A/N:

Firstly, Thank you to SimonJC for pointing out that I should have typed Peggy Brading, rather than Peggy Blackett. It was a mistake, rather like when everyone round the Lake still speaks of Mary Swainson .

Secondly, I'm sorry about the number of shorter chapters. They just seem to be running at that length for this part of the story, and short of sticking three separate chapters together for the sake of it, there doesn't seem anything I can do about it.

October 1950

That first time that Roger had stayed overnight at Trennels, Rowan had had mixed feelings when he offered to accompany her on her evening rounds. She knew that he intended to make use of the time away from her mother and Lawrie's company for kissing and cuddling purposes, an idea that Rowan was pleased to find she whole heartedly endorsed. Rowan knew herself to be undemonstrative, and had sometimes vaguely wonder if this trait, highly regarded in her family and by all but the Unity Logans of the school world might turn out to be somewhat inconvenient in a romantic context. She had been rather surprised to discover that she wasn't as undemonstrative as she had thought.

But the evening rounds had taken on various layers of significance for Rowan. At first they had been the time she had learned most from Mr Tranter, who had his own philosophy of how that job should be done and people managed, and had passed it on to Rowan in snippets. With his sudden illness and Karen's bombshell, Rowan had continued the rounds. The spirit that had kept her going then was a kind of personal very well then, alone; that feeling had been more defiance than hope. She had taken a bitter pride in doing her duty to the absolute limit of her competence.

Things were a little easier now. She had, somehow, more or less forgiven Karen – or perhaps her anger had simply burned itself out. The twins were taking school cert. this year; Ginty was taking Highers. It was, Rowan reminded herself, more like half way there than nearly there.

Roger had not sought to distract her at all. Oh, there was kissing and cuddling alright, and very nice too, but when she was looking and checking, she was looking and checking, and Roger waited patiently for however long each task needed. It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest that she was wholly focussed on the task in hand.

This time it was darker outside. Prisca had come to the door of her loose box for a bit of extra fuss and the possibility of a peppermint from Roger. Rowan joined them, stroking Prisca's nose absentmindedly.

"Anymore to be done?" Roger asked.

"No, we can go in now."

And they went in and sat at the kitchen table, because Mrs Bertie had gone home, and drank tea and chatted until in a pause, Roger reached out his hands across the table to hold both of her's and said, "You do realise I love you, don't you? You do know it?"

And telling him that she loved him too was so obviously the right response that Rowan suddenly found she could not say it. How could he then believe her when she said it again? How could he believe her if she said it now? She couldn't leave him to the prospective 3-in-the-morning misery of wondering if she had meant it, or only said it to reciprocate. She had to say something and it had to be the right thing. Rowan looked up from their entwined hands into Roger's gaze. She could not have said if she had made the first move or if he had gently pulled her to her feet and around the table. It didn't matter that Rowan didn't know what to say, because after all, you could not kiss and talk at the same time.