The hotel looked unprepossessing as Thomas pulled the dark green Crossley to a halt outside the front door. Two storeys high, with the whitewash peeling off the outside wall and the sign, Wardlaw Inn, creaking in the wind, it would not have appealed to him before the war. Now, in the aftermath of four years of b****y s*******r, appearance meant nothing, he had discarded luxury, and even comfort was not supremely important.
“Are you ready?” Eleanor asked brightly.
Thomas nodded to her with his eyes dull. “I’m ready.” He glanced along the street, seeking inspiration.
The village of Newbigging was quiet, with the drizzling rain dampening the autumnal dust on the pavement and weeping from a neglected gutter above the inn’s signboard. Nobody walked the street, while a solitary farm cart rumb
