Sometimes, when she wakens, her thoughts are sharp and clear. Now is such a time. Her room is full of light; watery reflections slide and slip over the cream-washed walls and she can hear the harsh cries of the gulls out on the river. She thinks of Jess, of her shocked expression when she saw the photograph, the sharp intake of breath and her question: ‘Who’s that?’ as she pointed to Al. Rowena feels deep satisfaction: her suspicions – her hopes – have all been founded on the truth. Those carefully hoarded memories, those pieces of the puzzle, have been pieced together to make a whole picture at last. Once again she sees Al dancing with Juliet at the Christmas Ball on HMS Drake, a slow smooch in the shadows at the edge of the floor. He’s holding her much too tightly; the silky chiffon skirt of Juliet’s long, pale ball gown floating and clinging to his dark uniform. Mike at the bar, getting the drinks in, turning to watch them and his rather foolish, half-drunken expression hardening into watchfulness.
