Sorry I've been so quiet lately, I had rotten stinking exams.
Late 1918
It took him a moment, when he answered "Come in!" to the quiet knock at his door, to recognise just who it was standing there before him. He would have known her anywhere, but still, he thought, taken aback by his momentary mental lag, the times he had seen Grace Carter in civilian clothes could probably have been counted on one hand. She was always in uniform, always pristinely, devoted to her cause at all hours of the day.
And now she was being sent home. She had volunteered to help, of course, at one of the convalescent hospitals at home; but still she had been told that this place, the place she had worked her own health away for over four long years, no longer had a use for and as a lady she would be among the first to leave. And she was going. He imagined he would be sent home soon, they would get the injured men back as soon as possible and there was no use in doing that if the medics were not soon to follow. But it would not be the same here without her.
His life, as a whole, would not be the same without her.
He rose to his feet, stepping out from behind his desk to meet her.
"So you're nearly off, then?" he asked.
"Yes," she nodded, "The convoy will be leaving soon."
Her hand rested absent-mindedly on the back of the other chair by his desk, which she had occupied many times, by day and by evening.
How was it, after imparting some of the most personal, the most intimate facts of his life to her, that now faced with her departure he could not think of what to say?
"You will take care, won't you?" he asked her.
How was he supposed to return to his old life after knowing her?
She smiled slightly. That smile that was beautiful in any measure she chose to impart.
"Have you ever known me not to?" she asked in return.
"Of others, no," he admitted, "I meant of yourself," he told her pointedly.
She was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," she said at last, "Of course."
She had changed his life. Changed the way he thought of people. While his faith in humanity had almost capitulated, the fact of her had kept it level. It the end, his faith in the human race had simply become synonymous with his faith in her. She had been his light in the dark.
They were both silent. It seemed that she was at just as much of a loss for words as he was.
"You will write?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied firmly, "I have your address."
Her hand touched the breast pocket of her coat, and his heart felt a flutter, realising that that was where she was keeping the piece of paper where he had written the address of his family home. Her face flushed a little as his eyes flitted from her hand to her face.
Her lips parted a little at first, but no sound came out.
"Roland-..."
"Grace, I don't want you to go."
He took a step forward as the words tumbled from his mouth, standing close to her, his heart hammering in his throat.
She looked at him in surprise.
"I know I can't ask you to stay for me, I don't even know if you'd be allowed to, but I have to tell you. I can't face the thought of life without you."
It was all coming out, things he hadn't even articulated to himself, because he did not dare to.
"Grace, I've fallen madly in love with you. Don't go. Please."
She was staring into his eyes. His hands had grasped her, or hers had grasped his, neither knew, but they were both trembling with the shock of what he'd just said and clinging on for support.
"What about your wife?" she asked him.
"My marriage is a sham," he told her, "You must know that."
"I thought," she admitted, "I didn't like to ask."
"It's you I love, Grace," he told her, raising her hands to his mouth, kissing them both, "You, you, you. Only you. I can't face losing you."
"If you can't, then you don't have to."
He was so overcome by her words, by the assurance she offered him, that he did not pause to question it, he leant in and kissed her lips. And she did not stop him, more than that, she kissed him in return- her hand resting on his chest and then wrapping around his shoulders. They broke apart breathlessly, her forehead resting against his, his hands holding tightly onto her waist.
"Roland, what are you saying?" she asked him.
He took a breath.
"If you wanted, I would marry you. I would leave my wife and live with you. Anything. I will do anything for you once we're home. I've always love you, Grace. It's always been you."
"Why are you telling me this now?" she asked.
"I think it took the threat of losing you to make me see it," he told her, "To make me brave enough to say something."
"Why should you need to be brave?" she asked him softly, brushing her hand along his cheek, "Isn't it obvious that I'm madly in love with you as well? I've love you for years, Roland."
"Oh Grace," he breathed, brushing his lips slowly against hers again.
"I'll stay with you," she whispered between kisses, her eyes fluttering closed, "For as long as you want me."
"Forever," he replied, "We will find a way."
end.
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