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rank whom sheapproached. They posed happily enough for Walter, but the moment she attempted to interview them their manner became patronising and dismissive. ‘Yes, yes, very good show indeed. Excellent turnout all round.’ Then, one by one, they proceeded to ignore her. Elizabeth came to the conclusion that they found her confronting. They felt threatened to be seen publicly taking a female member of the press seriously, she decided, and she rather pitied them their insecurity.
    The other category treated her just as frivolously and, in Elizabeth’s opinion, was even more irritating.
    â€˜An interview? Of course. Shall we go somewhere a bit more private?’ The leer was unmistakable. One brash young corporal even gave Walter a comradely wink and a jerk of the head that said get lost , intimating they both knew this was too good an opportunity for any red-blooded male to resist. Walter, always protective, and a little in love with Elizabeth although he’d never let her know it, wanted to attack the man. But he didn’t. They’d encountered insulting behaviour before and Elizabeth preferred to handle things her own way. Her methods invariably proved successful, so Walter left it to her.
    This time, however, Elizabeth was at a loss. She’d become confident interviewing men on a one-to-one basis. Her fierce intelligence quickly convinced those who would patronise her that she was not their intellectual inferior, and her wit was an instant dampener to the Casanovas who assumed she was easy game. But she had never been assigned a job interviewing men en masse in an area where they were obviously conscious of how they were being perceived by other men. She scribbled down several observations. Itwas a very interesting topic for a future article, she thought, albeit highly controversial and therefore probably unpublishable.
    â€˜Excuse me. May I be of assistance?’ The voice, with a slight Midlands accent, was pleasing in tone, and the manner respectful.
    Elizabeth looked up from her notepad. The two pips on the young man’s shoulder informed her that his rank was that of lieutenant. But for how long, she wondered. He couldn’t be more than twenty. Pleasant-looking, fair-haired, little more than a boy really; she’d bet her last shilling he was fresh out of military school.
    â€˜Of assistance in what way precisely?’ she asked, her voice clipped, her message clear. The younger, the brasher, she’d found. No doubt several of his army chums were nearby, nudging and winking.
    â€˜Well, you’re press, aren’t you?’ The young man darted a glance at Walter. ‘And you’re interviewing people …’ Or trying to, he thought. He’d been watching Elizabeth for quite some time and felt sorry for the way she’d been fobbed off or leered at. It didn’t seem fair to him. ‘I’m happy for you to interview me if you like.’ She was scrutinising him so closely, he felt a little uncomfortable. ‘That is, if it’d be any help,’ he finished lamely.
    â€˜It would be a great help, Lieutenant, thank you very much.’ Elizabeth, recognising he was sincere, smiled warmly and offered her hand. ‘I’m Elizabeth Hoffmann from The Courier-Mail , and this is Walter Barnes.’
    â€˜Daniel Gardiner, how do you do.’ By golly, she was a looker, he thought.
    They shook hands all round.
    â€˜Shall we have a cup of tea?’ Elizabeth led the way over to the trestle tables and urns, where army wives were selling tin mugs of tea and shortbread biscuits for threepence, proceeds to go to the Widows and Orphans Fund.
    â€˜No, no,’ she insisted as they got to the end of the queue and Daniel dug in his pocket for change, ‘ The Courier-Mail takes care of all incidentals.’
    Daniel looked at Walter. It didn’t seem at all right that a woman should pay, but Walter just shrugged and nodded. He was eager to get