‘They noticed your good deed?’

‘I can’t think of any other reason why they would transfer me.’ She leaned in, and once again he noticed her flowery scent. ‘Matron said Dr Logan asked for me ’specially.’

A fist closed around his heart, squeezing it painfully. ‘No wonder you’re in a good mood.’

He watched her as she removed his dressing, her fingers dancing against his skin.

‘When will you be leaving?’ he asked.

‘Next week, Matron says. Or possibly sooner, if they can find someone to take my place.’

‘Now where on earth are they going to find someone like you?’

His words hung in the air between them, and for a moment Sam thought he’d said too much. Then Dulcie laughed.

‘That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?’

Sam gritted his teeth and fell silent as she cleaned his wound and replaced his dressing. It had healed enough to stop hurting a long time ago, but at least pretending meant he didn’t have to find any words.

By the time she had finished dressing his wound, he had recovered himself enough to say, ‘So I suppose you’ll be picking your trousseau from one of those magazines of yours soon?’

Dulcie blushed. ‘You never know.’

‘Well done anyway.’ He hated the gruffness in his voice. ‘It looks like you finally got what you wanted, doesn’t it?’

Dulcie looked up at him.

‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’ she said quietly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The dawn was breaking on another freezing cold morning as Anna plodded home from a gruelling night shift. February was almost over but still the weather had not turned, and she could feel the ice-covered puddles cracking under her feet.

There was an outbreak of dysentery on one of the other military wards, and Anna had been sent down there to help the nurse on duty. All night they had been on their feet, rushing up and down the ward with bowls and bedpans, applying stupes and fomentations, changing beds and soaking endless buckets of soiled sheets in carbolic.

By the time the day staff arrived to take over, Anna was utterly exhausted. As she trudged through the dark, cold streets, all she could think about was getting home to Edward and a warm bed.

Light spilled from the kitchen window into the yard. But when Anna let herself in through the back door she found the kitchen empty.

‘Edward?’ she called. There was no response.

She put her hand on the oven door. It was stone cold.

‘Edward?’ she called out again.

She swung round as the door opened. But it was only Charlie Atkins standing there, a steaming teacup in his hand.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

Anna watched him set his teacup down on the wooden counter, next to a folded copy of the Racing Post. ‘Where is Mr Stanning?’

‘I dunno. He wasn’t in when I arrived.’

‘Did he say anything to you about where he might be going?’

‘Not a word, Missus. I thought you might know, since you’re his wife?’