He told himself it was because he was bored. Watching Nurse Moore beat counting the panes of glass in the windows, or listening to Sergeant Patterson in the next bed relive his time in the trenches. But deep down Sam had to admit it was more than that.

‘Where’s the other one?’ he asked Nurse Trott when she came round with the washing trolley.

‘She’s been sent to Matron.’

‘Why? What’s she done?’

‘Heaven knows.’ Nurse Trott shrugged. ‘It could be anything with Moore.’ She brandished a flannel. ‘Now, shall I help you, or can you manage by yourself?’

It was all wrong, Sam reflected, as he washed himself behind the curtain. He didn’t want to feel like this. He had shut down that part of him when his wife died.

And going off to war had killed the rest. He had returned from France an empty shell – shattered, cynical and devoid of feeling.

But seeing his family again had reawakened something in him. He had started to see the world as a less brutal place. He no longer dreamed of death and bleak, dark landscapes littered with corpses. Now he saw a place of possibilities, of life, and beauty, and kindness. He had even begun to imagine that he might deserve to find some happiness there.

But he was never going to find it with someone like Dulcie Moore.

He didn’t even know why he liked her. She was self-centred, petulant, positively rude at times. But there was a spark about her that none of the other nurses had.

Besides, Sam was hardly perfect himself. He could be every bit as blunt, stubborn and selfish as Nurse Moore, as she had pointed out to him often enough. She was the only one who stood up to him, who gave as good as she got instead of offering simpering sweetness.

They were more than a match for each other.

And she wasn’t all bad. She had, after all, given him back his family.

All right, she had done it for selfish reasons. Or so she said. But there had been a moment, just after the visit, when Sam thought he had glimpsed a genuine joy in her, the kind of pleasure that only came from doing something for someone else.

It had given him hope that perhaps Dulcie Moore had a heart after all.

She returned to the ward in time for the dressings round. She was grinning from ear to ear, Sam noticed.

The round took a long time. Usually the men did not mind having to wait for the Agony Wagon, but Sam was impatient by the time she reached him.

‘You look happy,’ he commented, when she finally arrived at his bedside.

‘I am,’ she said.

‘Any particular reason?’

‘I’m moving to Wilson ward.’

He twisted his mouth into a reluctant smile. ‘You mean you managed to convince them you actually have a heart?’

‘It looks like it.’ Dulcie grinned back at him. ‘And I believe I have you to thank for that.’