The doctor nodded. ‘Yes. And that’s the problem. He’s refused permission for us to perform the amputation.’

Evie wanted to howl. ‘If his leg is removed, couldn’t he have an artificial limb fitted?’

‘Yes. I’ve told him that. Given time, he should be able to walk again with a prosthetic limb.’ He paused to draw breath. ‘I understand you have a young family, so Mr Barrington has much to live for.’

‘Let me be sure I’ve understood this properly. You’re saying if he doesn’t permit you to remove his crushed leg, he will die?’

The doctor nodded slowly. ‘Almost certainly. I’m sorry.’

‘And even though you’ve explained that, he’s told you he doesn’t want you to do it?’

The doctor looked down. ‘Yes.’ He raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘I need you to try to convince him to let us go ahead.’

‘You’re positive it’s the only way to save his life?’

‘Absolutely certain.’

‘Then you must do it. Whether he likes it or not.’

‘I can’t. Not if he withholds his consent. We can’t force a man of sound mind to undergo the amputation of a limb against his will.’

‘But in war they must do it all the time. Look at the last war. There were so many amputees.’

‘In the heat of the battlefield and possibly if a man was unconscious and unable to give consent and it was a matter of urgency, but your husband is conscious and has had a full explanation of the gravity of his situation. I have shown him the X-rays and he is adamant he doesn’t want his leg removed.’ He gave a little sigh. ‘To tell you the truth, if anything, I was more explicit about the consequences with him than I have been with you. Our only hope is that you can prevail upon him.’

Evie jumped up and ran into the side room. She bent over the big metal sink, retching. The loss of his leg was doubtless a terrible blow for a man like Douglas but the prospect of him dying was unthinkable. She was carrying an unbearable weight of responsibility. It was like being trapped under water.

Evie took big gulps of air and told herself to hold together for Doug’s sake. Later there would be time for tears. Right now she had to be stronger than she knew how.

‘May I go in?’ she asked the waiting Dr Van Den Bergh, hearing the tremor in her own voice.

‘Yes, but not for long. We’ll need to give him more morphine soon to deal with the pain.’ The doctor stood up, his face showing his exhaustion.

In an odd detachment from the reality of Doug’s condition, she wondered whether the doctor had been on duty throughout the night and how often he had to break news like this to relatives.

‘I’m sorry to place all this on you, Mrs Barrington. But time is critical.’

‘How long do we have?’

The doctor’s voice was steady. ’Once septicaemia sets in he’ll be unlikely to last more than forty-eight hours.’