David stood on the platform as the twelve forty-two from Zürich hissed and squealed into the station in Schaffhausen. He caught sight of Maria leaning out a window and waving. Waving back, he walked along the platform as the train slowed, and a minute later, after he had assisted her down the carriage steps, they melted together in a hug.

"Twenty-nine days. It seemed longer than your four months at Oxford." She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck and hummed. "I've missed your wonderful aroma." She tilted her face up as she rose to her toes, and their mouths merged.

David chuckled when they finally broke from the kiss. "I hope none are here from the course. I told them I was meeting my sister at the train station, and this would appear rather incestuous." He picked up her bag from the platform and guided her through the station and out to the car.

As they drove out of the city, she shared details of her pregnancy. "Six weeks late now, and the nausea is still there." She squeezed his thigh. "It had stopped the first time by this point, and so had my needing to pee so often." She rubbed her belly. "But the symptoms are all still here."

"And your breasts? Are they still tender?"

"Not too tender for your mouth's attention." She giggled. "But they are, and they've grown." She trembled as she continued rubbing her belly. "We're now into the eleventh week, and Dr Bekker said that is beyond ninety-five per cent of all miscarriages."

"And your mother?"

"This is now her seventeenth week. In her last letter, she wrote she had gained almost five kilos." Maria giggled and inflated her cheeks.

They continued their conversation as they drove westward from the city and through the countryside and small villages. At the crest of the hill, as Sonnenhang came into view, David pulled to the verge and stopped the car. "I never tire of this scene. It strikes a chord in me each time I see it." He leaned and kissed her, and then they sat mesmerised by the vista.

Maria shook her head. "I can't believe it's more than three months since I was last here." She pointed to the lane. "We should head in. They'll be waiting lunch for us."

Three minutes later, David manoeuvred the car into the courtyard and stopped beside the two Daimler vans, then he assisted Maria from the car and led her to the kitchen door of the schloss. "They'll be in here."

Bethia, Rachel and Georg stood from the table to greet them, and after hugs and kisses, they all sat around the table, lifted cloth covers from the platters and began eating. Maria held her hand up as Bethia poured the wine. "Dr Bekker said too much alcohol might not be good for the baby, so I've done nothing but small tastes."

Rachel nodded. "My stomach has never allowed me to have more than a sip or two of wine during any of my pregnancies."

While Maria and her mother discussed symptoms, Georg pointed to David's uniform. "The ones I've seen have all been dark blue. Is this what recruits now wear before they're issued proper ones?"

"No, this is the new cloth and the new cut. They began issuing these to recruits last year, and they'll be phasing out the old style as men do their refresher training. In two years, all will be in the new greys."

Georg chuckled as he pointed to David's sleeves. "Must be a big change going from Lieutenant to Private."

Maria tilted her head as she looked at Georg. "Hadn't he told you he had been promoted?"

Georg shook his head. "No." Then he shrugged. "But that wouldn't be like him to tell, would it? So he's a Captain now?"

"A Major last year and then a Colonel three months or so ago." 

"Only a Lieutenant-Colonel," David added as he blushed. "But that's a brevet to fill current needs. I'm still me." 

Maria snickered. "Not like Old Windbag. He was so full of himself, he had lost contact with reality." She smiled at Georg. "Let me tell you a story about the idiot we ran into when we returned to Bern."

David and Maria shared in the telling, having to pause several times to stop laughing or wipe tears of mirth from their cheeks. David finished with, "So he's been reverted to Captain, and he's now working for Rick, calling him Herr Krüger and Sir as he performs mundane tasks to keep him from endangering lives."

"How in Hell had he been promoted to Colonel?"

"Family influence, Georg. Surely you saw the pompous sons of titled families during your career."

"Never directly, though I heard many stories. I was shielded from it in the Engineers where knowledge, skill and experience are the criteria for advancement."

"As they should be in all other branches." David ran his fingers through his hair. "Infantry leadership is based on motivating and leading men into battle. Unfortunately, many noble families still think this needs nothing more than overbearing fluster, bluster and pomposity. And until recently, they've dominated the upper echelons of the Army."

"So, you're the Military Attaché now?" Georg asked. "What does that entail?"

"Staying informed as the war evolves, overseeing the British military procurements from Switzerland, monitoring prisoner of war exchange programs, maintaining a dialogue with the other Military Attachés in Bern, and keeping the Ambassador current with the important aspects from all of this."

"You're busy," Bethia said. "Do you have any time to breathe?"

"Much of it is directing competent people and gathering information. I read a dozen or more German newspapers most days to maintain a feel for how the war is affecting the people." He shrugged. "Ultimately, the continuation of the war depends on the spirit and the will of the people. There's a huge amount of manipulated information to encourage the unquestioning masses."

"And you also get fully dressed up in your uniform with harness, sword and decoration to make your calls on the other attachés," Maria said as she rummaged through her clutch. "Look at this photo, Tante. It's under-exposed, and the focus is off, but it shows him dressed to kill before he went out on an official visit."

Bethia took the photo and studied it, then looked at David. "You appear so official in this. So serious."

"I was bracing myself to meet the German Attaché."

"What on earth would you have to discuss with him?"

"We talked about the treatment of prisoners of war. About the exchange process through Switzerland and about the new internment program for injured prisoners. Not much else to discuss."

Bethia nodded and passed the photo to Rachel, who studied it for a long while before she said, "I love the pose. I've been looking for a new painting project, and this is it. Our family war hero."

"I can take a sharper photo for you to show the details better." Maria pointed to it. "I rushed this one because he needed to leave."

"No, this is fine. The pose is perfect, and all I need are the colours. You could mail me watercolour swatches; you've always been so good at mixing them." Rachel giggled. "But never at applying them."

Georg leaned over and pointed to the photo, and then he turned to David. "What's the medal?"

David shrugged. "The DSO. They awarded it to me for my actions at Ypres." 

"Good God, Sir! And you never told us?" Georg shook his head, then he turned to Rachel. "The Distinguished Service Order is the second highest decoration in the Army. The only one higher is the Victoria Cross, and it usually means the recipient was killed while earning it." He turned back to David. "And you've never told us about it."

"There was never an appropriate time." David took another slab of bread and forked a slice of ham from the platter.

"And what timing would be appropriate?"

"Now." David chuckled. "Now that you've noticed it."