The Nurse's War. Merryn Allingham

London.’

      ‘And when the war ends, where to?’

      He seemed as eager as she to keep the conversation going, so she obliged. ‘I should be an SRN by then. I think I’d like to specialise in surgical nursing. I actually made it into the theatre the other day. One of the third year nurses had to go home—her mother is extremely ill—and I took her place. Operations are done in the basement now. They’ve moved all the linen, but it’s still quite cramped. I found it so interesting, though, that I forgot how hot and crowded it was.’

      He nodded almost absently and she felt his eyes fix anew on her face. He was thinking and that was dangerous. He was trying to read her, she could see. He hadn’t forgotten the urgent mission she’d come on after all, and she couldn’t imagine why she’d thought he would. He was an intelligence officer, wasn’t he? It was his job to get to the bottom of things. She strained her ears; the all-clear was a long time coming, but it could still save her. If it sounded, she would say a swift goodbye and tell Gerald that she’d met Grayson as he’d asked, and had done her best to persuade, but without success. It was a lie, but then how many times had her husband lied to her?

      She crossed and uncrossed her legs, then glanced down at her watch. The second hand seemed hardly to have moved. Time was slowing down and she felt trapped. The people immediately around her had begun to settle themselves more securely. They must have decided the raid would be protracted or simply one among a series and resigned themselves to spending most of the night away from home. Limbs were spread more widely, shoes removed, coats bunched as pillows or tucked into the body as protection from the ferocious draughts that sailed in from either side of the tunnel.

      Grayson watched these preparations with an indifferent eye, but when he turned back to her, his gaze was sharp and the quiet voice had become unyielding. ‘It’s been good to catch up with each other’s lives, Daisy, but I don’t think you came all the way from the City on your one free day to talk about my work or yours. What’s going on?’

      There was to be no escape then. When she dared look at him, she felt her eyes drawn to his and saw determination there, but kindness too, and something a good deal deeper and warmer. What she had to say would anger him for sure. It might even hurt him and that was the last thing she wanted. But the confusion, the wretchedness she’d felt these past few days had reached a crescendo and, in a moment, it had toppled and burst through the flimsy defence she had built.

      ‘Gerald is alive,’ she blurted out.