‘Oh, you mean Captain Dodds? Yes, he can be rather difficult,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But it isn’t the needle he dislikes, it’s the sight of blood. Just distract him and you should be fine.’

‘And how am I supposed to do that?’

‘I find a crossword usually works. Or else talk to him. Get him on the subject of motor cars. They’re a bit of a passion of his. You could probably saw his leg off if he’s talking about Aston Martins or Rolls-Royces.’

Dulcie stared at her. ‘How do you remember so much about them all?’

‘I take an interest.’ Grace shrugged. ‘Once you find out what kind of person they are and the way they think, it’s really quite easy to work out what they need.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll get used to all their funny little ways in time. Take the new patient, Corporal Gates, for instance …’

But Dulcie wasn’t listening. She was distracted by the sight of Sam Trevelyan, visible through the French doors. He was shuffling across the terrace, leaning on Miriam Trott’s arm.

I’ll bet he hates it, Dulcie thought. Sam Trevelyan was not the type of man to lean on anyone.

She watched them for a moment. Sam looked so tall and powerful beside Miriam’s diminutive figure. She could see Miriam’s mouth moving ten to the dozen as usual and wondered what she was talking to him about. Something tedious, no doubt. If she knew Miriam Trott, she was probably explaining the plot of the latest romance novel she had read.

They reached the end of the terrace and turned around. As they started back, Miriam caught sight of Dulcie watching them and gave her a mocking little wave. She must have said something to Sam, because he looked up too. Their eyes met and he gave her such a long-suffering look, Dulcie couldn’t help laughing.

‘You miss them, don’t you?’ Grace said behind her.

Dulcie turned around sharply. ‘What?’

‘The men on Monaghan? I think you enjoyed working there more than you do here.’

Dulcie turned back towards the window, but Sam Trevelyan had disappeared from view.

‘I – understood it better,’ she admitted slowly. ‘I know where I am with bad chests and trench feet and missing limbs. But these men – they scare me.’ She looked around her. She would rather dress gaping wounds all day than have to look into those lifeless, glassy-eyed faces. At least the men on Monaghan were predictable; the shell shock patients could be laughing one minute, and screaming in terror the next.

‘You’ll get used to them,’ Grace said kindly.

‘I’m not sure I want to.’

‘Not even for him?’ Grace nodded up the ward to where Dr Logan was approaching them.

Dulcie immediately straightened her cap and put on her best and most winning smile, but Robert Logan didn’t even look at her as he addressed himself to Grace.

‘How does Private Tennant seem to you this morning, Nurse?’

‘Much better, Doctor.’