When Lucy entered the building, the receptionist smiled at her with recognition: “Hello there, nice to see you.”

“Nice to be visiting and not practically living either here or at Harefield.” Lucy returned the smile with sincerity.

She took her time on the stairs, but wasn’t at all breathless when she went into Mr. Denham’s office. They exchanged pleasantries while he listened to her heart and took her blood pressure; then he waved her into a chair with a satisfied grin.

“The last biopsy is just what we want, Lucy. No signs of rejection whatsoever. The drugs are obviously doing their work, and everything else is looking pretty good. It’s still early days, but your incisions are starting to heal—you must be eating your B-rich foods, fish and so on. Your immunologist seems to have the balance of your medication just right. I can see how you look, but how do you feel?”

The exercise had given Lucy a little glow, and she was almost flirtatious in her reply. “As good as I must be looking then. Better than fine. I’m far less dependent on Grace now. No problems with the drugs—no need for any electrolysis yet!—nothing. It’s autumn and I haven’t even had a sore throat.”

Courtney laughed heartily. “Very good. I wish you’d go and lecture some of my other patients about their attitude. Are you sleeping well?”

She nodded.

“No depression to speak of, no feeling of a loss of adrenalin?” Courtney looked mildly surprised.

Lucy shook her head firmly. “No. Food is fine, and I’m cooking again. I have my separate bread board, which amuses Grace but she respects the reasons. Kitchen is dowsed in antibacterial everything. Dietician says she’s happy with me. I get on the exercise bike for a few extra minutes every day. I can do quite a bit of walking now—I walked here today across the river—it’s so much more interesting than hours on the treadmill. Although, I’m glad I didn’t have to get into Harefield.”

She looked to see if he would give her a cautionary glare; but in common with many surgeons who spent hours on their feet, Mr. Denham was physically ultrafit himself; she knew of his reputation for being the best runner representing the hospital in the London Marathon, and that he played tennis on a roster with the medical staff. He obviously approved of her own new dedication to getting stronger, so she continued: “Sleep is no problem at all—I can still feel my heart beating fast, even when I’m resting.”