BOMBER

ONE

It was a bomber's sky : dry air, wind enough to clear the smoke, cloud broken enough to recognize a few stars. The bedroom was so dark that it took Ruth Lambert a moment or so to see her husband standing at the window. " Are you all right, Sam ? "

" Praying to Mother Moon. "

She laughed sleepily. " What are you talking about ? "

" Do you think I don't need all the witchcraft I can get ? "

" Oh, Sam. How can you say that when you... " She stopped.

He supplied the words : " Have come back safe from forty - five raids ? "

She nodded. He was right. She'd been afraid to say it because she did believe in witchcraft or something very like it. In an isolated house in the small hours of morning with the wind chasing the clouds across the bright moon it was difficult not to fall prey to primitive fears.

She switched on the bedside light and he shielded his eyes with his hand. Sam Lambert was a tall man of twenty - six. The necessity of wearing his tight - collared uniform had resulted in his suntan ending in a sharp line around his neck. His muscular body was pale by comparison. He ran his fingers across his untidy black hair and scratched the corner of his nose where a small scar disappeared into the wrinkles of his smile. Ruth liked him to smile but lately he seldom did.

He buttoned the yellow silk pyjamas that had cost Ruth a small fortune in Bond Street. She'd given them to him on the first night of their honeymoon ; three months ago, he'd smiled then. This was the first time he'd worn them. ( ... )

Excerpt from page No. 9.