A Girl in Wartime by Maggie Ford

go, Miss Lovell – Constance? May I call you Constance, by the way?’
    Hearing him address her by her Christian name sent an excited tingle up her spine. As she calmed herself and nodded, he brightened, his next words tumbling from his mouth.
    â€˜That’s great! We’re going to make things happen, Constance, you and me.’
    Impulsively she heard herself blurt out, ‘Connie.’
    â€˜Connie,’ he repeated, as if savouring her name. He indicated for her to sit while he returned to his side of the desk.
    She made her way home full of the wonderful news on how her day had gone. Starting Monday week, she’d be gradually integrated into the world of newspapers, though still some way off being sent on small assignments with a photographer and a junior reporter.
    She arrived home around four o’clock, having accepted Mr Clayton’s offer to take her to lunch so as to discuss his plans with her. He’d asked if she had any questions but then chimed in energetically the moment she tried to oblige.
    There was one question she did manage to ask, though she now wished she hadn’t, one that had been niggling away at her ever since she’d met him. Her two brothers and brothers-in-law had been among thousands who’d so far volunteered for military service. While Stephen Clayton spoke of the job, her mind had wandered, playing with the feeling that he, like George who was hanging back, evading the call, had also suffered qualms about putting himself in danger. Maybe he saw his job as more essential; maybe he was scared; or maybe he fostered more or less the same principles as her brother? Was he, as she suspected of George, hiding behind his beliefs? Suddenly it had seemed of vital importance that she know.
    She’d come out with it before she could stop herself. ‘You’re still a civilian, Mr Clayton?’ Seconds later she could have died.
    He’d broken off from what he’d been saying and for a while regarded her, his expression bleak. Finally he said, very slowly, ‘I did try, several times. But, you see, I’m partially deaf in my right ear – scarlet fever as a child nearly finished me off, but left me, as I said, deaf, and I am afraid the military rejected me because of it.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, I should never have asked,’ she said, still mortified. ‘It just came out. I’m so sorry, Mr Clayton.’
    He’d asked her to call him Stephen, giving her a vague impression of almost flirting with her. But him being older, a different class and her boss, led her to find it improper to use anything other than his formal name. Nor had it warranted her asking such a personal question of him.
    Coming home she still felt the embarrassment of it crawling through her being. How could she have dared to ask such a question? At lunch she’d sat rigid, wanting to apologise but totally unable to find words suitable enough. He had, however, cheered up immediately, returning to discussing the project he had in mind, as if the question had never been voiced.
    Still cringing at her audacity, at the same time relieved that what had been troubling her had been laid to rest, she let herself into her house. Despite her embarrassment, she was bubbling over with her wonderful news, but there was only Mum to tell.
    The place these days had an empty air to it, with Ronnie and Albert gone. Even the few times in the past when she’d come home before them and Dad got in from work, the house had always felt alive. Now the emptiness seemed to brood. Dad coming in later would make it feel better, of course, he filling the house with his larger-than-life presence, as always, and she blessed him for it.
    Turning the key in the front lock, she opened the door to find her mother standing waiting for her as if she’d been standing there for hours. But instead of asking how she’d got on, she held out a sheet of notepaper.
    â€˜Oh, Connie, I’m