‘What’s it like out there?’ Immediately she had spoken the words aloud she wished them unsaid, for the haunted look of anguish that came into his eyes filled her with guilt.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. You want to try to forget for a time, while you’re home.’

He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘There’s no way of forgetting. Not ever.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper and once again he just stood gazing down into the fire.

He was not seeing the fire in the range in Esther’s kitchen. He was seeing flashes of gunfire and mangled flesh, hearing the thud, thud, thud of the guns and the screams of his comrades.

‘Oh, you try to push it out of your thoughts,’ he said slowly, ‘but then it all comes flooding back when you least expect it – or want it. At night, just when you’re falling asleep. Or in quiet moments like this. Moments that should be peaceful and –’ he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes – ‘savoured.’ There was a long pause then he added, flatly, ‘But back it all comes to torment you.’

Now she moved back closer to him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again.

‘It’s – all right. It’s natural that you think you want to know. But you don’t, believe me you really don’t.’

Esther returned his gaze steadily. ‘I’m not afraid of the truth, however bad it is.’

‘No – no, I don’t believe you are.’ His eyes roamed wonderingly over her face, her hair and then came back to look once more into her eyes. Those steadfast green eyes that returned his gaze so directly. He leaned forward, lifting his hand to touch her cheek with gentle fingers.

For one breathless moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but as his fingertips brushed her cheek, he jumped physically as if he had been stung and stepped back abruptly. In the fading light of the evening, the firelight glinted on his hair and highlighted his cheekbones, his fine nose and firm jawline. His eyes were shadowed, but she could hear his rapid breathing.

Brusquely he said, ‘I shouldn’t be here – I must go.’

He turned, went out into the scullery and wrenched open the back door.

Esther followed him, the words bursting from her lips before she could contain them, ‘How long are ya staying?’

He stood very still, his hand on the latch, but he did not turn round. Muffled, the words came to her in staccato jerks. ‘I don’t know – but I must leave. Tomorrow – I’ll have to go – tomorrow.’

She felt the disappointment flood through her. ‘But I thought you were going to stay longer – a few days, you said.’ The words were out of her mouth before she thought to stop them. They were like a reproach. ‘Why must you go so soon?’