Darling James

Chapter 1-2

I’d joined the Royal Marines as soon as I was old enough. Of course I’d have loved to be recruited by the likes of MI6 and skulk around the world like James Bond, but I knew I didn’t have the background for it. I could speak a handful of languages I’d learned either from prisoners of war or the Czechs and Poles who flew with the RAF, but they were the dialects more common to the back streets of the towns and cities of the various countries than to casinos and glamorous capitals.

Therefore, no one was more surprised than me to find myself in line for a position in National Security 3, an obscure branch of an equally obscure branch of MI5. Contingent, of course, to fulfilling the prerequisites, and as long as the man who ran Alpha Squad agreed.

As it turned out, the man was James Trevalyan. I’d seen photos of him in the newspapers, always with a gorgeous woman on his arm, and why wouldn’t they be? He was quite good-looking, debonair, with a certain je ne sais quoi—obviously a toff. I almost expected him to carry a walking stick and twirl it with flair as he strode down the street.

I knew better than to scoff at his air and the fine clothes he wore. After all, didn’t I conceal secrets beneath my blue uniform?

I arrived at his office at the appointed time and stood at attention before his desk. He glanced up from the file he was examining, and I had to force myself to hold steady.

Those pictures I’d seen of him hadn’t done him justice. Seeing him in person—the deep, rich red of his hair, the vibrant green of his eyes—my God, he took my breath away.

But he carried a sadness within him.

I reckoned that was one thing about me and Mum: we both had a weakness for sad men.

“Have a seat, please.” He frowned and looked down at the file, and I followed his gaze.

As it turned out, he had my file open to the photo of me got up in a white bathing suit, à la Betty Grable. My detachment had put on an entertainment for Christmas, and I—well, frankly, and not to boast—I had the best figure for the costume. But…

Face it, mate, I told myself. Your chance to work in this squad has just flown out the window.

“You just can’t trust your own mates,” I said, wondering if I could salvage the position. “They’d promised me there were no copies of that photo.”

“Well, just tell me you’re not in the habit of dressing like that?”

“No, sir. I promise you.” Was it my imagination, or did he truly not seem too enthralled with me? My heart sank down to my shoes. I enjoyed what I did in the Royal Marines, but I wouldn’t have minded transferring to this branch of MI5. “It was strictly a one-off,” I offered.

“Very good. Let’s get down to the matter at hand, shall we?” A small smile tugged at the corners of his attractive lips, and I blew out a surreptitious breath.

“Yes, sir.” And I must have got his reaction to me wrong, because by the time I walked out of his office an hour or so later, I was part of NS3.

* * * *

That was the only time I saw him in the flesh, so to speak. He gave me my orders and debriefed me over a secure telephone line. I’d thought that was simply the way things were done in his squad, especially when one of his people went undercover, as I often did.

Well, if that was the way it was, then that was the way it was.

But I did get to hear that warm voice of his in my ear.