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Paul sat very still on the sofa, a bit stunned but immensely gratified by the unexpected turn of events. How far removed from the solitary Christmas Eve he had anticipated! He had forgotten how fulfilling simple physical closeness could be, rendered all the sweeter for being so utterly unforeseen. He let himself sink deep into the pleasure of holding the girl he loved while she slept peacefully in his arms.

There was no light in the room save that cast by the dancing flames from the fire, no sound except the occasional pop and crackle of burning wood and Sam's slow, steady breathing. When he was quite sure she was deeply asleep he shifted slightly on the faded cushions, settling himself more comfortably and pulling her closer against him. Her cheek rested against his chest, pressing against his waistcoat just above his heart. He couldn't resist the temptation to brush a feather-light kiss on her hair, his fingers caressing the tousled red-gold curls, marvelling at their softness. She slumbered on undisturbed, one arm flung limply about his waist.

It couldn't last, this idyllic interlude; he knew that very well. Much as he would love to hold her all night, she was bound to wake up eventually. And he knew what would happen then: she would draw away, flustered, and apologise for her lack of propriety, perhaps making some self-deprecating remark or joke. The precious closeness would end, never to be repeated. The most he could do was cherish this time, however brief it might be. Each passing minute felt like another drop filling his deep well of loneliness, healing the scars left by Jane's rejection, making him whole again.

He never knew, later, how long she slept. An hour? Two? He himself had finally drifted into a blissful sort of daze when the log on the fire eventually burned through and broke in two, falling into the grate in a noisy shower of sparks. He felt her start in his arms; then, with a murmur, she stirred, stretching her body and rubbing her face against his chest, rather like a cat. This is it, he thought regretfully as she slowly raised her head to look into his face. All over.

For several seconds she blinked up at him, disoriented, as though not quite sure where she was. Her hair was tousled and the pattern of his cable-knit waistcoat was imprinted upon her flushed cheek. Then, as she got her bearings, her lips curved in a sweet, pure smile, as if she could imagine no better place to wake up than in his arms. He felt his chest tighten as everything he felt for her welled up anew, demanding acknowledgement. Her face was temptingly close; it would be so very, very easy to kiss her …

After a long, wordless moment her smile faded, her expression modulating into the same ardent intensity he'd glimpsed so briefly earlier in the evening. He had always been able to read her face easily so it would have been impossible now for him to mistake the adoration, the raw longing in her eyes. His heart began to pound almost painfully beneath his ribs. He couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe.

Once again, as it had on that warm August night, instinct took over from his benumbed mind. His hand came up to brush a stray curl back from her face, then caressed her cheek, cupping it tenderly in his work-roughened palm and revelling in the satiny texture. Sam's eyes fluttered closed under his touch with a tiny whimper, her body arching closer; he could feel his remaining resolve crumbling like a sand-castle battered by the incoming tide. He knew, as his lips found hers, that it was impossible for him to hide his true feelings any longer.

Their first kisses all those months ago had been gentle, tentative, an almost hesitant exploration of unknown territory. This time was different. Her lips were sweeter than he remembered, her response surer, more passionate. Her hand slipped behind his neck to pull his mouth down harder on hers, her touch sending exquisite shivers rippling down his spine. All his pent-up longing spilled out like an uncorked bottle of champagne, his lips and hands expressing everything he had been unable to put into words.

Breaking their kiss, he moved to her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, before returning again to her beckoning mouth. Burying a hand in her hair, he cradled her head with his long fingers and abandoned himself to the sensation of her lips moving under his, to the soft sounds of pleasure that escaped her.

If he'd had his way he would never have stopped kissing her, but the need for air eventually forced them apart. He rested his forehead against hers as he fought for breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. "Oh, God, Sam," he gasped, unable to prevent his voice from shaking a little. "I tried so hard not to do that …"

He felt her stiffen in his arms. "But … why?" she breathed, sounding bewildered.

He was nonplussed. Surely she must understand the impossibility of their situation, mustn't she? "You know. This isn't … right."

He couldn't see her face so he had no inkling of the confusion and turmoil incited by his words. He didn't know she was remembering his behaviour that night in Priory Lane, all those months ago. He had immediately apologised, as though he regretted the impulse. Now he had done it again – kissed her like no man had ever done, making her feel things she'd never felt before, leaving her dizzy and defenceless and shaken to her to her very core – only to turn round and dismiss her with the excuse that it "wasn't right".

A long-ago echo reverberated inside her head. How could she ever forget Andrew's crushing words? Sometimes I don't even care if I ever see you again … it's as if you don't exist for me, as if we never met. And though it hadn't happened immediately, in the end he had rejected her, thrown her over for another girl. And now, was it happening again? Was Paul trying to tell her that he could never love her because his heart belonged to someone else?

But who? Was it Edith, that nurse he'd stepped out with for a time? Somehow she doubted it. After all, that relationship had been over for well over a year now, hadn't it? He had never spoken much about the matter, but she had gleaned enough to conclude that he had not been deeply involved with Edith Ashford; that indeed he, not she, had been the one to end things between them. No, as far as she knew Paul had only ever loved one woman: his wife.

Jane, she thought, her heart sinking still further. It always comes back to Jane, doesn't it? The wretched woman had humiliated him, rejected him and deserted him, but perhaps all that hadn't been enough to make him stop loving her. After all, Paul was a deeply loyal and constant man; it was one of the things Sam admired most about him. So why should she assume that his attachment to his wife was a thing of the past, despite her faithlessness, despite the fact that she was two years dead?

All these thoughts flashed through her mind in a few moments. Her stomach twisted. She wanted to weep, to beat at his chest with her fists and scream with hurt and rage, but her pride fought fiercely for control. "Is it … Jane?" she managed at last, her voice husky with suppressed emotion.

The question took him by surprise. Leave it to Sam to strike the nail on the head, he thought ruefully. She was right, of course. In the end, it did all come down to Jane, didn't it? If he'd never been married to her, separated from her, nearly divorced from her, the obstacles to a future with Sam would have been greatly reduced. He sighed. "I suppose you could put it that way."

Her shoulders went still more rigid and she drew back, pulling away from his embrace. Her head bowed so her hair fell forward, obscuring her face. "I see," she said tightly.

"Oh, Sam," he said helplessly, feeling her withdrawal as acutely as a stab wound. "I'm sorry. I can't change the past. Believe me, I would if I could."

"No, no. If that's how it is … if you … still have feelings for her, then … well, there's nothing more to be said, is there?" She was struggling to keep her voice steady, not wanting him to know how much his rejection hurt her. Why, why had she assumed that his advances meant anything more than an expression of his loneliness?

Paul blinked, startled, as the meaning of her words sunk in. "What? Have feelings for … Sam, no!" He took hold of her arms and gave a gentle shake for emphasis. "Listen to me. That's not it at all. Any feelings I had for Jane died years ago. I thought you knew that."

She raised her chin to look at him then, looking both confused and upset, the dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "But …"

"Sam." His voice was low but very firm. "You must understand. I'm not quite sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line I fell in love with you."

There was no mistaking the shock on her face. "You … you did?"

He nodded silently, never taking his eyes off hers, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm in his chest. Come what may, he had spoken the words at last.

"But … if that's how you feel, then why … why can't we …"

"Sam, you know your father wouldn't have approved."

"Why on earth not?"

"Because of … my past. Jane."

"But she left you!"

"Still. I was married before. Separated. Next door to divorced. Hardly what your father would have wanted for you."

"But you never were divorced, were you?"

"No. She died before I had a chance to file. But I would have, you know. I just wanted to be free of her. I know how your father would have felt about that. So how can I ask you to be with me?"

She was quiet for a moment, considering his words. "I don't know exactly what Dad would have said, to be honest. He didn't approve of divorce, of course, but he also didn't believe in punishing the innocent party. He believed that was unChristian. Dad had his own ideas about morality, you know; he didn't just follow the teachings of the Church."

"I know. That's the problem, don't you see? He was so highly principled - "

"Yes, he was. He had his own code. Take his being a teetotaller, for instance – that was his own conviction, nothing to do with the Church. He was always like that. If a parishioner came to him with a moral or spiritual dilemma, he didn't just give a pat answer. He would think and pray until he felt he'd got to the heart of it." Milner nodded; this sounded very much like the Iain Stewart he had known. "As far as your marriage goes, in the eyes of the Church you're a widower, pure and simple, no matter what happened between you. And as for Dad's own scruples – well, I know it would have meant a lot to him that you weren't the one to break your marriage vows. It might have taken him a bit of time to get used to the idea of – of us, but I'm pretty sure he would have accepted it in the end."

A flicker of hope began to glimmer within him like a candle flame in the blackout. "You really think so?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. He always said that a forgiving God grants people a second chance, especially when they're trying to do right. And he liked you, you know. Very much. He always said you were a fine young man."

He reached out to take both her hands in his. "Oh, Sam. You have no idea how much I want to believe that."

"Well, it's true. But mind, even if I'm wrong about Dad, I wouldn't have let that stop me."

The tiny flame of hope seemed to glow more brightly as her words sank in. "Does that mean that you … that you would want … ?"

"Of course," she replied simply. Her face was flushed but her eyes were locked on his grey ones earnestly. "What you said about – about falling in love – well, it's the same for me. I didn't realise how much until I came back to Hastings after the funeral. All the time I was away I couldn't stop thinking about you. You were the only person I wanted to see. But then you were gone for so long. I had thought you might feel the same, but when I never heard from you I wasn't sure what to think … in the end I convinced myself that you didn't care."

"Oh, Sam – " he began, but she squeezed his hands to silence him. Her words spilled out in a rush, as though she were intent on confessing everything now that she had begun.

"No, please let me finish. If there's one thing I've learnt these past few months it's that life is too short to let a chance like this slip by. For heaven's sake, we could be dead tomorrow! One of those frightful V2s could fall on this house and blow us to bits in an instant. As we're both free and we love each other, why shouldn't we grab the chance of a bit of happiness while we can?"

He felt his reservations begin to fade. In the face of such logic, the misgivings that had so troubled him suddenly seemed irrelevant. She was right, of course. The war had cost them both so much – he, his leg and his wife; she, her parents and her home. Why should they deny themselves the opportunity to build a new life together if it was what they both wanted? A throb ofjoy pulsed from his centre down to his fingers and toes, but before he would allow himself to succumb to it, his cautious nature asserted itself. "Is this really what you want, Sam?"

Her face lit up with the quicksilver smile he so loved. "Of course."

"I'm just an ordinary policeman, you know. I'll never be able to give you a life of luxury."

"So? I've never cared about that sort of thing. Anyway, I've always liked policemen."

"And …" he hesitated to bring up this most painful topic, but he knew it had to be said; she deserved to know the worst before committing herself. "… there's my leg. It's not a pretty sight. There's scarring everywhere. It's faded now, but it will always be there. And without this bit of aluminium, I'm helpless. A cripple."

The smile vanished, her mouth falling open with shock. "For God's sake, Paul, do you think I care about your leg? What do you take me for?" It was the first time she'd ever called him by his Christian name; just hearing her utter that single syllable made his heart turn over. Her hand dropped to his left knee, caressing it with a tenderness that moved him unbearably. He could never forget how Jane had avoided even looking at his amputated stump, never mind touching. "All this means to me is that you're brave. You lost your leg fighting for your country - I'm proud of you! And don't ever let me hear you call yourself a cripple again. You're the furthest thing from a cripple I can imagine. I love you, Paul. All of you, just as you are."

The raw sincerity in her eyes was enough to assuage his lingering doubts. "Oh, Sam," he muttered thickly, folding her in his arms. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure …" she whispered before his lips closed on hers.