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Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Still, she might not yet know how to transform the shop’s fortunes, but she knew that it would not be helped by allowing the likes of Miss Keynes to take advantage of the Shelton women’s kindness.

“Just ready yourself for all of the new orders that will pour through those doors, Miss Reid.”

The seamstress sniffed but retreated to her sewing machine without another word.

Once she was alone, Sylvia let out a deep breath. She would figure out a way to make this all work. She had to.

In the meantime, she had every intention of returning to the inventory cupboard and figuring out how to break the news of the Miss Keynes incident to her sister.

Chapter Thirteen

I should not have to remind you how important it is that you take these aptitude tests seriously, ladies,” Corporal Murphy said from her position at the top of the column of women lined up for daily drills. “It is imperative that the WAAF and the RAF know the full extent of your skills so that it can be decided how you will be best deployed.”

Over her weeks at Innsworth, Izzie had been told over and over again that the women of the WAAF were vital for freeing up more men to train as pilots, navigators, and bombers. Women would take the places of mechanics, cooks, drivers, and orderlies. There would be WAAFs in charge of armories at various bases across the country, and it would be WAAFs who would work in bomber command as plotters keeping tabs on the many RAF planes that flew operations nightly.

Despite all the talk that a WAAF could be called upon to do anything, she knew that any officer would take one look at her skills and background and assign her to a tailor’s shop on a base. She would spend her war sewing on patches and repairing uniforms.

She tried not to think about how uninspiring that all sounded. Mum might have kept a close handle on everything going on at the shop, but each customer coming in had presented something new and different to work on. The designs might not have been Izzie’s own yet, but at least it had been real sewing and not a sort of assembly line of mundane tasks.

A quick movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She glanced over in time to see the blond top of the head of the posh woman who’d spoken to her a few days ago—Oh, what is her name? Allison? Amelia?—dip down below the rest of her row. Then, the woman—Alexandra!—stuffed something into the patch pocket of her uniform tunic.

Alexandra caught Izzie’s eye and shot her a conspiratorial grin before turning back to attention.

When Corporal Murphy finally dismissed them, Izzie wove her way through her fellow recruits to Alexandra, who was clutching at her tunic with her right hand.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

Alexandra pressed her free hand to her lips, repressing a giggle. “I looked down while Corporal Murphy was speaking and realized that a button had popped off my shirt and was lying at my feet. It must have worked its way down below my tunic belt somehow. It’s lucky I saw it, or who knows how long my unmentionables might have been on show once I’d taken off my tunic.”

Izzie couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a good thing you spotted it.”

Alexandra dug into her pocket and held the shirt button up. “The only problem is, now I have to sew it back on, and I’m all thumbs when it comes to a needle and thread.”

Whether it was out of the goodness of her own heart or to repent for not having accepted the offer of a cup of tea from Alexandra when they’d spoken in the NAAFI, Izzie didn’t know, but she said, “Well, we can’t have you running around like that. Come with me, and I’ll fix it.”

“Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful,” said Alexandra in a rush.

“Like you said, we can’t have your unmentionables on show for the entire base to see.”

“I knew this would happen, you know,” said Alexandra as she followed Izzie back to Izzie’s hut. “I even told the quartermaster when they issued me a uniform that the shirt wasn’t the right size, but she told me that every girl loses weight during basic training. I suppose she didn’t realize just how prodigious the bosoms of the women in my family are. It’s almost a thing of legend.

“On top of that, they gave me a man’s tunic because the quartermaster said it was the only thing on hand that would fit me in the shoulders. Naturally, that means that the rest of the tunic is so large I’m practically swimming in it.”

“It’s ridiculous that we’re two years into the war and they’re still struggling to make proper uniforms for women,” Izzie said.

“They called us up, but they weren’t ready for us,” Alexandra agreed.

Izzie held open the door to her hut for Alexandra and then hurried over to her bunk, where she’d stored a basic kit of sewing supplies in a tin that was small enough to fit in her kit bag.

“Right, let’s see what the damage is,” she said.

Alexandra peeled off her jacket, revealing a shirt that gaped to show off a flash of peach silk trimmed with French lace.

“One more button lost and I might as well end up in one of those clubs I’m not supposed to know my brothers sometimes go to in Soho,” said Alexandra with a laugh.

Izzie grinned. “I can sew it back on for you in a jiffy, and later I can take a look at altering all of your uniform to fit you better if you like.”

It was going above and beyond, but she couldn’t let this poor woman run around with a tunic that looked as though it should fit a rugby player. Besides, there was something about Alexandra’s warmth and openness that made her want to help.