‘I have treated many men with shell shock. Believe me, you will recover far more quickly if you give yourself a rest from those thoughts.’ He took a phial and syringe from his bag.

‘I don’t want it,’ I said.

‘It will help you.’ He drew a line of liquid up into the glass of the syringe.

‘I don’t want it,’ I said again, pushing him away.

‘Now, Mrs Cawson –’

‘No!’ I cried.

‘Mrs Cawson!’ He grabbed my wrist from under the blanket and dragged it up, exposing my arm. ‘Do you want me to get your husband up here?’ I struggled to get out of bed, but he was a big man and used his weight against me. All I could see was Rachel, dragged away in her hospital, spitting and screaming out in raw pain.

‘Morton!’ He and I both spun around at the sound, to see Nick in the doorway. ‘What the hell are you doing? I said nothing of this.’

I wrenched my arm free. ‘I said I don’t want it!’

Morton glared at him, then at me, put a cap on the syringe and shoved it back in his bag. ‘A word,’ he muttered to Nick as he left the room.

‘Jane –’ Nick began, coming over to me and taking my hand.

‘Leave me alone,’ I said, drawing it away. He glanced at me, and then followed Morton out.

I lay there shaking. They were downstairs, arguing, but I couldn’t make out the words. Morton seemed to leave, and Nick came back up. He stood at the foot of the bed and swept his hands over his hair. ‘I don’t know why he did it like that – that was wrong of him – but he was trying to help you,’ he said, keeping his voice under control.

‘He was attacking me.’

‘It just got out of hand.’ He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Christ. Morton and his bloody Russian ideas. I wish he had left them over there where he found them. He can’t even see how brutal they are.’

Could any of us? Stuck, now, in the middle. Nick’s American orders, Morton’s Russian ideas.

‘Will you leave me alone?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go to work anyway.’