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here, quick. I feel dizzy." Gil's face turned ashen.
    "Here, sit down for a minute." Ross guided him to the dais and the milling crowd stepped aside.
    "Gil, Gil, I'm so sorry."
    She knelt beside him. Tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
    "For God's sake, Mayor," Ross snapped. "Disperse this crowd."
    "We didn't know he was a wounded soldier. He looked fit and healthy," one of the women blustered.
    "You should be sure of your facts before you accuse someone of cowardice, madam." Ross' voice sounded as cold as forged steel and Harry shivered. Trembling, the woman scurried away.
    "What possessed you, Harry? You damn near caused a riot." Pressing Gil's head between his knees, Ross held it there with a hand on the back of his neck.
    "They ridiculed him. Some old bitch handed him a white feather." She banged her fist on the dais. "I couldn't let them get away with it. They humiliated him."
    "You'll have to learn to rein in your temper, boy, or it will get you into real trouble one day. You're like a furious, snapping terrier. Most men would not have dared take on the Mayor."
    Harry couldn't help thinking he sounded as though he grudgingly admired her. No scowl, no anger showing. Maybe even a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
    "God, I need a drink after that. Can you make it to the pub, Gilbert?"
    "Yeah, thanks. My nerves are shot. If someone upsets me I go to pieces."
    "Early days yet, you'll be right," Ross assured him.
    They walked towards the pub without speaking. Ross would probably have preferred to prop at the bar with a beer and a counter lunch, but couldn't because of her.
    The single-storied, red brick hotel had a hipped roof of corrugated iron extended to form a verandah on both sides. It stood on a sharply angled corner block with entry via a side door.
    After the bright sunshine outside, Harry blinked at the dimness inside. She took off her hat, rummaging her fingers through her damp curls as they went into the ladies lounge, where huge ceiling fans dispensed cool air.
    Ross chose a table near the window, overlooking an ivy-clad courtyard.
    "Two beers thanks, George," he ordered. "And you?" He jerked his head at Harry.
    "Oh, ginger beer, thanks."
    "Still do the mixed grill?"
    "Yeah, Ross. Did you hear they might be opening up the timber mill again? Clyde Bromley, some millionaire city man, is behind it."
    "The timber is just about all gone, wouldn't be viable. I'll have three mixed grills, thanks."
    Harry opened her mouth to protest at Ross' high-handed attitude of ordering without consulting them, caught Gil's stare and thought better of it. What made her want to defy him all the time? She couldn't understand herself.
    Close up, the scar appeared jagged, deep and still raw. Gray flecked his thick, wavy hair even though he couldn't be more than thirty or so. Surprisingly, considering the blackness of his hair, his cold eyes were pale. What would it take to bring back the warmth, to smooth away the bitter lines, and bring a smile to his sensuous lips?
    She must be going mad thinking like this. She tried to dampen the heated excitement swirling in her stomach by diverting her thoughts to the three smartly dressed young women, sitting at a table with a middle-aged couple.
    "Remind me to pick up a paper from the bar on the way out." Ross broke the silence. "I want to see how the war is going."
    "I want to forget about it," Gil said. "All my close mates are dead except for one. He's back in Egypt, last I heard. Probably on his way to France by now."
    "Maybe you should write to him, Gil."
    "Nah, he's got eight sisters who write nearly every day. You know, he used to get dozens of letters each mail call. God, we envied him."
    "I know the feeling." Ross’ tone carried a note of sympathy. "I hardly got any mail. Jack wrote every now and again; Mrs. Bates, my housekeeper, every fortnight."
    "Your fiancée?" Harry blurted before she could stop herself.
    His lips thinned. "Who's been discussing my private