‘Here,’ she said. ‘You’d better not let Sister see you crying. She can’t bear tears on the ward.’

Finally, when all the men were clean and comfortable, they were seen by the doctors who assessed their injuries and sent them up to the various wards.

Grace and Anna brought eight patients back to Monaghan ward with them, with another three to follow after surgery. Once in bed, the men were offered a cup of tea and a cigarette. Most were relaxed and smiling now, but some still kept their backs to Grace, ignoring her as she put their teacups down on their bedside locker. She knew they wouldn’t turn around until she had gone.

Later on, the orderlies started bringing back the men after their operations. They were still groggy from the anaesthetic, and each was assigned a nurse whose job it was to sit with them until they regained consciousness.

Grace’s patient was in a particularly bad way. He had taken an artillery shell blast that had blown a huge hole in his torso.

Roger Wallace came up with him. He was the junior surgical registrar, and had assisted with the long and complex operation.

‘We’ve done our best with him, but I shouldn’t think he’ll live,’ he told Grace matter-of-factly. ‘Frankly, I’m amazed he’s even made it this long. There aren’t many men who’d survive the journey back from France in that condition, let alone the operation.’

‘Sergeant Samuel Trevelyan.’ Grace read the name on his notes. ‘You never know, he might survive. He’s obviously a fighter.’

Roger shook his head. ‘I doubt it. But sit with him anyway, just until—’

He stopped speaking abruptly, his gaze fixed beyond Grace’s shoulder. Turning round, she saw Dulcie standing a few feet away from them.

‘Hello, Roger,’ she said.

Roger cleared his throat nervously. ‘Nurse Moore.’ His voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.

Grace looked from one to the other, her heart sinking. It was inevitable they would come face-to-face sooner or later. She willed Dulcie not to say anything that would land her in trouble with Sister.

For a moment no one spoke, and Grace could feel tension sizzling in the air. Then Dulcie said, ‘Sister wondered if you’d come and look at one of the post-op patients, since you’re here? She’s worried his breathing is rather shallow.’

‘Right. Yes, of course.’ Roger hurried off, looking flustered.

‘Doctor?’ Dulcie called after him.

Roger stopped. ‘Yes?’

‘Don’t you want to know which patient?’

‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ A deep blush crept up from beneath his collar. ‘Um – where is he?’

‘Bed three, Doctor.’

‘Thank you.’

They watched him hurrying away, his head down. Then Dulcie giggled.

‘Someone seems a bit flustered!’

‘Can you blame him? Poor man.’

‘Poor man, indeed!’ Dulcie looked back over her shoulder, then whispered. ‘Did you notice the way he looked at me?’

Grace had noticed, but she didn’t want to say anything encouraging. ‘He looked terrified,’ she said. ‘I daresay he thought you were going to slap his face.’