I think of you constantly, Ada, and our baby, though to be honest I barely have a moment to myself these days, as we’re in the throes of preparing for our move to North Africa. I know how upset you were about this imminent move, my darling, and what a shock it was to you, but I want to reassure you that it won’t be so very different to the usual routine here. The big difference will be the uniform, desert kit, and of course we’ll be sailing to our destination rather than marching or driving medical trucks. I just pray that we’ll land with enough equipment, as you know from what I’ve told you previously the worst thing is dealing with dreadfully wounded men with nothing to offer them but water – if they’re lucky.

The team I work with, men and women (don’t worry I have eyes only for you, my beautiful wife!) are a good lot, always helping each other out and easing the long hours, so that between us we do get some shut eye. We share our food rations too, especially when parcels arrive from home. Sister Mary Paul’s coconut buns were a real treat – I’m sure she must have used half of Mary Vale’s rationing coupons to provide enough for my gang!

Ada burst out laughing; she knew just how many buns Sister Mary Paul had made and where she had scrounged, borrowed and all but stolen the ingredients to make a big enough batch to feed Jamie’s team.

The woman is a saint, without a doubt. Give her a big kiss from me, if that isn’t too saucy a thing to do to a holy nun!

Oh, my sweet, I think of you in our cottage, or out in the garden waiting for the arrival of our son or daughter. I count down the days to when I can hold both of you in my arms, when we can be a little family, at peace with the world. If I don’t get time to write between now and our departure, please don’t think I have forgotten about you – you are always in my mind and my prayers.

Your devoted, loving, home-sick husband,

Jamie xxx

Ada carefully folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope, and, after sipping her now cool tea, she leant her head against the red-brick wall of the cottage, which was still warm from the slow-setting sun, its rays spilling over on to the flowerbeds heavy with the perfume of phlox, sweet peas and rambling roses. Thinking of poor Rosie lying bereft and lonely in her narrow hospital bed, Ada felt a rush of gratitude. She had a wonderful husband, a strong, healthy baby presently kicking its little feet against her ribs, and the sweetest home in the most beautiful valley; she was blessed, utterly blessed, and she thanked God for it.

34. Gladstone Gardens