A tear seeped out of Paulo’s eye. ‘I am struggling to think how our future will be.’

‘We’ll find a way around everything. We’re together, that’s the main thing.’

‘Yes, that is all I live for – the day that we can marry. But . . .’

‘There are no “buts”, my darling Paulo. I love you. Nothing can ever change that. I think we will need each other to help cope with our past, not our future. That is secure, with the knowledge of your love for me.’

At this, Paulo gave his lovely smile. It didn’t matter to Sibbie that it was now lopsided, as his jaw hadn’t yet mended; it was the hope in his smile that warmed her heart. And she knew that all the horror of the past lay behind them, and that they would find a way of tucking away what had happened and not letting it spoil what they had. Together, they would get through the difficulties of the future, too.

Paulo reached for her hand and, in taking it, these thoughts were sealed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

London and Portpatrick

Flors and Cyrus, Sibbie and Paulo

The joy felt at Paulo’s slow but encouraging progress was shattered with the message that was received six weeks later. Monty had been shot by the communist Resistance group, after he was found to be a traitor to the cause.

Now a further two weeks had passed, and the front room of their apartment where Flors and Cyrus sat was silent, but for the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The devastation caused by their youngest son’s death, in disgraceful circumstances, had built a wall between them; an invisible and almost impenetrable wall. Their grief was like no other they’d previously experienced. It was knitted with shame and lack of knowledge, as no one seemed to know – or be willing to tell them – the extent of what Monty had done, and who had ordered his killing.

The clang of the doorbell made Flors jump.

‘It’s all right, I’ll go.’

Flors watched Cyrus cross the room. Her emotions were shut down, leaving her just an empty shell. The usual reaction that she would have, to Cyrus showing such hurt, didn’t come to her.

‘It’s Wills, Flors. Come on in, my boy. I hope you haven’t come on official business. But if you have, please make it good news, as we are unable to take any further bad news.’

Flors looked at Wills, but didn’t greet him.

‘I came to tell you how sorry I am, and to give you some hope. There was a meeting this morning and it has been decided to bring Marjella home.’

‘But that’s wonderful. Thank you so much, as I know you will have had a hand in bringing about such an idea.’ Flors at last felt some hope. ‘When?’