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Elizabeth Manning had long since finished her pot of tea in the Lyons Corner House, but she was reluctant to go back to her hotel because it was good, free entertainment watching people coming in.

She liked to assess outfits for style and quality, guessing which ones were hand-me-downs, or expensive.

As she’d been managing a dress shop in Richmond for several years, it was her area of expertise.

Yet people’s relationships fascinated her too, especially the younger women coming in on the arms of servicemen.

She saw the way they kept glancing at their partners.

Had they met just last night at a dance?

Or were they sweethearts about to be parted as he went off to fight?

She saw older couples too with tense faces, perhaps worried there might be another daylight bombing raid.

Or maybe they were afraid for a son who was over in France.

They could be anxious for a daughter who had moved away from home for war work.

Or even planning to catch a train to see their grandchildren who had been evacuated the previous September.

A dark-haired woman, possibly in her twenties, had come in the door, but she faltered just inside, looking round nervously like a mouse who’d just come out of a hole in the skirting board.

Elizabeth was never afraid of going into restaurants alone, and she knew this was the young woman’s problem. But then her own mother used to say she was born bold.

The Corner House was packed, and the Nippies, the name given to the waitresses, were nipping around faster than usual to seat customers.

Elizabeth didn’t want to be asked to vacate her table, and neither did she want to share it with someone old.

But as she thought the hesitant woman was around the same age as herself, she beckoned for her to share her table.

Elizabeth liked the woman’s somewhat shy smile and clear relief at getting a seat.

‘This is so kind of you,’ she said as she reached Elizabeth and pulled out a chair. ‘I’m so hungry and I hadn’t got a clue about where to go instead. Are you sure I’m not imposing?’

‘Not at all,’ Elizabeth said with a warm smile. The other woman had a faint Cockney accent, but her voice was soft and appealing. ‘To be truthful I’m glad of some company. I’m Elizabeth Manning. Do sit down and we’ll see if we can get a Nippy to take your order.’

‘I’m Mary Price.’

It occurred to Elizabeth they were so similar they could be sisters.

Both had dark-brown hair tucked up under their respective hats, pale complexions, and blue eyes.

She thought they were a similar height and size too, though it was difficult to tell now they were both sitting.

But Mary clearly wasn’t as fortunate as her.

Her hands were red and rough from hard work, and her navy-blue dress was dowdy, only lifted by a somewhat old-fashioned white lace collar.

Mary said she worked as a maid in Hampstead.

It was her day off but she knew her mistress wouldn’t have left anything out for her to eat when she got back.

‘Mrs Bradley is really mean,’ she said indignantly.

‘Cook left soon after war was declared to go to the safety of her family home up north. Now I’m expected to do everything: cooking, laundry, cleaning and waiting on madam and her husband, with no more money.

I went for an interview for a new job today down in Kent.

I thought I was never going to get back, the train kept stopping. ’

Elizabeth guessed that this deluge of information to a total stranger was probably because she rarely had conversations with anyone.

Her off-white straw boater wasn’t quite appropriate, too frivolous for such a sombre dress, but she admired her for trying to look confident.

Elizabeth was intrigued by her and wanted to know more.

‘So did you get the job?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, I was interviewed by the housekeeper, Mrs Wyles.

She said she would speak to her mistress about me and then I’ll be asked back to meet her in person.

It’s a very big house near Canterbury and they’ve lost a lot of their staff, to munitions, factories and to farming.

So it might turn out to be even harder work than I’m doing now. ’

A smiling Nippy arrived and Mary chose to have Welsh rarebit. Elizabeth ordered another pot of tea, this time for two, and a poached egg on toast for herself.

‘Please forgive me for rattling on,’ Mary said. ‘How about you? Do you live and work in London?’

Elizabeth sensed someone other than a parent had had a hand in teaching Mary to modify her accent, and in her communications skills. Maybe it was a teacher, or even her employer.

‘I did work in Richmond, but I’ve given up my flat there as I’m going to Ireland tomorrow and staying in the Charing Cross Hotel tonight.’

‘How lovely.’ Mary’s dark eyes shone. ‘I’m envious, I believe Ireland is beautiful. And you’ll escape the bombs.’

‘That isn’t my reason for leaving. Until recently I was running a dress shop. But my boss decided to close the shop down. He said once clothes rationing comes in no one will buy new things, and he and his wife have moved to the safety of West Wales.’

‘But the bombing won’t last for long, surely?’ Mary said.

Elizabeth smiled at her companion’s naivety.

She wasn’t alone in underestimating the German determination to flatten London.

The first daylight bombing had been in July, but it had become more serious five days ago, and since then it had continued daily and at night.

So far, the bombs had been mostly dropped in East London, where whole streets were rumoured to be flattened, with scores of people killed.

The newspapers and wireless were trying to minimize panic, yet even so they were calling it ‘The Blitz’, which suggested they were aware London could be razed to the ground.

But despite the media’s efforts to calm things, everyone could see the night sky lit up by fire, hear the drone of countless bombers coming in to drop their deadly loads, and the thuds, bangs and crumps of explosions.

Even well away from the East End, the air held a smell of brick dust, wet concrete, gas, fire and a strange cloying aroma no one seemed to be able to identify.

Elizabeth had been seeing Bernard, who was in the RAF.

But he’d broken it off with her back in the spring, saying he needed to be free as he couldn’t bear the thought of her worrying about him.

He had been stationed at Biggin Hill at the time, not a pilot, but ground crew, and shortly after they parted, he was moved to another airbase further north.

She was upset at first, but he’d never been the most reliable of men, and she’d spent many an evening waiting for him somewhere, only to be let down. As it turned out it was good she was free to do what she wanted now.

There was evidence that most people in England had no idea of the hell that was yet to come.

While brave pilots flew fearlessly into German planes in the Battle of Britain, and the German losses may have been instrumental in changing Hitler’s mind about invading England, she and many like-minded people felt he still intended to destroy it.

‘So, what do Mr and Mrs Bradley and you do when the air-raid siren goes off?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘We go down to the cellar under the house,’ Mary said, wrinkling her nose.

‘It’s horrible, damp and gloomy, and Mrs Bradley keeps ordering me to go upstairs to make another cup of tea or to refill her hot water bottle.

They don’t talk to me and it’s far too dark to be able to read.

The camp beds are very uncomfortable too and imagine how cold it will get once autumn sets in. I can’t cope with it for much longer.’

Elizabeth nodded agreement at the awfulness of Mary’s predicament.

As the two women ate their food and drank their tea, they discovered they had a good deal in common, both twenty-six, and without family.

They had lost their respective fathers in the last war, and Elizabeth’s mother had died of a heart attack just a year ago.

Mary commiserated but lied, saying her mother was dead too.

The truth was that she’d disappeared several years ago with Ronnie, a very unpleasant bully who Mary had good reason to be frightened of.

According to an old neighbour that Mary ran into in Oxford Street a while back, they were living in Essex.

Sometimes Mary wished she could see her mother, even though she could never forgive her for turning a blind eye to what Ronald did to her.

It was easier to claim her mother was dead than to have to admit that she had thought more of her fancy man than her own child.

‘So will you be staying with family in Ireland?’ Mary asked.

She was already impressed by Elizabeth’s poise and elegance.

She spoke well and had lovely bright blue eyes and a creamy complexion.

She was wearing a plum-coloured beret, which toned perfectly with the heather tones of her tweed coat.

When Mary looked in the mirror, she saw a plain, pale girl with lacklustre hair, and knew, although she’d escaped the East End and tried to educate herself a bit more, she’d never shake off the stigma of her childhood.

‘No family there at all,’ Elizabeth replied.

‘I’ve inherited a cottage from my godmother.

Heaven only knows what it’s like. It might have no running water and a privy at the bottom of the garden.

’ She laughed cheerfully. ‘But it will be an adventure, and better than staying here wondering when and where the next bomb is going to fall.’

Mary looked at her new friend and wondered how anyone could be so blasé about going off to the unknown.

‘You’ve got no friends there either?’ she asked.