This was going to be part of "Homecoming," my set of one-shots, but it seemed worth developing into something longer. I hope you agree. Whilst this chapter is rated "T", the following chapter will definitely be an "M". Chapter 2 will be along within 48 hours as I've got two late finishes coming up. Please let me know what you think and I hope you like it. As always, all rights to the "Crimson Field" and its characters are vested in the BBC. XX

CHAPTER 1

She drummed her fingers on the arm of the seemingly ancient wooden settle upon which she was seated, waiting interminably to speak to her new commanding officer. The last one had been awful; pompous, arrogant, misogynistic; theirs had been about as far from a good working relationship as it was possible to be. They had clashed alarmingly. Her ideas for improvements in care were not shared. He'd reminded her too much of that plumped up idiot Purbright, who had been hers and Roland's superior.

"Superior in what precisely?" she thought.

Nothing as far as she could recall. It all seemed so long ago now and yet it was not: Field Hospital 25A. It was a part of her life, which she seldom dwelt upon these days. It was too painful. Her spirits did not know whether to soar or plummet as, in her mind's eye she could visualise the familiar paths, duckboard walkways, whitewashed stones, leaky waterproofed tents and rickety timber offices. One in particular she recalled with a mixture of warmth and pain. So many hours spent in there, working, talking and sitting with him, longing for him to touch her, eyes meeting for just that fraction too long, saying so much yet never acting upon the promise within the gaze.

She had been too frightened of losing his friendship and so she had suppressed her natural inclination to reach out and love. He had been too married to initiate anything.

She felt now that she ought to have been less of a coward, have told him how she felt, but she had not and the moment had passed, leaving her apart from the man she loved until she ached with a longing she knew could never be assuaged, their only contact being by post. Not long after she had returned home, she had stopped answering his letters. The hurt was too great. The news of his life, of which she was no longer a part, cut like a knife; shredding the walls she had erected to protect herself. True, he spoke only of his work and occasionally of his son, he never mentioned his wife, but she was still there in the background; a no doubt elegant, expensive subtext to his life, as described in his lengthy missives.

She had loved receiving his letters at first; they had created a sense of shared connection, but she noticed that gradually her reaction to their delivery had changed from eager anticipation to a deep and debilitating sadness, which permeated every day. It had been easier to stop writing back and yet, still the letters came. She had read them, treasured them, kissed his name at the end of their final pages, wept over them, but never replied. His words had conveyed his deep sense of loss and yet she would not communicate save through her nightly tears shed into an unresponsive pillow, when she had allowed herself to say his name, to tell him she loved him and longed for him, and lay on her back while the hot, salty drops ran into her hair, sliding into her ears as her breast heaved with the force of the emotional storm assaulting her. Occasionally, when the longing grew too great, she would let her hands stroke her body and imagine it was him, seeing his face moving to claim her mouth, crying out as the mere thought of his hands on her body was sufficient to push her over the edge.

Her only respite had been work; as ever her faithful companion and the source of the only solace she knew in those months after repatriation. She had made a few new contacts and was familiar with the routines, which offered some comfort and stability as she dealt with the fragmentation of her emotional life. Yet even that was now denied her. A telegram to attend for duty at the West Middlesex Hospital had led to her present situation. She shifted on the unrelentingly hard seat, which creaked alarmingly as she moved, despite her increasingly light weight. Her appetite had never been good, but now she forced the food down, knowing that if she did not do so, she would become ill.

"Oh, come on, you in there. I need to meet my nurses," she inwardly groaned impatiently at the firmly shut door.

She shut the lid on the Pandora's Box of emotions she had unwittingly re-opened as the office door suddenly opened and a young lieutenant emerged.

"Lieutenant Hall-Green, Matron. Sorry to have kept you waiting. He'll see you now. Do go in."

She stood and without a second's hesitation entered the office, looking down to close the door behind her as she did so.

"Matron Carter reporting as requested, Sir," she said, as she struggled with a stiff and troublesome door lock.

"Grace."

The door snapped shut as her eyes shot up and her stomach lurched, turning cartwheels. The warmth and sincerity of the voice was exactly as she recalled it.

"Colonel Brett!"

She was rooted to the spot, her mind a whirl of unresolved emotions.

"Roland, please Grace. I think we are past addressing one another by our rank," he said.

She hesitated, "…Roland, what a wonderful surprise," she could not suppress her smile. "I had no idea. What brings you here?"

"This is my hospital, Grace," his smile matched hers, but there was a sadness behind his eyes.

"I didn't know. What a strange coincidence."

"Not really."

"What do you mean?"

"It would be a coincidence if I hadn't asked for you to be transferred here from your last posting."

"You asked for me? Why?"

"Because I was concerned about your welfare, Grace. I hadn't heard from you in months and I didn't know why. I still don't, but at least I can ask you now."

Her eyes could no longer meet his.

"Please sit down," he said, gesturing to one of two seats by the desk.

She did as he had requested, settling herself slowly and carefully, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes fixed on the blotter on the tooled leather inset surface. Her mind, by contrast to her calm exterior, was a maelstrom, as powerful emotions fought each other for supremacy and love seemed to be winning. She did not want to look at him for fear her face would betray her feelings and that would never do. He was beyond her reach and likely always would be. There was no point in thinking otherwise. That way lay the distinct prospect of running aground on the rocks of emotional shipwreck. Her throat felt constricted as she considered the turmoil which, during her first months back in England, had accompanied her everywhere; the pain of a lost and unrequited love.

"Grace, I wrote to you. Did you not receive my letters?" he asked as he sat before her.

She could not speak. Every nerve ending in her body cried out as he reached for her hand and said,

"Answer me, please."

"I did, Roland." Her answer was barely above a whisper.

"But you never replied."

"No." Again, a whisper.

"For goodness sake, why not?"

"It's hard to…"

"Grace, this is me. I thought we were friends and yet you ignored me." There was real pain in his voice and it flayed her.

"I didn't know what to say. I wasn't ignoring you. I read every word."

"And?"

She was reeling.

"And it hurt, Roland."

Confusedly he asked, "What do you mean? There was nothing hurtful. All I told you about was what I was doing."

Her gaze was pure anguish as she replied, "That's the point; it was about your life and I'm not a part of it anymore. That's why it hurt."

"Did it never cross your mind that I might feel the same and that by telling you about my life, somehow it made you part of it?"

"Why would I think that? How could I even consider that? You never gave me any inkling of your feelings. Sometimes you would look at me with such warmth and I wondered if you cared, but there was nothing beyond that. Besides that, you're married, Roland. How can I be a meaningful part of your life now we're back home?" She looked at him with eyes betraying her inner pain.

"Touché. Well I'm telling you now, Grace, that you are the most meaningful part of all."

"How so? What is it that you're telling me, Roland?"

"That my life is a damned mess; that I can't get through a single day without you, God in heaven knows that I've tried, for my sake, for my boy's sake, but I'm lost without you." His voice was impassioned as he revealed his own inner struggle.

"Roland, you never said these things before. What is it that you truly feel?"

"Grace, do I have to spell that out for you as well?"

She nodded, unable to say more. He turned his eyes fully on her face, capturing her gaze as he said with searing honesty,

"Grace Carter, you are the love of my life and I am only happy when I'm with you. That is why you are here and that is what I truly feel."

She said nothing in response, but slowly slid to the floor to kneel before his chair, reaching up to take his face between her hands, closing the distance between them, and telling him everything she felt through the gentle movement of her mouth against his. She pulled away slightly, looking at him and then found herself hauled to her feet as he lifted her into his embrace and kissed her with a passionate intensity she had only ever imagined before. All the longing she felt was in her body as she pressed herself tightly against him, not wanting to break her mouth from his, lest he come to his senses, change his mind and this joy be short-lived. Her fears were unfounded as, with difficulty, he broke their kiss and said,

"Oh, Grace, now do you believe how much I love you?"

Finally, she spoke, "Yes; I love you, too, Roland; God forgive me, but I love you, how I love you." She buried her face against the warmth of his throat and kissed it.

"You stupid girl, how could you leave me in a state of not knowing how you were? It broke me, Grace."

"I realised from your letters that you were worried, but I thought you would sooner forget me if I didn't write; that you would think I wasn't worth your efforts."

"Grace Carter, how could you think I would ever give you up?"

"Because I didn't know what you felt, nor that you thought of me as yours. I thought your home life would eventually consume your time and attention, not some nurse you had once known and who seemed to have moved on."

He held her, his hands not quite knowing where to stay so moving constantly against the material of her uniform, as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and seared kisses along her throat.

"You were never 'some nurse'. I've always loved you. I wanted to tell you, but I was too cowardly."

"Why?" her mouth moved along his jawline.

"What can I give you, Grace, except what you see before you? A sad, middle aged man, who had never known what love was until his heart was captured by a woman of such inner and outer beauty that it left him breathless. A woman whose name encapsulated everything he thought of her. A woman he knew he would die for, and whom he hoped loved him, but who would have to sacrifice her reputation and career if he asked her to be his lover. A woman whom he could not marry without exposing her to the salaciousness of the divorce courts, but who was his wife in every way that mattered. I wanted to protect you from all that, from my overwhelming desire for you, and yet, I am a coward, because here I am confessing to the very feelings which could wreak ruin upon your reputation and placing you in a position where you have now owned them and let them take possession of your heart, too. How am I good for you, Grace?"

His hands moved gently, stroking and caressing her face as he spoke, adding a further layer of expression to his words.

"You're good for me because I love you and I always have and if you had given me the slightest encouragement I would have told you so. Life without you is no life; it is unbearable torture. Reputation and career mean nothing without the sad middle aged man I love, who gives me everything I need to live the life I want at his side, for better or worse."

The reality of the love she felt for him made her voice strong. Her mouth flew to his and she stopped it with kisses. He held her as if she might slip his grasp and disappear like some night fey in the mists, which rise at dawn. His hands were on her hair, fingers embedding themselves deep into the silky weight of it.

"I want you, Grace, but I can only have you if you accept that I am still married, albeit unhappily, and that for now, we can only live together as lovers and not as man and wife in the eyes of the law."

"I would accept you on any terms. I have loved you for years," her response was gentle, but made with conviction.

"Grace, I'll divorce, I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

"And if you can't divorce, I'll be yours anyway."

His voice shook with the deep love he felt for her, "I'll live with you Grace, I want nothing and no one but you. We shall be ostracised by polite society, you know."

Smiling, she ran her fingertips along his jawline and kissed him, saying, "I don't care for polite society and I'm hardly a social butterfly who might be bothered by such things. And what of you? You have more to lose than I, who has everything to gain."

"I lose nothing I want. You're all I want and ever have done."

"I'm yours to have." She rested cradled in his arms.

"Grace, I rent a house not far from here in the grounds of Syon Park. It's not much to speak of, but will you make a home with me there?"

"Yes, my love."

He kissed her again. "Pack your things and be ready this evening by 6pm. Wait for me by the entrance to All Saints churchyard at the back of the hospital. I'll collect you and we can drive there."

"I'll be there. I only have one case. Most of my things are still at my home."

"We can get them soon and decide what we do with your house when we're settled."

She smiled at him.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I was just thinking that this is like a dream. A few minutes ago, I was lonely and dejected and yet now, my life has blossomed and here we are discussing living together."

"And tonight…."

"Tonight will be magical."

"Be on time; I've waited for so long."

"I was planning on being early."

She touched his chin with her fingertip and he pressed his hips hard against hers in response. She gasped as she felt his arousal and became aware of the heat she had generated in him.

"Roland," her voice trailed off as he bent his head and passionately kissed her.

"Let me help you with your hair, sweetheart. It's coming unpinned at the back."

She turned and he re-pinned the errant tendrils into their place at the nape of her neck.

"You're good at that," she said.

"I've imagined doing it so many times, Grace."

"And have you imagined anything else?" her voice was husky betraying her growing sense of anticipation.

"Indeed," he breathed into her ear as his tongue traced the edge of the lobe making her shiver. "I want you in my life, in my arms and tonight in my bed, Grace."

Her insides seemed to turn to liquid and the thrill of pleasure which ran along her caused her to pulse with desire. She floated his name on her breath as she held on to him for support so great was her need for him.

"Tonight, my darling, you'll be mine. Go now, before tongues wag, and wait for me."

She left the office, looking over her shoulder at the man, who would shortly be her lover in the fullest sense of the word. Her heart thudded with excitement and she fought to retain her composure as she went about her duties for the rest of the day before returning to her room in the nurses' quarters and throwing her suitcase onto the bed she would never use to pack away her few personal possessions. Quietly, she let herself out of the room, and made her way to the door at the rear of the building. She emerged under a wrought iron staircase, which curled its way between the three floors, and swiftly exited the hospital grounds, turning right towards the church. At 6pm he found her, her portmanteau and case packed and lined up beside her as she waited for him, slightly away from the roadside to avoid inquisitive glances. Her heart beat so hard that she could feel it in her throat, causing her voice to flutter. He jumped down from the car and placed her luggage in the back before helping her into the passenger seat beside him.

"Ready?" he said, tightening his grip on her hand.

"Always," she replied, returning the pressure.