He was not expecting the tap on the door, and wondered as he made his way to answer it who would possibly be calling at this time. Usually, if there was some urgent business at the hospital, there would be a lot more commotion from the other side of the door, but it was relatively silent. The fleeting thought that he was about to be burgled crossed his mind. He reminded himself not to be ridiculous, and that any serious burglar would surely go for one of the slightly grander looking houses than his own. Nevertheless, he opened the door cautiously.

"Isobel!" he half-exclaimed; relieved, surprised, delighted all at once to see her.

Wrapped up in her big coat, she crossed the threshold quickly as he stepped back and shut the door behind her. He noticed that she had her little carrying case in her hand.

"Matthew's been asked for dinner at the big house," she informed him happily, "It's the first chance I've had to get away unnoticed. You did say you didn't mind, any evening that I was free..."

Swiftly, he kissed her forehead and helped her take her coat off.

"I'm glad to see you as well," he told her, reading between the lines of what she was trying to say to him. He was getting increasingly good at that. "We really need to work out some sort of arrangement. If you're willing, that is."

She laughed as she made her way through into the sitting room.

"Goodness, yes, I'm willing," she replied, "But Richard, you really must stop this waiting to ask me every time you want to as much as hold my hand. Believe it or not, I find it quite terrifying to be in charge absolutely all of the time."

Sitting down on the settee beside her, he tilted his head at her slightly, indicating that, yes, he did find that quite difficult to believe. She had the grace to blush a little bit, and he smiled fondly at her.

"Have you eaten?" he asked her.

"Yes, Molesley saw that I was well fed before he let me out of his sight."

He raised his eyebrows a little further at her.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Richard. Somehow I don't think Molesley thinks of me in that way."

He reached forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her closer to him. Her head drooped onto his chest with a pleasant weight.

"Well, he's a damn fool then," he told her bluntly, burying his face in her, smelling the lavender oil that she dabbed behind her ears, "I've missed you," he admitted a moment later, "It feels so good to have you next to me."

He felt her hand resting against his shirt front.

"I know," she replied softly, "And it's barely been a week. You're right, we do need to sort something out. I need to see you, properly, more often than this."

"We'll find something," he assured her, "I promise you that."

They half lay, slumped against the back of the settee for a while, basking in the relief of being back together after an awkward and frustrating week of relative separation.

After a while, she spoke what had been pressing in her mind increasingly during the past few days.

"Richard, I've never felt like this before. I've never absolutely had to be with someone. I mean it," she spoke softly, almost with guilt, he thought, looking down at his chest, "I've never lain in bed at night and thought of nothing but them. Not even... not even with Reginald," There was a pause for a moment, "Is that so very wrong of me?"

He was quiet for a few moments, what she was telling him just about sinking in. Of course, he had wondered, wondered if in the back of her mind she was comparing him to her husband; not that she thought she'd do it haughtily or in any kind of malice, and yet somehow that had made the thought all the more daunting to him. He had never for a moment thought that she might in any way prefer him, and found it very difficult not to be extraordinarily pleased.

"Isobel, you can't expect to have exactly the same sort of relationship with me as you did with your husband," he told her gently, "Yes, perhaps you do think about us... together more often than you did with him. But once you were married, did you ever have to spend a lot of time separate from him?" She gave this some thought and then shook her head slowly. "You might find our physical relationship more... advantageous, but I'm sure you found him a lot easier to live with than you would me."

She tilted her head back and surveyed him.

"I don't know," she told him rather coyly, obviously reassured by what he had said, "Do you have any particularly dreadful habits?"

"Yes," he told her, "I'm notoriously untidy, the hospital only stays like it is because Martha gets an extra shilling a week to tidy things up once I've been near them."

"You're rather like me, Reginald was always the one who kept things in order."

He kissed the side of her face, taking her hand in his.

"Isobel, you deserve to be happy. Believe me, I'm not only saying it because what makes you happy makes me inordinately happy as well. Someone like you shouldn't have to live their life in mourning."

"You're right," she told him, "I know. He told me to be happy. I know that's what he wanted."

"Sensible chap."

They were quiet for a while, just sitting there, watching the last of the flames dying. When at last they had gone out, he nudged her to sit up.

"I'll make us some tea before we go to sleep," he told her, lifting the rug from the back of the settee and lying it over her knees to keep her warm while the fire was out.

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