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    ‘Where’s your luggage, miss?’ enquired the woman at the desk, as Rose gazed round the gloomy lobby.
    ‘It – it’s coming later.’ Sick with nerves and faint from lack of food, Rose was sure that any minute Sir Gerard would burst out of a hidden cupboard, then drag her back to Dorset in disgrace. ‘M-may I see my room?’
    ‘This is a clean, respectable establishment, Miss – Jackson.’ Eyeing Rose suspiciously, the woman pursed her lips. ‘I don’t make no assumptions, miss, so please don’t be offended. But people without luggage–’
    ‘I was in a hurry.’ Rose prayed for inspiration and it came. ‘My fiancé had to join his unit with hardly any notice. I’d like to see him off.’
    ‘My dear, of course you would.’ The woman looked ashamed. ‘But you understand we must be careful.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    Rose didn’t know what she meant, but on that cold October evening she was far too tired and too appalled by what she’d done to think of anything but sleep. She took her key, then followed a grinning boot boy up the dark and dusty stairs.
    Alex, Freddie Lomax and the remains of their platoons crouched in a Belgian cellar, trying to forget they were afraid and to ignore the fearful racket going on outside.
    As another shell exploded, Alex flinched and dug his dirty nails into the palms of both his hands. Terrified of letting anyone see that he was scared, he told himself the time to worry was when the barrage stopped, because this meant a new attack would soon be under way.
    The battles of September and October had been fought and sometimes won. The British army had been decimated, but in spite of this the Germans had been pushed back to the Aisne. The Belgian army had then dug in north of Ypres, so for the time being the Channel ports were safe – and so was England.
    Alex’s own battalion was occupying a devastated village, holding it against the German troops who were a mere hundred yards away. In the course of a night spent on patrol, he’d killed a German sentry, and was still feeling nauseous at the memory of this. He’d never forget the sucking, gurgling sound the wound had made as he’d jerked his bayonet out of the twitching body.
    Of course, he had as good as killed before – he’d lobbed grenades, he’d shot at German snipers and he’d fired at enemy emplacements. But he still couldn’t quite believe he’d actually stuck a weapon into another human being.
    Later, he and Freddie snatched some sleep, forced down a disgusting meal of turnips and boiled horse, then started to play cards.
    Freddie dealt again, then he and Alex and a couple of NCOs began a game of whist. ‘Denham, you’re not concentrating, damn you.’ Putting down his three of clubs, Freddie trumped Alex’s ace of spades. ‘You’re thinking about the sergeant’s lovely daughter.’
    ‘Actually, Lomax, I was wondering when we’ll get our orders to pull out, and how we’ll get our casualties away.’ Alex stared around the gloomy cellar, in which the battered remnants of the company slouched or lay.
    Their captain had been killed the previous night, and lay unburied in the mud outside. They’d have to wait until it was dark before they had a chance to bring him in. Twenty or maybe thirty of the men were badly wounded, but it wasn’t possible to get them to an aid post, or for any doctor to get out to them.
    At first light that morning, the Germans had brought up heavy guns and begun to pound the village with artillery. The Royal Dorsets trying to defend it had only their rifles and a few grenades.
    ‘We’ll get our orders soon enough,’ said Freddie grimly, as he dealt again, then cut for trumps. Alex saw the tremor in Freddie’s hands, but it was no comfort to know the only other officer left alive was just as scared as him. ‘Unless those st-stinking bastards back at base decide to leave us to our fate.’
    ‘Captain Tucker said he was expecting a battalion of Black Watch.’
    ‘As