Sorry that this story has proved upsetting for some. I have to write the stories the way they form in my head. This one surprised even me.

His bedroom was larger than she had expected, but not as ornate. In her imagination, the room had heavy, cream chintz curtains and thick carpet. She thought he would sleep in a four-poster bed, with wispy lace curtains that tumbled around it, and layers of soft cushions. The reality was a stark contrast. The curtains and carpet were the same as that in his loungeroom. His bed was timber but modern and purely functional with crisp, white linen sheets and a thin duvet.

Neither of them rushed as they undressed each other. They caressed and kissed necks, shoulders, and arms. Barbara nuzzled into the downy hair of his chest and inhaled his faint scent of leather and vanilla.

"You've wanted to do that for years, haven't you?"

She looked up and grinned at him. "Mmm, do you know how hard it was seeing you and not being able to touch you?"

"You can touch me now," he replied before his kissed her hard.

They tumbled onto the bed and between kisses managed to shed the rest of their clothes. Tommy rustled around in his bedside table drawer. "I have some condoms in here somewhere, I'm sure."

Barbara put her hand on his shoulder. "Don't."

"But..."

"Would it be such a bad thing?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I'd like that. Very much." He pulled her back onto the bed and kissed her with such intensity that Barbara felt light-headed.

The way Tommy loved her fulfilled every one of her needs and desires. Unable to comprehend that she was in Tommy's bed, she explored his skin as if he might shatter to dust and leave her alone. He was gentle and caring as they slowly made love, using their bodies to express emotions that were too raw for words. In his arms, the past and future were irrelevant. All that mattered was love.

By morning, they were exhausted. They had slept in fits and starts, swinging wildly between savage passion and a desperate need to just hold each other close. If a nagging fear of future loss had not weighed them down, Barbara would have been the happiest and most peaceful she had ever felt.

Tommy's arm rolled her to face him. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot, but he was still her Adonis. He grinned at her, with a mysterious, almost wicked, glint in his eyes.

"What?" she asked as she pushed a floppy lock of hair out of his eye.

"I'm happy. Not just sated, or superficially happy. I feel fulfilled as if I've found something that I never knew was missing that has made me complete. Does that make any sense?"

She kissed him. "Yes, I feel that way too."

"I should have initiated this years ago. Then we may have..."

She pressed her finger to his lips. "No. No regrets. We just live every day..."

"As if it's our last?"

"As it comes. Speaking of which... I probably won't be able to walk when I stand up, but you know that thing you did with your tongue?"

Tommy chuckled as he kissed her neck. "You have the devil in you, Havers. But, the gentleman that I am, I'm happy to oblige."

Barbara insisted on accompanying him to the doctor. Frankly, she did not trust he would go. She knew that he had noticed her observing him closely, looking for symptoms, and he was carefully trying to conceal everything. Tommy let his guard down after breakfast when she caught a reflection in the kitchen tiles of him grimacing and pressing his stomach. She understood his fear but wished he had sought help earlier, and regretted that he could not share his pain with her.

She turned and embraced him. "Don't hide things, Tommy. Not now; not ever."

"I..." He looked down then back up at her. "I love you. You do know that?"

"Yes. I've understood that for a long time." He kissed her forehead. "Get ready. I have something I need to do."

Barbara watched him disappear into his study. She turned to go upstairs when she heard the click of the key in the lock. Racing to the door, she began hammering. "Tommy! Tommy!"

"Barbara?" Tommy opened the door and staggered backwards under her weight as she rushed at him. "What's the matter?"

"I... I thought... when I heard the lock."

Tommy embraced her and kissed her hair as he held her. "No. I wouldn't do that to you, Barbara. Ever. I'm sorry. It's just force of habit."

Aware she was making a fool of herself, Barbara tried to pull away. "Sorry. I..."

"Worry about me? Don't ever be sorry for that."

"I'm fine. I'll be up soon."

Tommy's doctor, in contrast to his solicitor, worked in a modern office on the edge of the city. The large waiting room had a panoramic view of St James's Park and then over the red roofs of London's north. Orange and aqua seat cushions and a Pollockeque painting splodged with vibrant yellows, brilliant blues and sensual reds, broke the sterility of the minimalist white furniture and grey carpet.

Dr Hewitt briefly passed them as he called another patient into his rooms. He was a tall, thirty-something man with an unruly mop of orange hair. A turquoise stethoscope hung around his neck, and beneath his white lab coat, he wore a lime shirt. Barbara's eyes travelled down to the floor, relieved not to see striped socks and oversized shoes. "Is he colour blind?"

Tommy raised one eyebrow. "I don't think so, why?"

She swept her arm around the office. "It's like a someone re-painted the Clockwork Orange set in fluoro."

She jumped when Tommy leant over and kissed her. "Never stop being you, Havers."

Hewitt listened to Tommy outline his symptoms then directed him onto the couch. Bony fingers dug into Tommy's stomach. Barbara winced as Tommy's face contorted. Hewitt listened to his chest, took his blood pressure and returned to his desk and scribbled some notes. He looked grim. Barbara squeezed Tommy's hand tightly.

"You said your father died from pancreatic cancer?"

"Yes, over twenty-five years ago."

"There's no point in beating around the bush, Tommy. I can feel a mass in your upper abdomen. Any number of conditions could cause it, but from its position, I think it is more likely in your stomach than pancreas. But it can be very deceptive. Before I recommend a specialist, I am going to send you for blood tests and an ultrasound to see if we can identify the problem. Then I can order an more detailed MRI or Cat scan."

Feeling a mass was not a good sign. Barbara's heart skipped a few beats until she could control her breathing. Tommy nodded. He had that look he used in interviews when he was trying hard not to let his face display any emotion. Barbara knew him too well. Tommy was frightened. The doctor was wasting his platitudes about not worrying until they knew what was wrong. Barbara was as scared as Tommy.

The doctor made some calls. "My colleague will do the ultrasound now. If you go down three floors, the clinic is on the left. Then come back up here. Try not to worry."

"Now that I've taken this step, I want to know, not wait," Tommy said.

"I understand. The ultrasound will give us more information."

As they walked to the lift, Barbara stroked his arm. "We should both take leave for a couple of weeks until things are sorted."

"Hillier will twig something is going on."

"Let him. The Met is not as important to me as it was 24 hours ago and I don't care if he knows about us."

For the first time since they had left Belgravia, Tommy gave her a genuine smile. "Neither do I."

The silence was oppressive as they drove back to his house. No words could make either of them feel better. The ultrasound showed a large, dense lump on the outside of his stomach. Dr Hewitt had scheduled an MRI for the next morning.

As soon as they were inside his front door, they leapt at each other in a frenzy. Their lovemaking was primal, almost savage, but it served its need. United they felt stronger.

On the cold timber of his hallway, Tommy clutched her in his arms so tightly that she struggled to breathe. "Barbara, it's a lot to ask now, but will you marry me?"

"Yes."

His grip loosened and he began to stroke her back. "We should get a licence as soon as we can."

"Today." She pressed her face against his chest, afraid that looking at him would bring tears.

"Barbara, maybe you need to think about this. Do you still want to marry me if I'm not dying? And if I do, I shouldn't impose..."

Barbara looked up. "Tommy. Stop it. Do you still want me if you're not dying?"

He stroked her hair. "Yes."

"Then just get the damned licence." Her kiss silenced any more objections.

The results of the tests were inconclusive. "There are elevated markers in your blood, but they could indicate infection. There is no mass in your pancreas, but there is a sizeable tumour attached to your stomach. It is impossible to tell without biopsy if it is malignant and that's best done during an operation to remove it. Either way, it will need to be completely excised. I've already contacted a surgeon. He can operate on Thursday."

Tommy shrank into his chair. Barbara's hand tightened around his fingers. "I want to wait."

Barbara sat up and tugged his arm. "No, you can't delay this, Tommy."

"I want to wait until we're married. I don't want to... If anything happens, I want to marry you first. I'm sorry, but we have to postpone the operation for a month."

Dr Hewitt frowned. "That's not advisable, Tommy. I can write a letter so you can get a special licence. I'd like to schedule surgery for Monday."

"Today's Thursday," Barbara said, "that gives us time."

Tommy nodded. "Saturday? We could marry on Saturday if that gives you time."

Barbara found it hard to contain her smile. Even in this whirlwind of circumstances, she was happy. "Yes, Saturday."