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‘What do you mean?’

‘Stairs. Feels endless,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Will your head be all right? And your leg?’ He nodded at Peter’s swollen ankle.

‘I’ll be fine. And I’ll hold on to the railings and hop if I must. I’m going crazy lying around all day.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I am. I think it’s a splendid idea. I want to be useful, keep contributing – part of my bad mood right now is from being treated like an invalid and, worse, behaving like one.’

John nodded. ‘Keeps you in town too, old chap. More interesting than the mess hall, eh?’

Peter laughed. ‘You’ll put in a word for me, sir?’

‘Already have, old boy. I knew you’d want to. Should hear soon. Come on, we’ll get you back and out of that ward if we can, find you somewhere else to rest, shall we? Let’s go say your thanks and goodbyes to that bossy nurse.’

Valentina, dressed in her best frock, was being escorted by her parents to meet with the Falzons, now that her father and Emman seemed to have finalised the arrangement. For her, the tension she felt about the impending wedding had escalated dramatically since Flight Lieutenant Peter Fox had entered her life. He was all she thought about now, and he even walked alongside her through her dreams at night. Her passion for him felt intense, focused, but she couldn’t share it with anyone – least of all him! – and so it built within her, brick by brick. Each day it grew stronger, more formidable. Just as the Knights had built their fortress, so had she.

It would withstand every assault.

Even the arranged marriage to Lawrenz.

The destruction of their city had begun gently, she recalled as they walked over to the Falzons’. Well, if a destructive bomb could be thought of as gentle, she thought with a sad chuckle. When the bombing of Valletta had started in 1940, it had been not quite as relentless as now. Her father had explained that this was because the bombing was begun by the Italians.

Italians!

Even now she struggled to believe that Malta’s neighbours, their friends, might do this to them. So many of the Maltese visited Italy often and had family over there, including the Camilleris. How could family and friends do this to one another?

Her father had sighed when she’d pummelled him with these questions. ‘They have no choice, my girl. They have no argument with us.’

‘Then why?’ She remembered how her voice had sounded shrill and accusatory.

‘Mussolini has sided with the lunatic in Germany and so they have no choice, but you’ll notice their pilots miss us a lot of the time. They do that deliberately.’

Now older and far more experienced in despair, she would happily take the Italian raids over what they were enduring. The Germans had proved themselves to be not nearly so reluctant or half-hearted, and the initial sense of novelty and adventure brought by living in the tunnels had worn off fast. What wouldn’t she give to live above ground once again in their lovely home where the pigeons cooed on the rooftop and made their nests in the folds and swirls of the city’s grand architecture.

And yet if she thought her life was being destroyed by the war, she felt its complete ruination was now occurring with this marriage. She wanted to tell her parents that she would take the war over marrying the hateful Lawrenz, but she could not reveal such a notion. Her father was counting on her to help the family, and she knew he believed it was a good match.

The siege wall that had been building in her heart since she’d laid eyes on the handsome airman would not let her out. It would not let anyone in either, other than Peter. But how could she explain this to her parents? As much as they loved her, they would ridicule such an idea, accuse her of being childish and stupid. She might be those things, but no one could tell her what she should feel.

This was her heart, her life they were tampering with. How could she possibly make them understand that she felt a powerful, dizzying love for this golden-headed man who had fallen out of the sky? It was prophetic, wasn’t it? Had he not baled out in front of her, they might never have met. She willed it that they had been meant to meet; Fate had cast her choice that these two strangers were destined to find one another. But why would Fate choose a married man for her?

Valentina would grow up. Maybe his wife would die in a bombing raid on England. Yes, that was it. Fate knew Peter’s destiny was not to be with Delia forever, but her.

But he had to wait for her. She had to grow up and get away from Lawrenz first.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, her parents marched her ever closer on the dusty streets, strewn with debris, to the Falzons’ bar. It was Sunday; church was finished and it was appropriate to go visiting. An air raid might not happen on this sunny day. Sundays were sacred, her father had impressed upon her mother as she’d retied his tie. ‘They won’t bomb today.’

‘I hope not, Enriku. I don’t like leaving the boys.’

‘They’re fine. The neighbours are watching them.’

‘They get up to mischief in the tunnels. Always exploring.’

‘They won’t. I’ve threatened them with a thrashing they can’t even begin to imagine if they disobey us.’

Her mother grinned. ‘You’re all noise, Enriku.’

‘Is she looking her best?’ he asked, casting a glance Valentina’s way.