‘That sounds like fun.’ Anna went back to her mopping. ‘It’s a pity I won’t be able to stay long.’

Grace looked over her shoulder at her. ‘Surely your mother wouldn’t mind if you missed one night?’

Anna shook her head. ‘She relies on me to help her. She can’t manage without me.’ She looked at Grace. ‘Will you cover for me?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m sorry to have to keep asking you. I know you could get into as much trouble as me if we’re caught—’

‘I’m hardly a stranger to Matron’s office, am I?’ Grace looked rueful. ‘Besides, that’s what friends are for. And I’m sure you’d do the same for me, if I ever found myself coming home after lights out!’

She gave a self-deprecating smile as she said it. Nearly every nurse stayed out late at some time, and the other girls usually helped by leaving windows unlocked so they could sneak back in after the front doors were locked. But no young man had ever enticed Grace Duffield to flirt with the Home Sister’s wrath.

It was such a shame, Anna thought. Under that gawky exterior, Grace was the kindest, sweetest girl she knew.

Then another thought occurred to her. ‘Does Dulcie Moore know that Saunders is engaged?’ she asked.

Grace swung round so fast she knocked into a teetering pile of bedpans with her elbow. Anna dropped her broom and rushed to catch them before they crashed to the ground.

‘Oh, gosh, I never thought of that,’ Grace said, as they steadied the pans to stop them toppling over. ‘Poor girl. I wonder if she does know?’

At that moment the doors to the sluice swung open and Dulcie Moore herself stalked in, her pretty face thunderous under her starched white cap. She thrust a cloth-covered bedpan into Grace’s hands and stomped out again, letting the door crash to behind her.

Anna and Grace stared at each other.

‘I think that’s our answer, don’t you?’ Anna said.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I was thinking about roses. I do love roses, especially pale pink ones, and they’re perfectly in season in June, aren’t they? Or perhaps a posy of violets? I love violets, too. Such a lovely fragrance …’

Spare me! Sitting at the other end of the couch, Dulcie Moore took a long swig from the sherry bottle Hilda Wharton had just passed to her.

Sylvia Saunders had only been engaged a matter of hours, and Dulcie was already sick and tired of hearing about it. To make matters worse, earlier on Sister had given them both the task of making up beds for the latest convoy of military patients. Dulcie had been stuck in the linen store with Sylvia as she bored on with the details of the family church where she intended to hold the service, and the hymns she had chosen. Then, as they made up the beds, Dulcie had been forced to listen to her pondering every detail of her dress, and whether or not she planned to have pearl trimming on the lace: ‘I know it’s pretty, but pearls can be rather old-fashioned, don’t you think?’