George growled, 'Why?'

'For the way you did your job – and for that very lower-class English surliness.' She laughed at him. 'He believes you are a man with whom he can do business. Although he thinks you deserve a decent rank – sergeant, perhaps. I'm sure we can fix that for you. Marvellous, isn't it, the way war opens up opportunities? Perhaps we should talk in your office, Mayor Burdon?'

Harry Burdon led the way. Julia and George followed.

Julia said, walking, 'I need to impress on you both the importance of the work you will be doing here. The military commanders are not interested in running Hastings. They prefer to manage the town through you, through the appropriate local authority. Do you see? There is a great deal to be done; I'm sure you are aware of that. The first priority is to restore the harbour, such as it is. And to requisition the fishing fleet.'

'For landing supplies,' Burdon guessed.

'That's it. The estimate is that nine thousand tons a day will have to be imported from the continent in the first days of the occupation. Much of it will come through the larger ports, but Hastings will play a part too.'

They had to be desperate if they were relying on a tiny port like Hastings. And as it happened George knew the fishermen along the Stade had already sabotaged the winches that hauled their boats up the sharply sloping beach.

'After that we must consider the needs of the civilian population. The restoration of food supplies for one thing, accompanied by an appropriate system of rationing. Water, power, gas. We're aware that many citizens who fled to the countryside will surely soon return. We must prepare for them. And so on.

'The first step in all this is to gather information. That is the German way: everything orderly, everything thoroughly legal. Now. You hold census records here? And of course there is the identity card system. We will need a record of every inhabitant currently in situ in the town.'

George glared at her. 'What for? Work gangs? Looking for Jews, are you?'

Harry snapped, 'George.'

Julia stopped and turned to George. 'Josef was right. You really are a feisty one, aren't you, Constable?'

And she stepped closer to him, breaking an intangible boundary of separation. The polished buttons on her uniform brushed his chest, and he could smell her fresh breath, a smell like apples about her hair. He was almost trembling. He was twenty years older; he could have been her father; she was everything he despised, about the English as well as the Germans. But, by Christ, she caused a heat in his loins he hadn't felt for a long time.

She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She laughed in his face. 'I think it's going to be a pleasure working with you, Constable – George, is it? – I really do.' She stepped back, mercifully. 'But for now your duty is to fetch me a coffee.'

There was a roar, and the building shook. George turned. An immense shadow passed the half-open door. Somewhere a German cheered. And then another shadow passed, another engine's roar, and another.

'It is the second wave,' Julia said. 'Landing all along the coast. Panzers, George! Panzers, on English soil. Now we will see some fun. Come, we have work to do. The first priority is to assemble work parties who will transport rubble from the town to fill craters in the airfield runways…' She stalked away.

'Never mind,'Harry murmured. 'Remember Churchill and the blooming Yanks. Let's go and fill in her forms, eh?'

XXVIII

A few miles north of Battle the bus was pulled over. They had just passed a fork in the road; Mary had no real idea where they were.

A group of people were waiting here by the side of the road, women with kids, some men, perhaps a dozen in all. One man was in a wheelchair. Mary glimpsed a WAAF uniform among the group. More passengers, evidently. Two German troopers stood with them, just kids, very bored.

The soldier riding shotgun climbed down and spoke to his counterparts outside. They argued; Mary saw that the soldiers outside had a heavy rucksack that must have contained a field radio unit. Then the shotgun rider called up to his driver, who stood and turned to face his passengers. 'Out,' he said, his English barely comprehensible. 'Off bus. Comprenez? Um, understand?'

One of the young men at the front spoke up. 'Why the bloody hell? We're supposed to be taken out of your zone altogether. By my reckoning we've come no further than Peter's Well. What's going on?'

The soldier fingered his revolver. 'Off bus. Military. Soldiers. Understand?'

Mary sighed and stood up. 'Come on, guys,' she said. 'I don't think we have a choice.'

The passengers followed her lead, and one by one clambered down to the road. The young man who had protested moved stiffly, helped by his companion. The WAAF girl hurried forward to take his other arm. 'Let me give you a hand.'

'Thank you, miss. My bloody kidneys packing up, that's what it is, you see, and I was stuck in hospital – careful, Bill. Funnily enough I used to drive a bus like this when I was a bit younger, before following my father into his accountancy firm…'

Mary stared at the WAAF, whose bright red hair, unruly, stuck out from under her cap. She couldn't believe her eyes. 'Hilda?'

Hilda's eyes widened. 'Mary? Oh, my word!' She rushed forward and they embraced. Hilda's hair was mussed, her eyes hollow, her uniform dusty and torn. 'We do keep running into each other, don't we?'

They stepped aside from the other passengers. 'Are you all right? I haven't seen you since-'

Hilda smiled, and lifted her left hand, waggling her ring finger. 'I know. Bit of a shock, wasn't it? Little did we know old Hitler was about to spring an even bigger surprise.'

'What happened to you? How do you come to be here?'

'Well, I made it to my station. I shared a ride with Ben Kamen-'

'I know, you were in my car.'

'Don't know what happened to him after that, poor chap. Or your car, actually, sorry about that! We were shutting the station down. Unfortunately we were a bit slow getting out of there before the Jerries arrived. Do move fast, these chaps.'

'So they captured you.'

'They copped the lot of us. We were all held at the base. We heard talk that we were to be shipped to some camp. But they processed us – interviewed us one by one – trying to find out about our radar, you see. And when they discovered I was married to an American – would you believe, I had my wedding certificate tucked into my gas-mask pouch, it had all been that quick – they said I wouldn't be held.'

'Really?'

'These big flat-footed Germans are being very careful about not offending America, Mary! You must have seen that. I protested, frankly. I wanted to stay with my colleagues. I'm a WAAF first, not an American's wife. But the Germans would have none of it. So here I am, on my way to Tunbridge Wells! I suppose they even arranged for you and me to be on the same transport.'

'How thoughtful,' Mary said drily.

'So what about you? How's Dad?'

Mary told her about the nights of bombing, and what had become of her following the invasion.

'Wow. King Harold! These Nazis really are crackpots, aren't they? Almost funny in a way. I bet Dad was laughing his socks off at them.'

'Maybe. But he's stuck back there now, in Hastings. He's going to have to work with them.'

'Um. Well, he's got a clear head, my dad. He always said he became a policeman so he could stop harm being done to the most vulnerable.'

'He'll have plenty of chances to do that in the coming days.'

'Yes…'

There was a rumble of vehicles coming from the south; they turned to look that way. The bus-driver soldier approached, arms outstretched, and shepherded the passengers off the tarmac. Then an argument ensued among the Germans, evidently about whether the bus was far enough off the road.