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“She took Izzie’s sketchbooks away from her?” Sylvia asked in shock.

“Only when they were interfering with your sister’s work,” said Miss Reid, rising to the defense of her old employer.

Sylvia stared down at a bias-cut dress with a low, sweeping back and immediately she understood. Her mother would have hated this style, showing off and celebrating a woman’s figure rather than hiding it. It would have felt modern, even radical, to Maggie Shelton. Too French. Too Hollywood. To begin dressing this woman would have been a risk because it would have meant evolving, growing, changing. It would have ruffled the feathers of the shop’s old-guard customers.

“Many of these designs are perfect for the Board of Trade’s utility scheme,” she said. “They are simpler than my mother’s designs, and they’ll require less fabric.”

She thought for a moment that Miss Reid might protest, but instead the seamstress gave a sharp nod. “They are.”

“I doubt we’ll have much call for evening dresses, but the everyday separates would work well with only a few modifications.” She glanced at Miss Reid. “Do you think you could create patterns based on some of these designs?”

“I can try,” said Miss Reid.

Sylvia closed the book. “Then, Miss Reid, I think we may have found a solution to our problem.”

Chapter Nineteen

Izzie and Grace were standing inside of a deflated balloon, checking seams to make sure there were no tears or weaknesses that would affect its flight, when Alexandra stuck her head into the balloon’s opening.

“Sergeant Delafield is here. She wants to speak to all of us,” said Alexandra, excitement making her beam.

Izzie and Grace exchanged glances at the mention of their commanding officer’s name.

“Is it our orders?” Izzie asked, lowering her voice.

“I think so,” said Alexandra before disappearing.

Izzie picked her way to the entrance, making sure not to catch any fabric. When she stuck her head out, she saw the other girls of their unit standing to attention, Corporal Tennyson and Sergeant Delafield facing them.

“Airwoman Second Class Shelton and Airwoman Second Class March, please put on your boots and join the rest of your unit,” said Corporal Tennyson before nodding to Sergeant Delafield. “Your commanding officer has news for you.”

Izzie and Grace both scrambled to wiggle on their boots. As she laced up, Izzie realized that her heart was in her throat. She and the girls had spent so much time speculating about where they might be dispatched that for it now to be real felt almost strange. Romantic as Egypt might feel to a girl from London, she hoped—prayed even—that the unit would be sent to her hometown or anywhere in the South East. If she was within easy distance, she would be able to pop into the shop and make sure that Sylvia wasn’t running the place into the ground.

That, she realized as she tied off the second knot on her boot and stood, wasn’t really fair. Although they’d clashed about the advertisements, Sylvia had been right to start taking in blackout curtains and uniforms, and Izzie wasn’t too proud to admit that something needed to be done about the shop’s books and that she was glad she hadn’t been the one to do it.

Now properly shod, Izzie fell into line with the rest of her unit.

“I know that you’ve been waiting for your orders,” Sergeant Delafield began. “I wanted to let you know personally that this unit has been selected to help defend north Norfolk at RAF Horsham Saint Faith.”

Norfolk? The bubble of hope that had been forming in Izzie’s stomach burst. Fareham, where RAF Titchfield was, might have been on the edge of Portsmouth Harbor, but at least there were easy trains back to London. Being stationed in East Anglia would send her into an area of the country completely foreign to her.

“Norwich and its surrounding area as well as the Norfolk coast remain of great strategic importance to the RAF,” said Sergeant Delafield. “The Americans have also expressed an interest in setting up air bases there, making it even more of a target for the Luftwaffe.”

A giggle rose up from Lottie at the mention of American GIs. Sergeant Delafield’s eyes narrowed at the interruption, but their commanding officer continued on.

“Remember your training. It will stand you in good stead in the heat of the moment when everything around you seems to be chaos. I suggest that you pack your kit bags carefully, because you have been granted forty-eight hours’ leave,” the sergeant finished.

This time all of the women of the balloon unit broke out into murmurs, and their commanding officer’s cool demeanor cracked into a smile.

“I thought that might be a popular decision,” said Sergeant Delafield. “You will be expected at RAF Horsham Saint Faith on Saturday the fourth of April at eleven o’clock. There you will receive further instructions. Now, if there are no further questions…” Sergeant Delafield’s gaze swept over them. “Good luck.”

“Ladies, there will be time for chatting later,” Corporal Tennyson said, cutting through their excitement. “You have a balloon to check and store. Back to it.”

All of the WAAFs scattered. Izzie and Grace unlaced and pulled off their boots as quickly as they could and climbed back into the balloon to finish their work. As soon as they gave the all-clear, the rest of the unit worked to pack and store the balloon. The feeling of anticipation was palpable as Corporal Tennyson checked their work.

Finally, he said, “All right then. Since Aircraft Woman Second Class Reece looks as though she’ll explode if I don’t let you go.”

“I will, sir,” Lottie reassured him.