He woke from sleep suddenly, unsure precisely what had roused him, and noticed immediately that darkness had fallen. His concept of time was shaky. He found himself unable to recall when he had been at the hospital, when he had collected Tristan from the train station, when he had started drinking again. As he moved in the bed, he heard the sudden shattering of glass and, turning on the lamp, realised that the glass he had been using had rolled onto the floor and smashed into several pieces, traces of honey coloured liquid oozing onto the floor. He sat staring at them where they lay for a long time, imagining that those pieces were, in fact, his life now shattered in front of him. Miraculously, he didn't feel as ghastly as he had done after his previous awakening and could only surmise that sleep had claimed him before the full effects of liquor were able to.

As he sat, motionless on the bed, he suddenly became aware of voices from below and he felt his heart sink into his boots. One sounded like Tristan, the other Mrs Hall and, if she had returned, it most likely could only mean one thing.

Lily was dead.

He rose slowly from the bed and moved towards the door, unlocking and pulling it open gently, the voices growing louder and more coherent as a result. The smell of cooking wafted through the air towards him and he felt his stomach growl with a hunger he hadn't realised that he felt. He tried to remember the last time he had eaten but could only recall a smattering of snacks at his ill-fated stag party. Those carefree moments of drunkenness, of happy revelry, of joy seemed so far away now as to be meaningless.

He descended the stairs slowly, the voices halting as he approached the kitchen and he indeed saw Tristan and Mrs Hall within, their gazes swivelling to meet his as he reached the doorway and he found his own dotting between them, wondering who would speak first.

"Siegfried," Tristan greeted him after a long moment. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied hurriedly, quickly realising that it was the wrong answer to give under the circumstances. "That is to say, I don't feel hungover, if that's what you were implying."

"It wasn't, actually."

His brother's tone stung, but he ignored it and looked over at his housekeeper. "Mrs Hall."

"Mr Farnon."

"You've returned."

"I 'ave."

"How…the hospital…" he fought for the right words, "did you…I mean…"

"She's still alive."

The three words brought him up short and he found himself staring at her, momentarily incapable of speech. "She's…but the doctor said…"

"'e were pretty surprised 'imself. Said 'e thought she looked a little better. Told us to go 'ome and get some rest."

"Us?"

"Mr Bailey and meself. Tristan were good enough to drive through and collect us." She smiled at the younger man appreciatively and he couldn't fail to miss the difference in the way she had last looked at him.

"I knocked on your door, but you didn't reply," Tristan said. "I suppose you must have been asleep.

"What time is it?" he glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands suddenly seeming to make no sense.

"It's just gone seven."

"In the morning?"

"Yes, in the morning," Mrs Hall replied. "I've made a bit of breakfast. Sit yourself down." He found himself doing as she asked, his mind racing. Lily…she was still alive. She hadn't succumbed as the doctor feared she would. Did that mean…could it mean…? "I'm going back," she broke into his thoughts again. "Tom Bailey said 'e would pick me up on the way. I were 'oping that you might come with us."

He paused, looking up again to meet her gaze. There was no rancour in it, no malice, simply a faint trace of hope that he would agree, that he would somehow come to the senses that she was convinced he had unwittingly and unwillingly lost. He swallowed hard and then looked at Tristan who, in contrast, wore the expression of someone thoroughly contemptuous of all that had been previously said. "I…"

"Please." She put a plate down in front of him. "She needs you."

"Needs me…" he felt his eyes blur with unshed tears again, the bacon and eggs before him misting into nothingness. "She doesn't need me. All I've done is…is cause this…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake Siegfried!" Tristan exclaimed loudly, causing both he and Mrs Hall to jump. "This isn't you! This…this self-pitying, pathetic…"

"Tristan…"

"No, Mrs H, I'm going to say what I think and he's going to jolly well listen! You are no more the cause of this than you were of Evelyn's death, despite what you might want to think."

"Want to think?" he looked up quickly at his brother. "You believe I want to think this way?"

"Yes, I do." Tristan folded his arms. "You've spent years blaming yourself for what happened to Evelyn, with no real foundation to do so other than your own misplaced guilt over being at war and whatever blame her father erroneously placed at your door! You've wrapped yourself up in those feelings which were precisely to blame for the time you took to allow yourself to love Lily and now, tragedy has stuck again and you're once more allowing yourself to wallow…"

"Allowing myself…"

"Yes, allowing yourself! This is comfortable for you, isn't it? Familiar. It's a feeling you like…"

"How dare you!" he got to his feet and faced his brother, shocked at what he was saying, shaking with anger. "You have no idea what I'm feeling!"

"It's an excuse! An excuse to tell yourself that you were right all along, that everyone who blamed you for Evelyn was right all along. It's a validation for you. A way to…to bury your head in the sand and not have to talk about it. That's what you did after Evelyn died, Siegfried. You never talked about it. You never talked about her!"

"And who would have wanted to listen?! You? You were a child! You're still a child and yet you think yourself qualified to tell me how I'm feeling? You have no idea, none at all. Nobody does! Nobody knows but me how it felt to be told that Evelyn was ill when I was so many thousands of miles away, powerless to do anything! Nobody knows but me how it felt to finally arrive home only to be told that she was dead and buried! Nobody knows…"

"And you like that fact, don't you? It makes you feel so superior to everyone else. Nobody could possibly understand the grief you felt, the guilt you felt, isn't that right?"

"I…"

"And you used it as an excuse to shut yourself away from the world, to become a solitary widower who would never entertain the idea of loving again. And now, you're planning to do exactly the same thing. And you're not even going to try!"

"Try what? What is it that you think I need to try?"

"You need to try and stop blaming yourself for things that are outside of your control. You need to accept that things happen in life and you can't horde all the guilt!" Tristan paused. "You need to try and say goodbye to Lily properly."

He swallowed hard against the lump that had risen in his throat. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to Lily. Didn't want to be there when she passed. If he just stayed in Skeldale House, it would happen, and he would just…just carry on. Go back to the life he led before he met her. It would be so much easier that way than to have to confront the reality of the situation. "I don't want to say goodbye to her."

Tristan paused and then stepped forward, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity rather than anger. "I know. But maybe if you have the chance to say goodbye this time, it might be easier in the long run."

"I reckon…I reckon she were 'olding on for you."

He looked over at Mrs Hall, at the empathy he now saw in her eyes. She was a kind woman, strict in her views, but kind, nevertheless. He knew that whatever shock or outrage she had felt when he had abandoned her at the hospital, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, aware of how painful this all was for him. He thought about Lily, his Lily, hovering between life and death perhaps, as his housekeeper had opined, waiting for him. Almost as though she required his permission. He looked again at Tristan, at the stubborn look on his face and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at how his little brother had stood up to him, had spoken some semblance of sense. He had always been afraid that Tristan would be too foolish, too stupid to ever be able to reason like the adult he was slowly becoming, and yet he had probably talked more knowledgeably in the last few moments than he had in the previous eighteen years.

"All right," he said finally, his voice reedy and shaky to his own ears. "All right, I'll go."

XXXX

The drive back to York was undertaken in relative silence. Lily's father had looked none too enamoured when Mrs Hall had informed him upon his arrival at Skeldale House that Siegfried was going to accompany them back to the hospital. He could tell from the frosty atmosphere that Tom wanted to say something and yet, by some miracle, he held his tongue for the entire journey, focusing only on the road in front of him and making an occasional comment about the weather. He never mentioned his daughter and neither did Siegfried, too afraid of what might be said as a result.

When they finally reached their destination, Tom brought the van to a stop and switched off the engine, turning in his seat to look at him. "You want to go in alone?"

"I…" he paused, panic suddenly flitting through him. The thought of seeing Lily, in whatever condition she might be in, was nerve-wracking enough, but he had anticipated having the welcome presence of both of his companions to soften the blow. He glanced at Mrs Hall, who nodded imperceptibly at him, before he turned back to Tom. "Yes…if you don't mind." The other man didn't reply and so it was left to him to exit the vehicle and walk back through the hospital entrance he had left so hurriedly the day before. As he entered, his eyes strayed to the clock on the wall and saw that it was almost twelve-thirty. Under normal circumstances, they would have been getting married in just over an hour.

Having not thought to ask either Tom or Mrs Hall where Lily was, he was left to ask a passing nurse, who guided him to the ward in question, the silence when he entered almost deafening. There were a number of beds in the room, all with curtains pulled tightly around and a stern-faced matron in the corner who scowled at him as he approached her. "I'm…I'm here to see Lily Bailey."

Her mouth pursed slightly, and she pointed to the bed in the furthest corner. "No nonsense now," she said, and he found himself poised to ask her what on earth she could mean, only to realise that it was likely pointless.

Following her direction, he made his way over to the bed, the curtain pulled around almost seeming to mock him, like a shroud ready for a grave. He paused slightly, taking a deep breath before gently parting it, terrified in case he had picked the wrong bed and might find someone unknown to him entirely within. He recognised her almost immediately, however, the fieriness of her hair stark against the crisp white bedlinen. Slowly, he opened the curtain move fully and stepped inside, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he took in her appearance.

Her face was almost free of blemishes, save for a nasty cut on her cheek and a large bruise on her forehead. Other than that, she was just as he had remembered last seeing her. Her eyes were closed, the lashes lying softly against her skin. It was almost as though she was merely sleeping and would awaken at any point. He moved closer to the bed where an uncomfortable looking chair was positioned and lowered himself into it. Glancing down, he realised that if he just reached out, he could take hold of her hand in his and yet, something stopped him. He had no idea how she would feel. Would her hand be as warm as it ever had been entwined with his own, or would it be cold in the anticipation of death?

It's only her hand, he told himself as he continued to stare at it. It can't hurt you for God's sake. What would Tristan say if he could see you? His brother's opinion of him had never really mattered before, but after all that had been said, in some sense, he didn't want to appear weak before him. Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her skin, his heart racing as he closed himself around it and was gratified by her warmth. Slowly, he brought it up to his mouth and kissed it softly, before opening her palm and laying it on his cheek as she had done so many times in the past. "Lily…" he whispered. "My darling Lily…"

"She's heavily sedated."

The sound of a male voice caused him to start and quickly drop her hand. Looking up, he saw the curtain had been pulled back and Dr Wright stood at the end of the bed, looking at him curiously. "I…"

"We have her on a strong concoction of medication. An attempt to keep her stabilised before surgery."

"Surgery?" he found his voice. "You're…you're going to operate?"

"Yes. Later this afternoon, if she holds on."

"But…but yesterday you said that…that she was going to die."

"Well, medicine isn't infallible. I'm sure you know that, in your own profession." Dr Wright adjusted his glasses and looked at him again. "You left rather abruptly yesterday."

"As did you," he replied without thinking. "After you gave us your pronouncement of her imminent demise."

"Well, I'm a very busy man. But I would have thought you might have stayed, being her betrothed. I suppose her parents were attentive at any rate."

Siegfried elected to ignore the mistake he had made over, what he assumed, was Mrs Hall's identity and indeed the veiled criticism of his own actions and tried to focus on what the other man was saying. "So…you think you can save her?"

"I didn't say that." Dr Wright took off his glasses and rubbed them against his shirt. "But I'd like to try. She's a young woman, otherwise healthy, so her father said. Given her prognosis, it seems an ideal opportunity, though there are no guarantees."

He glanced back at Lily, still motionless on the bed before him. "What will you do?"

"You said that you were a veterinarian."

"Yes, that's right."

"Then your knowledge extends only to the anatomy of animals."

"Well, I…"

"Why don't you leave the treatment of the human being to me Mr…uh…"

"Farnon."

"Mr Farnon. And I'll leave the treatment of animals to you." He looked at him pointedly, and Siegfried couldn't help feeling squashed by the subtle yet clear put-down. "You can stay with her until it's time to operate if you wish. I would still recommend saying your goodbyes, however. As I've said, there are no guarantees."

"I want her to live," he took hold of Lily's hand again, squeezing it gently as though she might respond. "That's all I want."

"Yes, well. We can't always get what we want, Mr Farnon, can we?"

XXXX

"An operation?"

"Yes."

"Well, what sort of operation?"

"He didn't say exactly but…"

"You mean you never asked?"

"Well, I…"

"I thought you were meant to be some sort of bloody surgeon." Tom shook his head and looked at him contemptuously.

"I'm a veterinary surgeon," Siegfried replied, "not a human one."

"Principal must be the same, surely?"

"Well…"

"'ow did she look?" Mrs Hall asked, breaking into the conversation and putting her hand on his arm. "Lily, 'ow did she look?"

"She looked…" he paused, unsure to convey exactly what he had seen. After Dr Wright had swept away, he had sat looking at her for what had seemed like hours but, in reality, had perhaps been only minutes, trying to remember every inflection on her face, every curve of her, every strand of hair, committing it all to memory just in case… "She looked like Lily."

"She's going to live," Tom said, nodding his head emphatically. "They wouldn't be doing this if they didn't think she 'ad a chance. She's going to live."

He wished he could share the other man's optimism and yet in reality, Siegfried couldn't help but feel like the harbinger of doom bringing the bad news. He hadn't really needed to ask Dr Wright what he intended to do, only too well aware of the injuries he had described the day before. What he was intending to carry out was dangerous, invasive, internal surgery. He remembered the horrors he had seen in Belgium. Men, ripped apart, every futile effort being made to save them. Medicine may have moved on since he was on the battlefield, but surely not that much. Perhaps…perhaps they wouldn't even get to that stage. Perhaps, as Mrs Hall had proposed, Lily had only been holding on to life until he was by her side, until he had held her hand. Perhaps now, she would go.

"Aren't you glad now that you came," Mrs Hall said, framing her words not as a question, but as a forgone conclusion, as though he could feel nothing short of delight at seeing Lily as she was, at knowing that she still lingered. He wasn't sure what the appropriate answer was. He knew he should say yes, but it wasn't entirely true. He would have felt better, much better, if he had remained at Skeldale House, waiting for someone else to deliver notice of the inevitable, rather than be faced with witnessing it for himself. Tristan had been right. Burying one's head in the sand could be a very comforting action.

"They said that we could stay, until it was time."

"You intend on 'anging around?" Tom eyed him carefully, his words laced with contempt.

"Yes," he replied, "of course."

"Good. For you and I will need to 'ave words, lad, whatever the outcome may be."

"Indeed," he stepped aside as Tom moved past him back in the direction of his daughter. "Of course."

"You did the right thing," Mrs Hall smiled gently. "You know you did."

"Did I?" He felt his mouth go suddenly dry. "I'm not so sure."

"Tristan were right. If you weren't 'ere, you would regret it. Much as you regret not being there for your first wife."

"And yet, perhaps I was better off, missing it all as it were."

"No," she shook her head and put his hand on his arm. "Life is made up of so many different things some, like this, inexplicable. Your place is 'ere."

"My place…" his eyes smarted again. "My place is by her side, in the church, marrying her. What kind of…of cruel hand is fate playing by doing this, today of all days?" He wanted to cry, wanted to break down and yet he didn't. He remained standing, remained as composed as he could be, though his housekeeper's expression was misted by moisture.

"I wish I knew," she replied, her voice cracking slightly on the words. "I wish I knew."