‘Hello, Matron. What can I do for you? I’m afraid I haven’t finished these yet.’

‘Don’t worry about those, Sarah,’ she replied softly.

Sarah looked at her unsmiling face and felt something lurch in the pit of her stomach. ‘Philip?’ she breathed. ‘Have they found him?’

‘Yes, my dear.’ She approached the desk. ‘He’s just been brought in.’

‘He’s alive?’ Sarah gasped, her pulse beating wildly.

‘He is, but in a very bad way. I don’t believe he has very long, so I’ve advised your mother and sister to get here as soon as possible.’

Sarah pushed back from the desk, suddenly desperate to see him. ‘Where is he? Which ward?’

‘Intensive care,’ the other woman replied, reaching for her hand to stop her from leaving the room. ‘But, Sarah, he might not recognise you – and you must prepare yourself for a shock when you see him. It’s incredible that he’s survived this long.’

Sarah nodded although she didn’t feel prepared for anything. The fact that Philip was alive was a miracle in itself – which only proved to her that she’d been right to call off her engagement to Delaney and wait for his return.

She ran down the endless corridors – something strictly forbidden at all times – and finally reached the intensive care wing. Out of breath and dreading what she might find, she smoothed her hair, mopped the perspiration from her face and steeled herself to open the door.

The sister in charge met her before she’d taken more than a few steps. ‘Miss Fuller?’ she asked barely above a whisper. ‘Matron said you were coming.’

‘Is he really close to the end?’ Sarah whispered back.

‘I’m sorry, but yes,’ she replied. ‘But I’m sure that seeing you will rally him. He’s in the last bed on the left.’

Sarah’s legs threatened to give way as she tiptoed down the ward, trying to avoid the heart-wrenching sight of the other patients. Approaching the last bed, she hesitated momentarily, her heart in her mouth as she walked to his bedside and looked down at the man lying there.

She felt almost jubilant, for this wasn’t Philip. Couldn’t possibly be Philip. They’d made a terrible mistake, and he was out there somewhere still waiting to be found.

She turned to find the nursing sister standing by the end of the bed. ‘It’s not him,’ she said raggedly. ‘That’s not Philip Tarrant.’

‘I’m so sorry, Miss Fuller, but there’s absolutely no doubt that it is.’ She pointed to the dog tags hanging from the iron bedpost, and held out the filthy remnants of his identity papers for her to read.

Sarah’s legs finally gave way and she almost fell into the bedside chair. She stared down at the old, haggard man in the bed who bore no resemblance to the handsome young man she’d known. His skin was parchment yellow and stretched across his skull so tightly she could almost see the white of the bones beneath. He’d lost most of his teeth; his head was shaven and covered in sores; the muscles of his arms now wasted flesh; his once broad, tanned chest a cavernous cage of rib and scar tissue.