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She knocked at what was now the surgery door and David Cooper's voice called, "Come in."

"Oh, it's you. Grace. No more out there?"

"No."

"This snow doesn't seem to have frozen the 'flu. If you ask me it's snowing germs. The whole Barker family are down now, mother and five kids."

Grace put the tray down on the end of his desk. David talked a lot of shop these days, in fact he talked nothing else. It was over five months since the raid, but he was still fighting off the memory with work and talk of work.

"Drink that up while it's hot, David."

"Thanks, Grace.... Grace ... He was writing something rapidly on a prescription block and did not look up at her as he went on, his voice a low mumble now, " Don't you think we'd better have a talk? "

She had been on the point of turning away but she stopped and looked down on his bent head. His hair was thin on the top, the rest was pepper-and-salt and had a grizzled look. She sat slowly down in the patients' chair to the right of, him.

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" He still continued writing.

"Yes."

"I remember asking you this question once before ... does Donald know?"

"No."

"Why haven't you told him?"

There was a long pause, and then she said, "Because it isn't his."

His eyes darted to her. Her words were like a jab in the arm penetrating his inner apathy.

"What are you saying?"

Her eyes dropped from his and she joined her hands together and pressed them tightly in her lap.

"Just that. Donald isn't capable of giving any woman a child."

David bent forward; his hands went out and took hers from her lap, and as he gripped them he asked, "Stephen?"

"No ... and yet." She shook her head violently.

"Oh, I don't know."

Then again she said, "No. No, he couldn't be."

He stared at her blankly. So this was it. He had always known it really . nerves didn't go to pieces like hers had done for nothing.

Yet when Stephen had come he had thought he must have been wrong. Poor girl. Poor Grace.

"Can you tell me who it is ... ?

Parley? "

Her head swung up.

"Bertrand Parley?" She smiled sadly.

"Oh, David, not you too."

The doctor moved his head ruefully.

"Well, I can't think of anyone else and I knew he was gone on you. You only had to look at him when you were about."

"It should be funny, but it isn't.... Bertrand Parley." She closed her eyes for a moment, then, looking at him again, she said rapidly,

"Donald thought there was some thing between us and on the night of the raid he locked me in the cellar. He thought I'd made arrangements to meet Bertrand. When the lights went out I was in the dark, the black dark." She said slowly now, "He had gone off with the matches.. You know his habit. Oh, David, it was terrible.... Oh, I know, David, it was nothing to what happened in the village. I know what I experienced was nothing compared with that, I know, I know she kept moving her head 'but it had a funny effect on me, David.... David, I'm no longer nice inside. I no longer like myself, if you know what I mean."

She moved her hands within his.

"I find I'm swearing all the time inside, inside my head. I started to swear at Donald down there in the dark that night, and now sometimes for hours on end I'm swearing, and it frightens me, David."

"Now, now." He patted her hand.

"Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about, not really, especially now that you've talked of it. That's the main thing to do, talk about it, don't bury it. Look, I'll give you a tip. When the opportunity arises swear out loud that's the best way to stop the underground stuff." He squeezed her hand and smiled faintly as he said, "I do quite a bit of swearing inside too. We must get together one night and have a swearing match, eh?"

He was comforting, so comforting. He was looking at her now quietly, waiting for her to go on, tell him who the child's father was. She started by saying, "I suppose you think I'm dreadful...."

"Now, my dear Grace, don't be silly. I'm only sorry, sorry to the heart for you. And, strangely enough, sorry for him, too ... Donald, I mean.... Yes. Yes, I am." He nodded his head.

"You know, I can confess to you now, I've never cared much for him, there's always been a something. I suppose my subconscious knew all the time about his trouble, and it is trouble, you know? It's an illness. He's not the only one, there are thousands like him, you'd be surprised. He should have gone and got advice."

She actually laughed at this.

"Advice ... I You don't know Donald.

He's so eaten up with pride he'd rather die

than admit he's in the wrong about anything. So he tries never to do anything wrong. " She made a harsh sound in her throat.

"He's a vicar and he lives by the book ... and ... oh God...." She shook her head, then ended abruptly, "Andrew Maclntyre is the father of my children."

His gaze was holding hers and she couldn't help but feel a little hurt when she saw the look of blank amazement take up his whole expression.

"Andrew Maclntyre? Grace!"

"Oh, David, don't be shocked. Andrew is a fine man."

"Yes, yes, I have a high opinion of Andrew, but ... " Yes, I know what you are thinking: he's a farm worker. But he's not just a farm-worker, he's a very intelligent man, a good man. "

David blinked. He was bewildered.

"Does Donald know?"

"No, but he soon will. I managed to get over Stephen but not this one."

"How far are you gone?"

"Four months."

"Have you any idea how he'll take it?"

"Yes, he'll forgive me and make me promise to give up ... sinning.

He'll also suspect about Stephen. "

"It's cruel, you know, Grace."

"Yes, I suppose it is." She paused a moment and then continued, "Yes, I suppose it is. Stephen's become his private world."

"When are you going to tell him?"

"Not until I must." Quickly now she covered her eyes with her hand and murmured, "I want to go away. Oh, David, I want to go away. I want to take Stephen and go right away."

"You can't do that. You mustn't do that."

"You're just thinking of him now, aren't you?"

"Yes, and no. I'm sorry for him. Grace. A big, bouncing individual, so maimed ... don't ever think of taking the child from him, don't.

Leave him his illusions."

She got slowly and steadily to her feet.

"Your coffee's got cold, David."

His hand went out towards the cup, and she said, "Leave it, I'll get you some fresh."

There were no more words between them and she went out of the surgery.

It was that same night when the children had been put to bed and David had gone out to answer a call that Donald stood with his back to the blazing fire, and, after rocking backwards and forwards on his toes for a moment, looked down at his shoes and said quietly, "Haven't you got something to tell me, Grace?"

Her body actually jerked upwards in the chair, and when she turned her face side wards and looked at him she realised with a shock that he was smiling and her thoughts began to spiral in her mind, the words knocking against each other, pushing for place. No! No! God! It's impossible. He's not such a fool. A bloody fool! Don't swear. Only a stupid fool would . A stupid . Don't swear, I tell you . Be quiet and think. He thinks . he thinks that night . the night of the raid.

For more reasons than one she hated to look back to the night of the raid. It was over five months since that night and she was only four months pregnant. Had it been the other way about there would have been no risk, but could she get away with being four, five, or more weeks overdue? She must talk to David.

In the meantime she bowed her head under Donald's famous glance and tried to stop the spate of swear words that were now skating about in her brain.

It was a bright day in April, 1943, when Aggie let herself in the front door of her house. She was cold and tired, and all she wanted was to get a hot drink and her feet up for a while, but she had hardly closed the door behind her when the telephone bell rang in the office.

That would be Susie to see if she was still alive. If a bomb dropped in Wallsend Susie expected a splinter to hover over Newcastle to pick her out. Susie never gave her number or said the usual "Hello', she always started with, " You all right, Aggie? " and seemed very surprised when she learned that Aggie was all right.

Aggie lifted the phone.

"Yes ... yes, this is Temple 3567."

"Hold the line."

She waited, and then at the sound of a voice coming over the wire her eyes widened and she said, "Oh, hello, Andrew."

"Listen, Aunt Aggie, I haven't got a minute." He called her Aunt Aggie now and she liked it.

"Tell Grace I'll be passing through any minute, perhaps tonight or tomorrow at the latest, and if luck holds we'll make a stop. Tell her that, will you?"

"Yes, Andrew.. Hello...! Are you there? Andrew.... Andrew!"

He had rung off. Well, that was short and sweet, anyway. Perhaps that meant that he shouldn't have been on the phone at all. They were coming down from Scotland and going some place, the south likely; there was something in the air, in the air of the whole country, a sort of waiting.

Churchill had something up his sleeve. Well, she'd better get on to Grace. She didn't fancy having to be the bearer of this message it was weeks now since Grace and Andrew had seen each other, he hadn't even been able to get a forty-eight-hour pass. She picked up the receiver and gave Grace's number, and when the thick voice of Peggy Mather came on the phone asking, "Who is it?" she said brusquely, "Tell Mrs.

Rouse it's her aunt."

"She's bathing the baby, she's busy."

"Well, be kind enough to tell her that I want to speak to her."

That fat, sullen piece. Aggie didn't like Peggy Mather, and she knew that Peggy Mather returned these sentiments. She stood waiting, moving from one cold foot to the other. Poor Grace, having to put up with that surly creature all day! Her on the one hand and the Laughing Cavalier on the other. Oh, that man got her goat completely.

What with his smarmy ways and that smile of his, and always playing the big daddy-boy. Eeh! It was fantastic when she thought of it.

Those two children that he held up as his own private achievement. He almost put placards on them. and neither of the baims his. It was it was fantastic. She didn't know how Grace stuck him, stuck the whole set-up. Something would have to be done. When Andrew came out of the army there would have to be a showdown. She picked up a pencil and started doodling on a pad. Would he come in with her?

Would he make an estate agent! Well, he would have to have a job of some sort, something different from farm-work too, something with money in it. and prospects, because he wouldn't live on Grace, that was a sure thing, and very much to his credit that was. She liked Andrew, she did. She wished things had been different. There was a strength about him that was older than his years. He was like a .

"Oh, hello there. Grace."

"Hello, Aunt Aggie. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm all right. You sound just like your Aunt Susie, that's how she starts." She heard Grace laughing, and then she asked quietly,

"You alone?"

"Yes."

"I had a phone message, somebody will be passing through at any time.

With luck they'll stop in the village. Could be tonight or tomorrow, he doesn't know. "

There was silence, and Aggie said, "Hello, are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here, Aunt Aggie. When did you get to know?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Thanks, Aunt Aggie, thanks."

"Well, I'll be off now. I've just got in and I'm perished both inside and out; the wind's enough to cut you in two. How is it there?"

"Oh, it's a lovely day, sunny, even warm."

"You're lucky. Goodbye, my dear."

"Goodbye, Aunt Aggie, and thanks ... thanks...."

Grace put the receiver down and, going slowly into the drawing-room, stared out into the garden to where Donald was hoeing between slightly erratic rows of vegetables. There was no semblance of Willow Lea's beautiful garden left. All the beds now had been utilised for food, and Donald had learned with backbreaking patience the art of growing it. Even so, his labours would have shown very little result if it had not been for his power of organisation which roped in the help of all ages at the weekends.

She walked nearer to the window, everything suddenly racing inside of her. She must get the children in and bathed. He might be here tonight, Andrew might be through tonight. But how would she know?

Would he come here openly? Why not, why not? If he didn't find her at their new rendezvous he would come here. He would see her. Whatever happened he would see her. Oh, Andrew . Andrew.

Her eyes were tired straining at the mental image of him. She often thought that if anything happened to him she would have no picture of him, only that which was in her mind. And yet that wasn't so. She just had to look at Beatrice to see him. Beatrice had his eyes and his straight, strong nose. The nose mightn't make for beauty in her later on but it would give her character. Beatrice would grow up like Andrew, but Stephen wouldn't. She looked to where Stephen was now working side by side with Donald and Veronica Cooper. He had something of Andrew's extreme thinness and sometimes she imagined she saw Andrew's profile when the child looked upwards, but there the resemblance ceased.

It was always painful for her to witness the child's adoration of Donald. Whatever Donald did was the pattern which the boy set himself out to copy. He had even managed to imitate the inflection of Donald's voice.

Over the last four years Grace had watched, often with boiling anger, Donald maneuvering for first place in the child's affection. And the same process was being enacted with Beatrice. She should be glad about this, she sometimes thought, but she wasn't. Beatrice had been born about ten days before time, which made her over three weeks late in Donald's reckoning. At one period she could almost see him checking up in his mind, going back to a particular Saturday when he had seen her and Bertrand Parley getting off the Newcastle bus. They had been laughing, and when Bertrand went to help her off the step she had slipped and nearly fell. Donald had