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Savannah. Real fancy towns, they are,’ he rushed on, eager to please and see her smile once more. ‘After that, Hollywood here we come, huh? Boy, I love those eyes of yours. Are they gold or green, I jest can’t make up my mind.’
    He snuggled closer and Bette giggled some more. He really was sweet and the names sounded magical, very much like something out of a movie. ‘Oh, that would be marvellous. I’d so love to travel.’
    ‘Jest as soon as this little old war is over, honey, we’ll see the world together, meanwhile . . . how about that tour you promised me, huh?’ He offered her his arm with sweet, old-fashioned courtesy.
    They strolled together along to Whitehouse, Bette feeling very special and important to be out with such a gorgeous guy, one who lived in such an exciting place, not too far from the President of the United States himself, and a land owner at that, just like the Cornish gentry. If that didn’t prove he was rich, she really didn’t know what would.  
    Having reached the tiny little beach, they sat huddled in among the rocks, while they had a bit of a kiss and cuddle. Admittedly there was a Pillbox nearby, and ships in the river, but Readymoney beach was too far away and embroiled in barbed wire, so this would have to do.
    If they kept their heads down, nobody would spot them in the darkness, and with the silk stockings safely stowed away in her bag, how could she refuse?
    He was certainly bold, cheekily fondling her breast without the slightest invitation, and never had she known such an expert kisser. Bette was growing dazed with emotion and quite breathless, beginning to worry about how far she should let him go when suddenly there came a great bang out on the water and she nearly jumped out of her skin with shock.
    ‘What’s that? Oh, my God, have the Germans attacked? Are they bombing us?’ She was ready to run, instantly trying to decide whether it was quicker to dash to the shelter on Lostwithiel Street, or down to the Butter Market. Or maybe Pophyry Hall would be safer if she could get there in time.
    Chad was on his feet in a second, peering into the black dark that blanketed the wide river. ‘Hey, don’t fret. That wasn’t big enough for a bomb. Just a stray shell going off, I reckon. There’s a boat out there though, quite a small one.’
    ‘It’s the river patrol. Oh lord, that’s my dad’s boat. He’s dead. I know it. Oh, my God, no!’

 
    Chapter Four
    Cory Tredinnick and his crew had set out in their boat as soon as they’d downed a few pints, ready to carry out their role on the water rather as their comrades, the Local Defence Volunteers, or Dad’s army as they were more popularly known, did on land.
    ‘Do ‘ee remember when the Home Guard sank the boat that was towing the target upriver, that time they were practising shooting?’ Cory remarked with a chuckle.  
    The river valley and creeks of Fowey were well defended, as they provided a relatively secure place to hide munitions which the enemy would more likely expect to find in Plymouth, surely never thinking to look in this secret, wooded hideaway.
    ‘Daft clucks, the lot of ‘em,’ agreed Sid Penhale. ‘Our river patrol is much more skilled.’
    The docks, from where the ammunition was shipped and the china clay dispatched, were guarded around the clock, with nobody allowed in without a pass. There were guards stationed in the Pillbox at Whitehouse, and Albert Quay had tank traps across the centre with barbed wire along the seaward edge, as did many of the beaches. In addition, at St. Catherine’s, closer to the mouth of the river, there was a gun point, and one on the opposite side at Polruan.
    ‘And better prepared for the invasion,’ put in Hamil Charke.
    They all solemnly nodded in agreement.
    Temperatures had dropped considerably after a warm day, and a slight mist rose from the water, glowing with an eerie ghostliness in the light from a pale moon. Scobey, as usual, was on the tiller and