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‘You’re alive,’ she whispered, her heart hammering with excitement.

And he winked. Just to her… surely only for her? ‘Hello, beautiful,’ he croaked. ‘No German’s going to get me.’ He tried to sit up and immediately winced with pain.

People clamoured to help, and Valentina was pushed to the back like a troublesome child in the way.

‘Welcome back,’ the doctor said cheerfully.

Valentina could only see parts of her pilot now through the crowd, but she listened intently to the doctor as he explained his assessment.

‘Your shoulder looks dislocated,’ he told the pilot. ‘And you’ll have to get that head wound stitched. Are you dizzy?’

She glimpsed his nod. ‘A little.’

‘You were stunned, I imagine. The men who grabbed you from the water said you were conscious, even talking, when they hauled you into the boat, which I’m happy to hear. You only blacked out briefly as you were brought to land.’

‘Let me stand,’ he said.

‘We can assist,’ the doctor said, presumably gesturing towards a stretcher, because suddenly his assistants were pushing through.

And then Valentina saw her pilot rise, head and shoulders above most of the men around him. He was so tall… and heavenly, she thought. Her heart surely missed a beat this time.

Her pilot grimaced without sound.

‘And where’s that pain?’ the doctor asked.

‘Er, my leg,’ he said. ‘Though it hurts everywhere.’ He gave a slightly choked laugh. ‘I can limp to the hospital, with a little help. It’s not far.’

‘Stretcher it is,’ the doctor replied in a crisp tone. Valentina was glad the doctor spoke such good English. The adults gathered only had a smattering between them.

‘I’d rather walk,’ he said, and she saw him smile. He had white, even teeth.

He was a god.

‘I’m sure you would, sir, but we need you back in the cockpit to protect Malta, and if you put weight accidentally on what might be a broken ankle or dislocated knee, the damage could take far longer to heal… could even be permanent.’

‘Right,’ the airman said, evidently seeing the doctor’s good sense. ‘Er, forgive me doctor, I had a little nurse who seemed to be watching over me very carefully. But she’s disappeared, and I’d like to thank her. Did anyone see her?’

‘Here!’ Valentina said, pushing forward again, almost breathless with joy that he remembered her.

He turned to find her. ‘Ah, there you are. What’s your name?

‘She’s Valentina Camilleri,’ the woman with the bloodstained handkerchief said before Valentina could even open her mouth to respond, and then busily began introducing herself and her husband.

Valentina blinked and then, surprised once again by her own audaciousness, took his large hand in hers. When he looked at her she said, ‘May I come with you to the hospital? I know the way.’

The doctor began to protest, but her Spitfire pilot was having none of that. ‘I, er, think Nurse Camilleri has it all in hand,’ he said, full of amusement despite his discomfort.

‘Seems Valentina is in charge,’ the doctor said with a resigned smile. ‘And she speaks excellent English. All right, Valentina, you may go too. Are you comfortable enough?’ he asked his patient.

‘Yes, I shall be fine. Er, thank you, Dr…?’

‘Sammut,’ the man said, beaming.

‘I’m Peter Fox,’ the pilot said. ‘I’d shake your hand but…’ He tried to shrug awkwardly and groaned softly at the sharp pain the gesture produced.

Peter, Valentina repeated silently. The name given to Simon the Apostle for his steadfastness. She knew it meant ‘rock’ in Greek. And what a lovely, neat name – Peter Fox. So easy to remember and to say.

As two men carried the stretcher towards the ambulance, Valentina refused to relinquish her position at his side, feeling as though she was moving on air. Dr Sammut brought up the rear.