A look of realisation gradually settled on the ward sister’s features. She reached out and planted her plump hands on Anna’s shaking shoulders.

‘Come into my sitting room,’ she said.

‘But I—’

‘My sitting room,’ Miss Sutton said firmly. ‘Now.’

Anna had never been in the ward sister’s sitting room. It was her inner sanctum, a place the nurses were forbidden to enter. And yet Anna now found herself perched on the edge of the overstuffed sofa, staring at an assortment of china ornaments on the mantelpiece, a cup of hot sweet tea laced with brandy in her hands.

And all the while, Miss Sutton was talking, her voice gentler than Anna had ever heard it, explaining how Edward’s battalion had been caught up in a mustard gas attack.

Anna heard the words and stopped listening. She knew all about mustard gas. She had washed it off blackened, blistered skin often enough. She had seen its victims coughing and choking, fighting to breathe through burned throats …

‘Is – will he—’

‘Will he live?’ Miss Sutton finished the sentence that Anna could not. She paused a moment too long, and Anna could see her weighing up her words.

‘He has sustained some superficial injuries, but most of the damage was to his lungs,’ she said at last. ‘And, as you know, that can make it rather difficult to assess the long-term damage …’

Anna understood. A patient who had inhaled mustard gas might seem to recover at first, only to succumb to respiratory failure a couple of weeks later.

‘However, Mr Stanning is young and strong, and Dr Logan has every reason to believe he will recover,’ Miss Sutton went on. ‘Would you like to see him?’

Anna looked up at her sharply. For once, the ward sister’s broad face seemed soft, her eyes kind.

‘Yes – yes, please,’ she whispered.

Anna felt a surge of panic as she approached the figure in the bed. She forced herself to walk slowly down the ward, clasping her hands together to stop her reaching out for Miss Sutton beside her.

Superficial injuries, the ward sister had said. But that could mean anything. Anna had seen men so disfigured by war that their own mothers wouldn’t have recognised them. Their flesh melted by the gas, features blurred and formless like dripping candle wax …

Anna pressed her lips together. She hoped her expression didn’t give her away too much. The last thing she wanted was to upset Edward.

She saw his fair head resting on the pillow, and her heart shot into her mouth. She wanted to stop, but she forced her feet to move forward, closer and closer …

Relief rushed through her. Thank God, he looked the same. Older, of course, and his handsome face was more gaunt than the last time she had seen him. But he was still her Edward.

He was sleeping, but as Anna crept closer he suddenly jerked awake. He stared straight at her, and for a second his face twisted with fear and hostility. But then he seemed to recognise her and the warmth came into his blue eyes.