’ Marilyn and I retired to her dressing suite where she poured us both a large gin and tonic. The film was called, ‘Wartime.’ “He’s such an ...rse, Faye,” said Marilyn. “Can't he see or hear what crap it is?” She handed me my glass. “Darling, you forget. He wrote it.” “Oh, my God. Did he?” More laughter. My dress was straight out of the 1940s. It buttoned down the front and had a thin black belt. Less glamorous than Marilyn’s but she was the femme fatale of the film and I was the ‘normal’ army. “Not yet, my sweet Rose. You are still legally a c***d, and I an adult, it wouldn't be proper. But when you come back after your birthday, I'm sure that your mother and I would be able to tell you many enjoyable tales. Fleur had left at that point, reminding the two girls that dinner would be in just over an hour, and they needed to be dressed and presentable by the time Bill got home from work. They managed, just barely. It did make Rose almost as excited to visit after her birthday as she was. More

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