He was obviously services, being in khaki trousers and an epauletted ribbed sweater, but he was sitting under a tree on the ground and he didn’t seem to have a coat, and it was, after all, late November, and although it was quite a nice day, it wasn’t the right kind of day or weather for sitting outside and on the ground. Stephanie had joined Headley Court when the new rehabilitation wing had opened. Eight million, it had cost, but it had this fantastic twenty-five-metre hydrotherapy pool, with a floor you could raise and lower, and generally amazing facilities. And the guys were amazing, too. And the girls. It was a girl she had been working with that afternoon, Captain Patsy Philp, twenty-five years old and a double amputee with only one leg and one hand. There’d been two physios with her, one on each side, getting her walking for a news team who’d come down from London with television cameras. The reporters had watched her for a while and then they’d asked her how she felt.
