For Peggy, computer is a word still best associated with the studious women with their backs bent over desks at Bletchley Park. The brilliant ones -- used to crack ciphers and codes. The word puts her mind instantly back into those memories: of war-rations; of tense afternoons; of slow sips of tea taken 'round tables in meetings about this or that fresh message to crack. Ironic, then, that the man goes on to tie one onto her memory by mentioning the war directly.

She nods. Although she's far from stricken, there's no denying the strain that enters her eyes. It's a gut reaction. "A year beyond it, actually," she gives the correction in a softened voice. "Nearly to the day."