“I suppose I’d better go back to my guests,” she said shakily.

The last guest left at two in the morning. Emily flopped down on to the sofa. “My feet are killing me,” she said to Clarissa.

“Mine, too, but it was worth it, wasn’t it? What a lovely party. And Ronald is going to write to me.”

“Ronald?”

“Lieutenant Hutchins I told you about. And we’ll see each other when we’re both safely back home. Isn’t that amazing?”

“I’m so happy for you.” Emily studied her friend’s face, now no longer pale and drawn.

“And what about your Australian?”

“He kissed me. It was wonderful.”

“Emily?” Mrs Bryce came into the room. “It’s time poor Clarissa went to bed. She should be getting some rest before she returns to France. Off with you, young lady.”

“I’ll come up and unhook you,” Emily said.

Emily’s mother restrained her. “Just a minute. I want a word with you.” Her face was like stone. “Those uncouth Australians you invited to the party—what were you thinking, child? And did it not occur to you to ask our permission first?”

“One of those Australians is my friend, Mother. He asked to bring his mates with him. I agree; they were a bit boisterous. I’m sorry.”

“They are quite of the wrong class, Emily. Absolutely unsuitable. I saw you with that boy. Don’t think I didn’t.”

“Mummy, he’s just different, that’s all. His parents own a large property in Australia. Over twenty thousand acres.”

“I understand that cowboys in America also have lots of land, but that doesn’t make them the sort of cultured people one would want to fraternize with. They were boors, Emily. Utterly uncivilized. So you can put any notions in that direction out of your head. Your father and I forbid you to see him again.”

Emily opened her mouth to say she was now twenty-one and could do as she pleased, but thought better of it. This was not the right moment for a big scene. Without another word, she stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

CHAPTER SIX

Clarissa left in the morning, having given Emily details on whom to contact about joining the volunteer nurses brigade. After she had gone, Emily sat at her desk, pen in hand, but she hesitated to write the letter. If she had to go up to London for training, she wouldn’t see Robbie again. It was going to be hard enough to slip away and visit him after last night. She knew that her mother was vindictive and manipulative enough to ask Matron to have him transferred to another facility right away.

Then an idea struck her—wherever he was transferred, she would volunteer as a nurse at that hospital. She didn’t have to go to the front, like Clarissa. Surely nurses were needed at home, too. She had to grin at her own bravado.

Her suspicions proved to be right. A few days after the party, Mrs Bryce took to her bed, claiming complete mental and physical exhaustion. Emily seized the chance to hurry next door to see Robbie. She found him sitting outside in the sunshine amongst a row of bath chairs, his face showing concentration as he tried to weave a raffia mat.

“Look who’s coming, Rob. Mind your manners,” one of the men called. Robbie looked up, then put down the mat and attempted to stand.

“Stupid waste of time,” he said, indicating the project. “What do I need to plait raffia for?”

“I suppose it’s to keep you busy, and out of mischief,” Emily said.

He smiled at her, but there was a guardedness in his smile that she picked up on straight away. “Hold on. Let me get my crutches, and we’ll go for a walk,” he said.

“Will Matron approve?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m not going to be here long anyway.”

“You’re not?” They started to move away from the other men, into the shade along the side of the building.

“No, I’m being transferred in a couple of days,” he said. “To the naval hospital in Plymouth. I’m told it has better opportunities for rehabilitation to get me up and walking again.”

“Oh, I see.” She stood looking at him. “Why the naval hospital when you’re with the air force?”

“We’re not big enough to have a hospital of our own yet, I suppose. And Plymouth is a navy town and the hospital’s supposed to be the best.”

Emily tried not to let her disappointment show. “Well, I suppose that is good news in a way, isn’t it? Better than wasting your time here weaving mats.”

“Yes,” he said, “if I could really believe this was all arranged for my own good.”

“You think my mother might have had something to do with it?” she asked.

He frowned. “You know something about it?”

“No, but I suspected she might do something like this. I got a long lecture after you left about your being unsuitable and that I was forbidden to see you again.”

They passed beyond the building, walking in silence, heading for a rose arbour. When they reached it, they sat on the wooden bench, the heady scent of pink roses all around them.

“She’s right, you know,” he said at last. “I am quite unsuitable. So maybe this is all for the best, Emmy. You shouldn’t fall for me. I’m a bad prospect. My chances of surviving until the end of the war are not good, and if I do, then I’m heading ten thousand miles away from your home. I couldn’t expect you to follow me there, not to lead the sort of life I’m used to. Not so far from your family. It would break their hearts.” He paused. “So maybe it’s good that I go away now and we remember each other fondly. I’ll carry your picture in my head when I’m flying over enemy lines. I won’t ever forget you.”