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far from home. The beloved faces smiled back at her, but it was as if they were already looking out from another world – a distant plane that she could no longer see or understand, their features blurred and almost ethereal.
    She felt the weight of the gold medallion, warm in the palm of her hand. Their father had given it to Aleksy when he’d left to fight the war in Spain, and it was a tangible reminder of how Aleksy had not forgotten who he was or the family that had loved him so much. Had Aleksy foreseen his death, was that why he’d not been wearing it when he’d been shot down over the English Channel? Was that why he’d asked his friend, and Peggy’s son-in-law, Wing Commander Martin Black, to give it to Peggy for safe-keeping? Had he, in some strange way, known she would come to find him, and that this little circle of gold would bring her some kind of comfort?
    She gazed at it now, turning it over and over in her hands, watching how the dull gold glinted in the light that seeped through the curtains. The Madonna and child etched into the precious metal had not protected him, the prayer on the back meaningless now in this godforsaken world that seemed intent upon destroying itself. Danuta had witnessed too much to be swayed by religion any more; she had managed to survive on her wits. And yet this was an intrinsic part of her brother, something he’d cherished, and therefore more valuable than the metal from which it was made.
    She curled on to the bed, the medallion held tightly in her fist. She was weary beyond belief. Drained of all emotion, the spark of determination and life that she’d kept burning so brightly over the past year, finally extinguished. She knew she couldn’t stay in this room forever, or avoid the noisy, cheerful people she heard moving about the house. She also knew her skills as a nurse would be sorely needed now England was being bombed so regularly and with such devastating effect. But she’d been fighting this war since the Germans had occupied Poland almost exactly a year ago, and it was as if Aleksy’s death had killed her spirit, and she simply didn’t have the energy to fight any more.
    And yet, as she lay there, she felt the flutter of the new life inside her and knew that if she gave in to this terrible despondency, she would be betraying not only the memory of Jean-Luc, but the child they’d made together. She softly ran her fingers over the barely discernible mound of her belly which she’d managed to camouflage with baggy clothes. She had to fight on to help win peace – had to reignite that battling spirit to ensure that this child, sown with love during the darkest days of her life, would survive and flourish in a world free of conflict.
    Danuta slowly rose from the bed and stood in front of the dressing-table mirror, almost afraid of what she would see, but knowing she could avoid it no longer. Her reflection showed a short, thin young woman in shapeless trousers and loose shirt, who looked far older than twenty-three. The ordeals she’d suffered during her time with the resistance in Poland and her escape through a war-torn Europe were etched, not only on her mind, but in her face and the green eyes that had witnessed too much. Her short, black hair looked lifeless, her skin dull, and her once elegant hands had been roughened, the nails bitten almost to the quick.
    Turning her back on this unedifying sight, she took a deep breath and strengthened her resolve to pull herself together and begin the next phase of her life.
    Polly had had to change trains several times during the past three hours, and now they were on a small branch-line which would eventually bring them to a main station and the final leg of her journey. Polly had little real idea of where they were, for she’d never been outside Herefordshire before and all the signs on the platforms had been taken down. The countryside was unfamiliar, the small towns and villages they passed so very different to