Page 82 of Winter’s Fire

“Sir, I emailed my report—”

“Yes, I know. I read it first thing this morning. And don’t think the time stamp on the email escaped me, either. That could have waited until today.

“However, the content of your report… Lucy, you did a remarkable job over there. I’m going to put you forward for a commendation. No, hear me out. You went above and beyond what was expected of you, and if it hadn’t been for you… Well, suffice to say, Mr. Simmonds and Miss Carstairs both owe you their lives.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sir Guy steepled his fingers. “And I owe you an apology. If I’d had any idea of how events would turn out, I never would have allowed you to go.”

“I did volunteer, sir. And I know how to take care of myself.”

“Apparently so.” To her surprise, he chuckled, but then became sober once more. “Be that as it may, what you’ve learned from your brothers in no way prepared you fully for being taken prisoner and having to fight for your life. That’s a traumatic situation for even the best-prepared officer. I think it would be advisable for you to see one of our counsellors.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine, sir, really.”

He was looking at her so steadily now that Lucy found it difficult not to squirm.

“Lucy, I wasn’t making a suggestion. Do you know anything about PTSD? It doesn’t always strike immediately—it can be weeks or even years after the events that cause it. I know you’re about to go on leave, but when you get back, I want you to make an appointment. Understood?”

A protest died on her lips. It was good to know someone was looking out for her. “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

“And call them if you feel you need to while you’re away. So, now that you’re back, do you have any thoughts about how you see your future panning out?”

Her night’s sleep hadn’t been unbroken, and in the early hours, that was exactly what she’d been reflecting upon. Her struggle to find the right words must have been reflected in her expression.

“Then let me ask you this, Lucy. Would you do it again? Not the same mission all over again, but something of a similar nature?”

“Yes.” The word came from her heart, less so her brain. Maybe she no longer even had a brain, if she was coming out with what most regular people would call sheer idiocy.

“That sounds very decisive—wouldn’t you prefer to have some time to think it over?”

She probably should think it over—probably would, if she hadn’t had her own agenda—which reminded her of something.

“Sir Guy, I owe you an apology. I wasn’t honest when I applied for the job as your secretary. I had an ulterior motive.”

“Go on.” His expression gave away nothing, but the way he tugged on his waistcoat told her she’d better have a good explanation.

“I didn’t join the armed forces for family reasons. With hindsight, it may not have been the right decision, but I can’t change that. Instead, as I’ve told you, I nagged the boys into teaching me everything they could. I learned about this unit from them, and… it inspired me. I couldn’t take the normal path to recruitment, so I set out to use the skills and experience I did have. I joined the civil service and took every opportunity to move closer to this office. If I could get a role here, then I thought I’d—”

“Wait for a suitable opening, and make the most of it?”

Her boss quirked an eyebrow. At least he yelling at her—not yet, at any rate. “Something like that. I know it was a stupid idea, a million-to-one shot, but I couldn’t think of a better way of getting my foot in the door, so to speak.”

The conversation was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. Sir Guy’s temporary secretary entered, bearing a fully laden tea tray. “Can I get you anything else, Sir Guy?”

“No, thank you. That’ll be all, Sheila. Please hold all my calls until Miss Winter leaves.”

“Of course, sir.”

The door closed behind her. Lucy automatically went to pick up the teapot, but was stopped by the forbidding expression on Sir Guy’s face.

“Allow me.”

This was definitely an experience to be filed under S for surreal, watching a knight of the realm pour a cup of tea for her.

The blend was English Breakfast, her favourite, and brewed to perfection. There wasn’t much a good cup of tea couldn’t put right—with the exception, perhaps, of the situation with Logan.

“So, Lucy, the question now is, where do we go from here? You’ll need time to figure things out, I imagine, but you need to know what your options are, which is where I can help.”