Hi, this is the multi-chapter Grace/Roland story I've been bigging up during my absence, set after the war. I really really hope you like it. The rating will go up in a few chapters tine.

Colonel and Lady Roland Brett request the presence of Miss Grace Carter at the celebration of their son Alexander's graduation at their home on the weekend of the 19th of July 1920. You are invited to stay with us for the whole weekend. RSVP.

…...

The first thing that surprised Grace as the taxi that brought her from the station crossed into the Brett estate was the sheer scale of the place; the vastness and the greenery of its spaces. A long straight road lead up to the front of an imposingly red-bricked house, lower walls but immaculate in their preservation, and its accompanying ivy. Though country estates in general were going through hard times, the same evidently could not be said of the Brett estate. Leaning forward a little to look out of the window, Grace made out what looked like a pond running down one side of the lawn and a box hedge at the outskirts that seemed to lead on to a wood. When she had received her invitation to stay for the whole weekend, she had been surprised by its generosity. She had not imagined Roland's country house to be anything like as grand as this, and had expected the accommodation to be much more modest than this. A whole regiment could probably have been accommodated in it.

As the taxi approached the front steps, she saw a man at the top of them, evidently waiting. It was Roland, dressed in a grey suit and blue tie. She smiled at him through the window, she was wearing grey too, and he, seeing her, smiled back and came down the steps to meet her.

He opened the door of the taxi, and without delay, gave the driver more than enough for her fair. Opening the back door, he extended his hand to her and helped her out of the car. He stopped briefly to remove her suitcase and place it at her feet and to dismiss the cab before leaning forwards and kissing her on the cheek.

"Grace," he murmured quietly, had anyone been there other than themselves it would have been difficult for them to overhear, "It's so good to see you."

"And you too," she told him sincerely, "Thank you for inviting me."

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied, "Do you need help with your case?"

"No," she answered, "It's not heavy."

He lead her up the steps, turning back to her when they reached the top.

"Come and have tea with me," he told her quietly, "When you're settled into your room. In my study. The maid will let you know where."

"Alright," she replied, equally quietly.

His hand brushed her elbow for a second before he lead her indoors and introduced her to the housemaid, Maisy, who was to show her upstairs.

Her room, when Maisy showed her in, was beyond a doubt the most lavish she had ever been given, or ever imagined she would be given. A bedroom, leading onto a bathroom and a dressing room, each decked out in oak and white satin or marble. Not wanting to wait, and not tired from the journey, she simply removed her hat and coat and left her suitcase neatly at the foot of the double bed and asked Maisy;

"Could you show me to Colonel Brett's study please?"

Maisy took her there and left her outside the door. When his voice told called upon her to enter, she did so.

"I love your hair," was the first thing he said to her. He was standing at the desk pouring out a pot of tea into two saucers.

She flushed a little; she had forgotten he hadn't seen it since she had cut it so that it now stopped midway between her jaw and her shoulders.

"I was sick of it being so long," she told him, a little taken aback, but pleased all the same, "It seems to be quiet the fashion and I thought it might suit me better."

"It does suit you," he confirmed, "Please sit down," indicating towards two leather sofas placed facing one another, with a low oak table between them.

She sat, and he brought their tea, sitting down opposite her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"What?" she asked in reply.

"You look a little out of sorts," he told her, "Do you find me different at home?"

"A little," she admitted, "You didn't act your affluence in France, Roland," she told him, "That wasn't meant to be a criticism in any way," she added quickly, seeing the look that flashed briefly across his face, "I was just surprised."

"It didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do at the time," he replied.

"That didn't stop any of the other officers doing it," she remarked, and he smiled.

"Apart from anything else, this is all inherited, not earned," he told her, "On my side and Hetty's. The house was her father's. As I'm often reminded. She had no brothers."

She took a sip of her tea.

"I'm very glad to have been invited," she told him.

She considered saying that she had missed him, but stopped herself at the last moment.

He smiled nonetheless.

"I wanted to see you," he told her, taking the leap that she had shrunk away from, "We haven't seen each other since the Gillans' wedding."

"I know," she replied.

It had been too long. They both took another drink.

"You know they've a little one on the way now?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "Kitty Gillan and I have kept in touch."

"Ah, yes, Tom said," he told her, "He is coming this weekend. He should be arriving quite soon, actually."

There was a pause.

"They seem very happy together," she remarked, and then added, impulsively, "Thank God."

"Quite," he agreed with her in a low voice, "Thank God something good came of it all."

Another silence. There was something softer about him, something wounded. He was more relaxed here than he had been in France, not that that was surprising at all, but of that relaxation seemed to be born a wryer, and wittier, stillness in his manner. A sadness and a stillness that she could not help but grieve for in spite of the attractive dryness it brought out in him.

"It's been too long since I've seen you," she told him. He had been kind, and brave, enough to admit that he had missed her, and she owed him something in return, and the quiet smile that flickered across his lips at the words was ample reward for her too.

"I have to admit," he told her, "I was a little nervous about you coming here."

"What on earth for?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"I'm not sure," he repiled honestly, "I think maybe at their wedding I realised I barely-... I don't know. I barely know you socially at all. That's what Hetty would call it. I suppose I had better use her expression, I haven't one of my own."

She did not have a response to that at all except to say, with a frankness she surprised herself with, "I'm a nurse, Roland. I barely even exist socially."

"It wasn't a criticism," he told her, "By any means. I've known your professionally, almost domestically. Personally, for sure. I think they're all infinitely better ways to know someone."

She could feel his eyes fixed on her, and she was trying, trying her utmost, to lift her head and meet his gaze.

"I suppose," he went on, "You could say that I was worried that seeing you socially wouldn't be enough for us."

Her breath caught with the end of his sentence, and she could not stop her eyes from snapping up to meet his. His gaze was unremitting, but he seemed somehow to be waiting. For what? It could only be her. She opened her mouth and expelled her long-captured breath, just as a knock on the door came. She did not miss the look of disappointment on his face as he passed to answer it.

It was Maisy.

"Colonel Perbright is downstairs, sir."

"Where is Lady Harriet?" he asked her.

"Downstairs too. It was her who sent me up, sir."

"Tell her I'll be down within the hour," he told Maisy, "I've just got to finish off the notes on that paper I wanted the Colonel to read."

"Very good, sir."

"Thank you, Maisy."

He closed the study door.

"To proof read only," he emphasised immediately, not having to look at her to know that her eyebrows were raised in surprise at that last exchange, "Out of politeness to an old acquaintance. I've already given it to Tom for a clinical appraisal."

"You still don't trust Perbright's judgement, then?" she asked, a glint in her eye, knowing full well what the answer was.

"No I do not," he replied firmly.

Her smile widened.

"And, before you ask, it wasn't my idea to invite him here, either," he told her.

"I did wonder," she replied, "But I wasn't going to ask."

He let out a sigh.

"I think when Hetty told me to invite some "palls from the army" it was the likes of Perbtight she had in mind."

"The public school aristocracy," she supplied, "Rather than some humble captain like Tom Gillan and a socially obscure nurse like me?"

"Yes, exactly," he replied, "She put her foot down at that and invited him herself. She used to know his late mother, of course."

"And here was I thinking you invited me because you missed me, rather than to annoy your wife," she remarked lightly, "Oh Roland, you know I'm joking!" seeing the appalled look on his face.

He met her eyes, pretended to smart and smiled at his own foolishness.

"I'll be very interested to meet your wife," she told him after a moment, "I didn't get a chance to at the wedding."

"She wasn't there," he replied.

"Oh. I suppose that's why, then."

"She made me say that she wasn't feeling well enough," he told her.

"Oh?"

"Really, it was-... she has quiet a memory for gossip, my wife. And, what with-..."

"She remembered Kitty's first marriage?"

"Yes. You know about it, of course."

"I imagine I know a good deal more about it than your wife does."

"Quite."

"Do you think Kitty knew?" she asked him, "Is that why she's not here now?"

"Oh, I made sure she was invited," he assured her, "She declined. Because of her pregnancy. Probably for the best, all told. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she did know. But I would have liked to have seen her all the same."

"Yes," Grace agreed, "So would I."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Shouldn't you be writing your notes?" she asked him, "For Colonel Perbright?"

"They've been written for months," he told her, "I just wanted-... more time."

"I see," she tried not to smile, or blush.

"There are certain things, you see, about this weekend, that I haven't told you yet," he continued, "And that I want to confide in you. If you'll let me."

She nodded, struck by his seriousness.

"Of course, Roland. You can tell me anything."

"I know," he replied, "I knew I could rely on you."

"This party we're giving for Alex's graduation from Oxford," he began after a moment, "That's not really why we're giving it."

"Oh? Why then?" she asked.

"We needed-... well, we didn't. Hetty needed," he corrected himself, barely able to stop himself gritting his teeth, "A suitable way to publically announce that Alex is engaged to be married."

"Really?" she asked, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he replied swiftly, "He's marrying rather well, what's thought of as well at any rate, and Hetty is beside herself, both with excitement and with anxiety that it might not all come off as she wants it to in the end."

"And you?" she asked, curiously.

Roland shrugged his shoulders.

"She's a nice enough girl," he replied, "And very pretty. Alex seems besotted with her, so I suppose I shouldn't have any qualms at all."

"But you obviously do," she prompted him.

"Not with her as such," he replied, "Like I said, Evelyn is a nice enough girl. Well maybe she did strike me as a bit dim the first time we met but it's her parents I really object to."

"What are they like?" she asked.

"What's called "traditional" people," he told her, "Stuck up, fantastically wealthy and rather given to being fanatically religious."

"They sound like just your sort of people," she teased him.

"You can tell they're not too thrilled about her marrying Alex," he continued, "Nothing was ever going to be good enough for them, but somehow the son of a colonel who intends becoming a solicitor took the biscuit. I can see why Hetty is worried that they won't allow her to go through with it."

"You say that they're happy with one another, though?" she asked him, "Alexander and Evelyn?"

"Oh, tremendously."

"Surely that will pull things through, then?" she speculated, "In the end?"

"God, I hope so, Grace," he replied, "I hope so."

"You must be very proud of him," she remarked.

"Oh, yes," he told her, "Very much so."

There was a moment's pause.

"There's something else."

"What?" she asked softly.

"Tomorrow-... It would have been Freddie's twenty-fifth birthday."

"Oh, Roland-..." she was truly taken aback, "But surely-... Hetty remembers? She must!"

"Oh yes, she remembers alright. Hetty and I-... handle grief in very different ways. Her way is definitely through distraction."

"And yours isn't," she finished for him, "Oh, Roland, I'm so sorry."

"That's why I asked you here, Grace," he told her truthfully, "More than anything. Of course I wanted to see you, but you saw how his death affected me. You understand."

"Yes," she murmured in reply, "I do. I'm so glad you asked me here."

"I didn't know who else to tell."

"You don't have to explain," she promised him, "I understand."

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