She listened in silence to his reasoned words, knowing instinctively what torment, what heart-searching, had gone into reaching this sensible acceptance. The hurt was still as deep, but the pain was not so intense. In the two years, Danny had not stopped loving her, but had wrestled with how they might salvage a different kind of love from the wreckage.

So Kate had taken her lead from him, and although she had stayed in Lincoln, she had come home to Fleethaven more often. Little by little the agony eased as they drew strength from each other.

And down the years, Danny’s words to her on that fateful day at the end of the Spit were locked within her heart: ‘They can’t stop us loving each other. Not ever, Katie, not ever!’

Now, nine years on, standing on top of the sand-dune, drinking in the sight of the marsh spread before her, Kate was a very different young woman from the distraught girl of eighteen. She had held a responsible position in her work and from that had gained self-confidence. In the Godfreys’ home, she had been as happy as it was possible for her to be and she had grown to love their city. But always her heart lay at Fleethaven Point.

How could she ever have thought she could leave this place for good, she thought now. She took a deep, satisfying breath of the fresh, clean air, closed her eyes for a moment and held her face up to the breeze as it ruffled her carefully styled, city hairstyle. Opening her eyes again, she gave a little laugh of exultation and ran down the grassy slope and across the marsh to the beach. She walked at the water’s edge, scuffing her toes through the shingle, paddling in the frothy edges of the encroaching waves and gazing across the wide expanse of grey water half expecting to see enemy ships already lying off shore.

This place was in her blood. Its tranquillity enveloped her and welcomed her home. How can we possibly be at war, she thought.

Then, distantly, she heard the rising wail of a siren.

*

‘Danny, you won’t have to go, will you?’

She had been waiting for him that evening at the junction where the lane leading westwards to the Grange joined the coast road. He came pedalling towards her on his bicycle, the sound of his whistling reaching her long before he did. When he saw her, he took his feet off the pedals and scuffed his boots along the road to slow down.

‘Haven’t you got those brakes mended yet?’ she scolded as he wobbled to a halt, speaking to him as easily and as naturally as if they had seen each other earlier that day and not several weeks ago.

He grinned sheepishly at her. ‘Nope – it dun’t matter round here. No hills, a’ there?’ He paused and then added, ‘You home for the weekend?’