and women, most in uniform, were spilling out of the bar and into the lobby in a haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, red-faced and in good cheer, while a large group near the bar, obviously drunk, was singing in ragged chorus, 'We're gonna hang out our washing on the Siegfried Line...'

Gladys was seated near the entrance, well away from the noisy singers, beside a US army major-general, and she waved Bradley over as soon as she saw him. Bradley wasn't going to kiss her in front of the unknown officer, but she jumped up and embraced him and kissed him full on the lips.

'You didn't get a doodle-bug on your head, then?' she asked jokingly, though with visible relief. 'No,' he replied. 'They're falling mostly over the City, so I was okay.'

'Here, pull up a chair,' Gladys said, then, when he had done so, continued, 'This is a dear friend, Major General Ryan McArthur, who's about to take off for France and could be of help to you. Ryan, this is the guy I told you about, my fine man, OSS Colonel Mike Bradley.'

Bradley and the silver-haired, sophisticated McArthur shook hands.

'No relation, I take it,' Bradley said with a grin, 'to General... ?'

'No,' McArthur replied, antic.i.p.ating the question. 'No relation at all. Can I get you a drink, Mike?'

'Scotch on the rocks.'

'Right.'

When McArthur was at the crowded bar, Gladys, who was sitting beside Bradley, took hold of his hand. 'Still love me after all these hours?'

'd.a.m.ned right,' he said.

''Okay, Mike. If you truly love me, I'll put your mind at ease. While it's true that I've had a good time in London, I haven't been involved with another man since you turned up. I've been faithful and living on hope and you're my only man now.'

A lump came to his throat and he covered her hand with his own, then squeezed her fingers.

'You didn't have to tell me that,' he said.

'Yes, I did, Mike. As for McArthur, he's just an old friend and I do mean a friend. No more and no less.'

'Okay, Gladys. Thanks.'

'Do you love me just a little bit more for that?'

'I can't possibly love you more than I do.'