Then the double doors swung open and Matron arrived, gliding in with great ceremony in her long black dress and snowy headdress. Grace shot to her feet so quickly, she knocked over the chair with a resounding clatter.

Matron winced delicately. ‘Good morning, Nurse,’ she greeted her. ‘Are you ready for my inspection?’

‘I think so, Matron.’

‘You think so?’ Matron’s brows rose under her elaborate headdress. ‘That doesn’t sound very promising, Nurse. Let’s see, shall we?’

Grace prayed silently to herself as she followed Matron up the ward. All the while, her gaze darted around. It would be just her luck for one of the men to start screeching, or a VAD suddenly to appear with a trolley full of dirty laundry.

Matron seemed particularly determined to find fault. She moved from bed to bed, wielding a wooden ruler which she used to measure the turned down top sheets. She ran her finger along windowsills and the tops of lockers, then leaned down and tapped the bedsprings from underneath, looking for dust. Grace, Sylvia and Mary exchanged nervous glances as they followed in her wake.

The only difficult moment was when she reached the bed of Captain Jeffers.

‘And how are you today?’ she asked her usual question.

‘Dying for a cigarette, since you ask,’ the young officer replied. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got one on you, have you?’

Grace and the other nurses froze. Mary looked as if she might burst from suppressed laughter.

Thankfully, Matron didn’t seem too ruffled. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said, before gliding on to inspect the next bed.

By the time they reached the end of the ward, Grace’s heart was wedged so firmly in her throat she could scarcely breathe.

‘Yes, well, that seems to be in order,’ Matron said. ‘Although I notice the fire at the far end of the ward has not been lit, and it’s rather chilly.’

‘I’ll see to it at once, Matron.’

Grace waited, still holding her breath, until the double doors had closed behind Matron, then she allowed herself to exhale. Mary and Sylvia did the same.

‘Thank the Lord!’ Mary said. ‘I thought she’d never go.’

‘Did you see her inspecting those castors?’ Sylvia said. ‘I’m so glad Sister made me scrub them with a toothbrush yesterday!’

‘We can’t relax yet. We’ve still got Dr Logan’s round to come.’ Grace looked up at the clock. It was only half-past nine, but it felt as if she had been on duty for several hours. ‘I’d better see to that fire before he gets here.’

‘Get Marchant to do it,’ Sylvia said. ‘That’s what the VADs are here for, to do the menial tasks.’

‘I don’t think anyone has told Marchant that!’ Mary laughed.

‘No one would dare.’ Grace said.

Most of the VADs lived in absolute terror of the nurses, but not Vivienne Marchant. She was a terribly grand lady in her fifties, the wife of one of the hospital’s Board of Trustees, who had decided it would be rather fun to do her bit and join the Voluntary Aid Detachment.