A note passed to The Boss during a meeting:

I sit here scratching this on the 1st of November 1960. I don't know how long it will be before this reaches you or whether it will at all. I have tried to choose trustworthy messengers, but unlike you, I am no secret agent hero.

Firstly, I must apologise for missing our meeting. Fredric Temms, whom you have likely met and know as the head of my department, asked me personally to stay behind and work just as I was leaving to meet you. I am not usually given to paranoia, but I believe our past letters may have been monitored. That is why I chose such a roundabout way to send this letter. I would have delivered it in person, but I am afraid that, if they are watching me for whatever reason, I am a rather obvious figure.

Thank you for your compliments. I must say that your letter made me blush, which is quite a sight on my pale cheeks!

You prefer to be seen as a normal woman, you say, but there is nothing that can convince me that you are anything but extraordinary. Truly, calling any woman ordinary is like saying, "That is just an ordinary star," when we know that every star is a wonder beyond our imagination. You are anything but ordinary.

You think my glasses hide secrets. That may be, but I doubt my secrets would be interesting to one who has experienced so much, but I hope we get a chance in the future to share a few secrets with one another.

Oh, dear. I may have allowed myself to sound a bit flirtatious just now. Maybe that's what you want. Maybe that's what I want. Maybe...

I wonder what these rumours are about you. I have heard some, but are they the same? When we finally meet privately, I hope to compare rumours.

My perfume? It is nothing but a little rosewater. My mother used to make it when I was a child, and it's the one feminine touch I afford myself even in this male-driven field.

What in heavens could I have lost? Perhaps I am not as detail-oriented as you think I am. Now I will wonder about this until you show it to me. Oh, do hurry!

While we are complimenting one another, I shall tell you that I think of you often. I like to imagine scenes in my head of the glamourous missions you must have gone on. Perhaps my mind is tainted by fiction, though. As you know, I was associated with Dr. Alan Turing while I was in school, and before his unfortunate suicide, he was acquainted with a man named Ian Fleming. If the stories are true, you may have met Fleming during the war. It may seem strange in a woman in such a logical field, but I am a great fan of Fleming's James Bond novels, although I do often find his portrayal of women distasteful.
While you're no Vesper Lynd, I can't help but see some of that danger in you. I can see that you bring it into your daily life with your clandestine meetings and vague words, and I love it. You intrigue me. You compel me.

Yours,
SL