‘Oh, I can’t afford them now,’ Nurse Moore said. ‘But I will when I’m married.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘When someone asks me.’

He tried not to smile as he looked at the magazine. ‘You’re going to marry a rich man, then?’

‘Of course.’ She gave a little shrug, as if it was a foregone conclusion.

‘Dr Logan?’

Nurse Moore smiled and carried on with her massaging. Sam flinched as her tensed fingers dug into his shoulder muscles.

‘So you’re choosing your trousseau before you’ve chosen your husband?’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘Something like that.’

‘You know what you want, don’t you?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

Now it was Sam’s turn to smile. She was so sure of herself, he couldn’t help envying her.

‘You think it’s funny?’ Nurse Moore said sharply.

‘Not at all. I’m just wondering what you’ll do if you end up accidentally falling in love with someone penniless.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You can’t help who you fall in love with.’

Nurse Moore gave a harsh laugh. ‘Goodness, Sergeant, what a romantic you are! I would never have thought it. You sound like Nurse Trott. She’s always reading her penny novels and going on about true love, too.’ She shook her head. ‘Of course you can help it. You can choose who you fall in love with, just as you can choose what shoes to put on in the morning or what hat to wear.’

There speaks someone who’s never been in love, he thought. A picture of Philippa filled his mind, and he braced himself for the familiar jab of pain.

He looked back at the magazine in his hands. ‘So this is the kind of life you want, is it?’

‘Why not?’ Nurse Moore sounded defensive. ‘What’s wrong with wanting to better yourself?’ She glanced over his shoulder at the magazine. ‘I want to live in London, and to be able to go to the music hall and the picture house whenever I please – and to sit in a box, not in the stalls, with opera glasses and violet creams from Fortnum’s.’ Her words tumbled out in a rush, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘And I want to take taxis everywhere, and go into Selfridge’s and Harrod’s and have the commissionaire open the door for me, and greet me by name. And I want a house overlooking Kensington Gardens, with a girl to do all the fetching and carrying—’ She stopped herself, pressing her lips together.

Sam broke the silence. ‘It all sounds very grand.’

Nurse Moore dropped her gaze, her cheeks flushing. ‘I just want someone who can look after me.’

‘You don’t need a box at the theatre or an account at Harrod’s to love someone,’ he said quietly.

‘Now you sound like my mother!’ Nurse Moore paused, pouring more oil into her palms. ‘She always says she married my father for love. Much good it did her.’

The bitterness in her voice made Sam turn and stare at her. ‘Why do you say that?’