A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

82. Next step

Chapter 82: Next step

For once, Smithers beat Menzies to one of their meetings. It didn't happen very often, in fact he could hardly remember a time where the Lieutenant Colonel wasn't punctual, although there was good reason for it. Smithers wasn't the only man that he was meeting that morning, Menzies coming directly from a meeting with the Prime Minister. Winston Churchill liked to be kept well informed about all matters from the head of the Intelligence Services, whether it was the enigma machine or the enigma himself, James Maguire. There was a lot for the two to discuss during the time of war that they were experiencing, which often meant their meeting overran. Smithers didn't mind too much though, not when he could enjoy a cup of tea whilst he waited.

The Captain himself was receiving regular reports from Derry, his two agents still keeping a handle on the life of the illegitimate heir to the throne. Charlene Kavanagh was the source of the majority of the information, though Emerald Two put across their fair share too, Smithers knowing the difficulties for them to be able to collect information discreetly. Although there were no Nazi's spies around to compound danger in James' life, it was still far from simple. There were a lot of people attached to the young man in different ways, and though he was no longer romantically involved with any young woman, there were plenty of them still around him. Charlene herself was one, still not completely convincing her handler that her relationship with the young man was strictly professional.

After his prior visit to the city, Smithers informed the Lieutenant Colonel of his concerns about Charlene, which Menzies appreciated. Whilst on the surface, the two of them holding a relationship seemed almost like a perfect match when she would never harm him, there were dangers to them being together too. If she was to act in a professional capacity, her feelings for him could easily cloud her judgement and lead to rash decisions being made. If there was ever a time when they ceased to watch over his life, and instead needed to end it, then she would become a hinderance rather than a help. There was always the potential of her being moved to another assignment too, one with dangers that could leave them exposed if she were to ever reveal the truth under duress. It was not a risk that could be taken, leaving the Captain with the unenviable task of ensuring she took her feelings no further.

Apart from having dinner with the Englishman on his birthday, and her subsequent performance afterwards, Charlene had begun to understand the message. Smithers himself was unaware of what happened that night, but he was beginning to suspect that she was only concerned for James in a professional sense, even if it didn't completely change his thoughts. She'd indicated to him in one of her reports that there was still something about his demeanour that did not seem quite right, almost as if he was not quite the man he once was without her being able to put her finger on what the issue was. He acted differently according to her, slightly distant behind the façade of the gentleman that he was still trying to be. Around her there was no such performance required when she'd seen the lengths he could go to in order to protect those that he cared for, yet he still did. It was almost as if he was unable to cope without hiding behind his gentlemanly barrier, Charlene very much concerned for him because of it.

That was why Smithers and Menzies were meeting that morning, to discuss the latest developments with James. There task of monitoring his life should have been far easier, back on home soil with all the threats around him eliminated, in the palm of their ever-extending hand almost. Somehow though, his life never seemed to be easy, nor did it ever calm down. Before the war for many years it was, though that was mostly down to his mother being one of their own agents, able to keep a close eye on him without the Intelligence Services having to spend any other resources. Katherine's death was still quite raw to him too, having held great admiration for her during the short time that he'd known her. He couldn't even begin to imagine how James was coping, though from what Charlene was reporting to him, it appeared that perhaps he was not.

One thing that did strike Smithers when he arrived in London that morning, was how the mood appeared to have lifted. Although the Nazi's still controlled vast swathes of Europe and were still a feared presence even with the American's entrance into the war, there were signs that perhaps they were not quite the unbeatable juggernaut that many thought them to be. The Battle of Britain two years earlier proved that they could at least be neutralised, the imminent threat of total collapse wiped away by the brave actions of the few. To do more than that though, to beat them in combat, was not something that was shown so easily, but in Africa the tide was beginning to turn. Erwin Rommel's brilliance as a General was not lost on the allied forces, but even he could not win every battle. The British Army broke through at El Alamein, forcing Rommel into a retreat as well as a new offensive in Western Africa beginning to close in on the Germans on all fronts. There was still a lot more fighting to be conducted, but the signs were positive.

However, every success was often tempered with a problem to contra it off. The landings in Western Africa put Vichy France into a precarious positions, especially when the allies were once their own allies at the start of the war. Resistance to them was scattered when they landed, with many Frenchmen holding no grudges against the invading allies. The Americans especially they held no grievances with, though the Navy did not share the same opinion about the British invaders. The Mers-el-Kébir incident was not so far back in the memories of many men, the aggressive tactics of the last remaining power in Europe still unappreciated by those who were on the receiving end of them. When Admiral Darlan's surrender was achieved, who was on a private visit to Algiers at the time, playing into allied hands, the Nazi's responded exactly how they should have. Vichy France could no longer be trusted, an invasion of the territory ensuing. Southern France was no longer free to its countrymen as it had been, the French Navy only just about managing to scuttle their warships in Toulon in time before they were captured. For British Intelligence purposes, it was a good job James had escaped when he had. There would have been little chance of success with the Nazi's crawling all over the area.

Buried deeply into his own mind, Smithers nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened behind him, Lieutenant-Colonel Menzies finally having arrived. There was a frown etched across the man's face when he looked at his Captain, finding it quite odd to have nearly driven the man out of his seat when all he'd done was open the door. Menzies looked the part, not that he ever did not, wearing a suit that told of a visit to the Prime Minister rather than a social call to a good friend. To say that he was envious of the Lieutenant-Colonel's tailor would have been an understatement; Smithers could only ever hope to have a suit jacket of such quality.

"Did I wake you, Smithers?" Menzies enquired, not moving from the door, where his hand remained on the handle after it was shut. "It's… half past eleven, I would have thought you would have been sufficiently more spritely getting towards Midday".

"Forgive me, Sir, I was… I was lost in thought about… well about the war in general, I suppose".

"Oh?" The Lieutenant-Colonel's brow was raised as he walked around to his side of the desk. "Marvelling about the successes of our armies no doubt?"

"Of course, Sir. I just hope that the Prime Minister's words do turn out to be true… not that I am implying I do not believe him to be sincere".

Covering over his statement when he realised what the Lieutenant-Colonel could have thought, Smithers was almost embarrassed. He held a great deal of admiration for Churchill, who was in power at one of the most difficult times that the country had ever experienced. Even compared to that of the Great War, which many did not think could be compared to at the time, the role of Prime Minister must have been most stressful. It was on a radio broadcast a week or so earlier that the words were uttered to the nation, a beacon of hope after years of darkness as the last surviving light of Western Europe. Although his words perhaps could not be taken as literal, there was an offer of hope to an overworked public, that the Nazi's would not be able to achieve the domination that they wanted.

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

There was no concrete plan in those words, but there was fervent belief that the war could be won, not just survived for eventual peace. The Nazi's were not interested in peace anyway, not the sort of peace that allowed for freedom anyway, but the allies were determined to ensure that they would not even be allowed the hint of the negotiation table.

"The PM wishes to inspire the nation, Smithers. We will win this war… we just need the public to know that we are going to be on the front foot now… and not the back one".

"Yes, Sir. I am certain that message has been received and understood".

From what he'd seen in London that morning at least, he could show some proof of what he was saying to his superior. Trying to base public opinion on a short walk from the car to the offices of the Intelligence Services was hardly going to be completely correct, but it was the only sample size that was on offer to him. Before the speech was made, during his time in Derry too, the Captain saw first-hand the struggles of the population, that he knew himself too. The public were tired though their spirits did not wane, many wanting the war to end sooner after years of rationing. A normality, whether it was the same as before the war or a totally new one, was the dream of many men and women.

"How is the delightful Mrs Smithers? And… young James?"

Lieutenant-Colonel Menzies was a man who was trained to school his expressions, but when it came to Smithers' son, he failed miserably every time. Contrary to his Captain's original worries that he would think it absurd to allow his son to carry the name of the man whose life they were watching over, Menzies found it highly amusing. It was perhaps the reason why some thought him to be unsuitable for his job as Intelligence chief, not that anyone else knew about Smithers' son. It amused him greatly because he did not quite know how his Captain managed to hear the name without sighing or without seeing it in his sleep. Smithers truly could never quite escape the name, hearing it for his work as well as at home.

"They are both well, thank you, Sir". He replied, calmly without appeasing the smirking superior.

"I am not sure I will ever get over your wife's decision to name him James…". Menzies began to laugh. "It has been one of the great successes of the war!"

"I… I would hardly call it that, Sir".

Continuing to laugh, as well as shake his head at Smithers' statement, the Lieutenant-Colonel was oddly relaxed. It was easy to note in Smithers' mind, because he'd been expecting the exact opposite. A meeting with the PM could often lead to a stressed Menzies firing orders left, right and centre, but instead he was calm. There was clearly a lot for them to talk about, especially when the contents of the briefcase that he was carrying was emptied out onto his desk, to reveal all sorts of papers. There were a lot of documents sealed as top secret and without having to guess, Smithers knew some would be about James. Maguire, not his son… unless the superior was hinting that son followed in father's footsteps, though that would be some years down the line.

"Did your meeting with the PM go well, Sir?" Smithers asked hopefully.

"Define well, Smithers". Menzies shot back at him quickly.

"I… I would say that…". A surprised Smithers was flummoxed by the return question. "I would say that it would mean that there was no shouting and it ended positively, Sir".

Sighing, there was a brief smile sighted across the Lieutenant-Colonel's face before he sat down. Unable to quantify whether the meeting was good or bad, a perplexed Smithers settled on drinking his tea. The Lieutenant Colonel mustn't have wanted one, as Lotty was yet to appear with one nor had she brought one in for him beforehand. It soon became clear as to why he didn't want a cup of tea though, when his drawer was opened, and a bottle of brandy was produced. The brandy swayed Smithers into believing that the meeting must have gone poorly, otherwise he would not have needed the alcohol. If that was indeed the case, then it did not bode well for what they would have to discuss.

"Do not be alarmed, Smithers". Reading his Captain's mind, Menzies moved to reassure him. "The brandy is not required due to the meeting's outcome".

"I see, Sir…". Responding gently, Smithers was no further to understanding why it was needed. "… then why might I ask, are you drinking it?"

"Well Smithers, I can only say that if the young lady that made the tea for us at the PM's office this morning was my secretary, I'd have her interned in Wandsworth by sundown!"

Discovering it was his turn to be amused, Smithers could not stop the snort that followed the comment of his superior. Quickly glancing back to Menzies after it was complete, he found there to be no punishment ready for his reaction. The Lieutenant-Colonel would have held the same reaction if the boot was on the other foot so to speak, though he was deadly serious about the tea. The brandy was being used to wash the putridly weak taste of the tea away, which had lingered in his mouth for more than a couple of hours.

"No… it was a productive meeting, Smithers". Menzies offered up the details willingly. "The Prime Minister has set out a number of tasks for me to complete and of course, our good friend Mr Maguire was discussed".

"Does the Prime Minister have much to say about him?"

"He was quite brief, in fact. He places his trust in the two of us to ensure that James' life continues to be monitored and we continue to support him where necessary. In turn, the King places his trust in the PM".

"I understand, Sir".

"Good. I am keen to hear what you have to report to me after our last discussion. I assume Miss Kavanagh has sent more information?"

There was a hint in the Lieutenant-Colonel's voice, one which told Smithers that he was referring not just to Charlene but to her feelings for James. After their prior discussion on the matter it was never going to be left at just that, with the Captain expected to keep an eye on her professionalism from afar. He was going to please Menzies by telling him that she was remaining just that, but her information was far from appealing when it came to James and the struggles that she believed him to be having. Although Menzies already knew of them, he'd expressed hope that the news would be positive upon her next contact. Unfortunately, it was not.

"She has, Sir. She is still of the belief that there is something wrong with James, her opinion has not changed".

"But what?" Scratching at his chin, Menzies asked the question.

"It is difficult to tell. She cannot give any evidence for it but… but he does not appear to be himself a lot of the time. He looks tired, as if he has trouble sleeping".

"It cannot be battle fatigue, he has not served in active combat for two years!"

James' battles of the mind were far more difficult for them to understand, and therefore support the young man. Talking about what was troubling one mentally was simply not done; it was weakness to show such a lack of mental strength. When James was so famed for his ability to withstand torture, both physically and mentally, then they could not understand what the problem was. Should the problem be one with him mentally, then their logical starting point would be some sort of asylum where he could be locked away from the rest of society. Except he was the son of the King… he could not be seen in such a place, even if he was not officially recognised as a member of the Royal Family. He was their responsibility after all, with the King to answer to should they act incorrectly or fail to act at all. They had to understand what was wrong with him.

"I think there are a number of factors, Sir". Offering his thoughts, Smithers was encouraged to carry on. "James saw a lot during the war and Doctor Van Der Heijden put him through unthinkable torture from what he told me himself. I can only imagine that he can still see or feel what happened to him and perhaps it is disrupting his sleep".

"He is strong though, Smithers". Menzies countered. "I acknowledge your point of his experiences, but he survived them. He lived through them to become a stronger man… it cannot just be the memories of the past that are hurting him".

"I quite agree, Sir. I think perhaps the crux of the matter is not an experience, but a person. Someone he is close to… or was".

"Miss Quinn?"

"Yes, Sir. Charlene would not say it but… but I believe what she told us on the last report may have been accurate".

"I trust you have followed up on that conversation with our good friends and allies".

The Americans were not to know of who James was, but after Charlene's detailed report on the American Lieutenant that was now the subject of Erin Quinn's affections, they were being drawn in unknowingly. With her worries for James, or more her worries for what he might do to the American, she'd found out all that she could about him from her own sources. They'd discussed the man at their prior meeting, where Menzies instructed his Captain to find out even more about him. Charlene could not offer much of a background on the man, which was what they wanted to know in case his past revealed any clues that might have meant he was a danger to the Englishman. James' safety was their priority; every angle needed to be explored.

"I managed to convince one of our friends in American Intelligence that we were interested in profiling officers who could act in espionage activity within the naval sphere".

"Capital work, Smithers". Menzies smiled, nodding to his Captain. "And they bought it?"

"They did so indeed, Sir. I received a full profile which I have brought with me to present to you. Unfortunately to maintain our cover, I also received the profiles of another fifty officers".

"You… you've read them all?"

"I have, Sir".

Smithers' dedication was legendary, although reading every profile was hardly necessary. There was no espionage mission to conduct when it was a mere lie to move attention away from the true reason that they wanted to know about a certain Lieutenant. His friends were profiled too, friends that Smithers kept in mind, even if he did not think they were truly a danger to James. A belief that was not necessarily correct…

"Your commitment is noted, Smithers". Menzies nodded to him. "So, tell me about this Lieutenant that could become a problem".

"Yes, Sir".

Getting up to his feet, Smithers moved across to Menzies' overworked board, that had featured a multitude of files pinned to it since the start of the war. Whether it was do with their young countryman or anyone else of interest, the board saw it all. Smithers was no longer the inexperienced handler that was not comfortable in completing presentations to his superior, well versed on the matter. After all, he'd had to do a lot of them since the war began. There was going to be a new name added to that list, an American one, a new nationality too. Issues with the Americans might have been felt at local levels in the areas where they were training, but never before had the Intelligence Services needed to become involved. When it came to the Lieutenant in question though, there was no doubt in Smithers' mind that they need to discuss him. Where women were concerned, there could often be conflicted between two young men who both had eyes for the same woman.

"This…". He started pointing to the picture he'd pinned up on the board. "… is Lieutenant Lance Archibald Hamilton, of the USS Lyman".

"Archibald… he's not a bloody jock, is he?"

"No, Sir". Smithers stopped, clearing his throat to stop his impending laughter. "There is no specific mention of haggis consumption in the report".

Rolling his eyes at the return joke, Menzies waved his Captain to continue on, intrigued to hear more about the Scottish sounding Lieutenant who might give them a problem or two.

"He was born in May nineteen twenty, in Virginia… right out in the country when I consulted the map of the area. Part of a much larger family, the youngest of… six… siblings, no less".

"Are any of the others serving?"

"I'm not too sure, Sir. They certainly aren't serving here, but they could very well be fighting in the Pacific. The report did not make any mention of them at least".

Nodding along, Menzies was putting together the first pieces of a character assessment of Lance in his head. The youngest of six was a sign that he'd probably experienced a lot of sibling rivalry when he was young, which either made him used to being picked on or taught him how to fight back. Without needing to know too much more, he was already coming to the conclusion that the man was perhaps a loose cannon. It was a large inference to make when there was so little information available to him thus far, yet Menzies couldn't help but make it. Potentially the only serving member of his family, was he perhaps used to fighting and therefore the only one with the right temperament to do so…

"The family come from great wealth, years and years of businesses in the area, though like many they were disrupted by the depression of a decade or so ago".

"Has the bank rather ran dry?"

"No, Sir, according to the report the family have retained their wealth and that may or may not have formed the basis of his commission. It appears that even our Yank friends are willing to accept that their officers do not necessarily have to be the best men for the job".

"Where did the family wealth come from?" Menzies put across another question as he returned the brandy to its drawer.

"Timber appears to be their main source of income in recent years as well a small legal firm".

Lance hadn't lied when he'd told the Quinn's about his family. Their primary source of wealth were the timber yards that they owned, controlled by his father's associates whilst the family managed from a distance. The legal firm was small, and not particularly profitable, but it gave one of his brothers the chance of freedom away from the eye of the family. If one of the Hamilton's was in complete charge of the business, then Lance's father didn't need to disrupt proceedings. He was not a man with great business knowledge despite his many years of experience; a man with more money in his wallet, than sense in his mind.

"Forgive me for judging a book by it's cover, Captain, but a wealthy family of generations from the state of Virginia that are in the timber business… it strikes me that timber might not have always been their trade".

"I… I am not sure that I follow, Sir?" Hesitantly, Smithers enquired with his superior.

"Slaves, Smithers. What I am trying to say, is that I do believe this Lieutenant Hamilton could very well be a descendant of slave owners… and perhaps, he could be just as much of a brute as they were in their day".

Menzies' inference could not have been more true, Smithers coming to recognise the conclusion that was being made by the Lieutenant-Colonel. Without knowing the man personally or researching his family history any further, it was not unreasonable to suggest that he may have still carried the attitude of his ancestors. The confederacy might have lost the war, but the result of a war did not always change the minds of the people who fought in it, who could pass down such attitudes to their descendants. It was a lesson they would always perhaps need to learn themselves. To be sure of his opinion he would have to know more, but it was at least a working theory and a good one at that. Lance was every bit the bastard that he immediately believed him to be.

"What more do we know about him?" Menzies spoke up again, imploring Smithers to continue.

"He joined up just before America entered the war… was given a commission aboard the Lyman almost immediately and sailed to Northern Ireland with the first of the ships to arrive".

"I trust his training is being conducted successfully?"

"Our American counterparts were not so keen to divulge those details to us, Sir, but from what I could infer, it appears he has not made any significant mistakes or stepped out of line at all".

"A mediocre officer, would you say?"

"I would, Sir".

Mediocre was being far too generous to Lance. He was an incredibly poor officer, with no real leadership skills at all. The only method he knew to get results was by bullying or by force, two things which would see him become very unpopular in combat with his own men. The true nature of his inability to command was not something that they would be able to know either without seeing it for themselves, but Menzies and Smithers didn't really need to know. The former especially was already well aware of the sort of man that they were dealing with, very much a potential problem when it came to James. The threat could not be dismissed.

"How immediate would you judge any threat to James, to be?" Menzies continued to question his Captain. "Has Miss Kavanagh been able to indicate if there has been any tension between the two, if her belief that James still holds feelings for Miss Quinn is true?"

"She does not know for certain, Sir, but one does not find difficulty in believing that there could very easily be tension between the two".

"Tension that could burst at any moment".

Menzies took a moment to sigh. Smithers couldn't disagree with his point either; it really could happen at any moment. James might have been a gentleman for all intents and purposes, but even a gentleman could not ignore the calling of his heart. If he was still in love with the young Irishwoman, and the American Lieutenant stood in his way, the Captain did not doubt he would fight for her. James' service record showed that he did not shy away from a fight… no matter who the opponent was.

"I fear this Smithers… we cannot always be on hand if passions boil over".

"I have Charlene watching him as much as I can, Sir". Trying to offer positivity rather than argue, Smithers attempted to get through to him. "There is only so much that she can do though".

"Quite. We need to think about how we deal with him. There are certain measures that we may have to take that our American friends would not… approve of".

Jenny and Aisling knew those measures too well. The latter might not have supposed to have known them, but the former found out the extent that they were willing to go to for James. Both girls were local though, crucially being citizens of Britain and not of the United States of America. It was one thing to see to the deaths of your own citizens; it was a very different beast to tackle when they were citizens of another country, especially an ally in wartime. A diplomatic hotpot that could easily explode in their faces should it be dealt with poorly, neither man was under the illusion that any solution was going to be simple. There was not an ounce of simplicity in the matter.

"We would not be able to commit Charlene to that…". Smithers noted to his superior, who raised an eyebrow. "Should we have to, of course. She is already too well known to American Intelligence".

"Yes that does present us with a problem. Although I suppose there is another avenue that we could explore…". Menzies responded, voice beginning to trail off.

"Sir?"

"Miss Quinn. If we cannot remove the Lieutenant from the equation… then we may have to look at removing her".

Not the first time that Erin's life was considered by the two men, for Smithers at least, it had to be the absolute last resort. He was no fool when it came to matters of the heart, he knew that James loved the young woman, and did not want to be partly responsible for seeing her to an early death. He would not be able to look at the young man again without the cold winds of guilt, gusting around his conscience. The romantic affairs of the heir to the throne, illegitimate though he may be, formed part of his job, no matter how much he detested it. If Erin was too much of a problem for James when she was still able to draw breath, and therefore act as an object of jealousy for the pilot, she was an acceptable sacrifice. Knowing of Charlene's dislike for her, the Intelligence Services already had the means should they have to.

"But Sir, we cannot honestly…".

"Smithers!" Menzies reminded him of his place, getting out of his seat to stride around next to the Captain. "We both know that is not the course of action that we would like to pursue, but we cannot allow James to lose his mind! If he begins to descend into a dark state, he could reveal the truth to anyone. That risk is too great!"

"I know, Sir, but… she is innocent… poetry aside. That must be a last resort".

"And it shall, Smithers… but we are limited in our options without creating a damaging effect on relations with our allies. We need them".

To win the war, America would have to be involved, and to that extent the Lieutenant-Colonel was correct. Risking the alliance for the sake of Erin Quinn's life, if necessary, was not possible. Monitoring Lance was not out of the question, but there was only so far that the boundary of such surveillance could be pushed. Further escalation would require action that could comprise relations if it were to be taken. To that extent, acting against her would be far easier. Local backlash, a lot closer to home in one case, would be of outrage should it be discovered her death was ordered by the Intelligence Services. However, crucially, they could manage that backlash.

"Alas, I will think about it". Menzies concluded, returning to his seat. "Although, I do not have too long".

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"I'm off to Algiers soon, Smithers". He replied, looking at the Captain who'd come to sit down on the other side of the desk. "That was one of the offshoots of my meeting with the PM".

"To meet with the French, Sir? I cannot imagine Admiral Darlan would wish to speak with anyone from our country".

At the mention of Darlan's name, there was a wry smile across the Lieutenant-Colonel's face, one which Smithers did not understand. Menzies didn't do thise sorts of looks often, but when he did, his Captain knew not to ask any further questions.

"I'm sure our paths will cross".

Leaving it be, Smithers knew that there was little more for him to say. Menzies was only going to tell him to keep an eye on the situation if he asked what their next step was, understanding without having to have the order given explicitly. Both of their agents in Derry would remain in their roles, watching over James' life from afar, while Charlene kept her ear to the ground for any other threats too. Between the two of them, it was their responsibility to ensure that James' condition did not worsen, not that they could get an accurate picture of what that condition was. Whilst they might have been exploring part of the reason for his troubles, there was a different side to the Englishman's struggles that they did not see. The memories of the past that were eating him alive, the reminders of the actions he'd taken to return to a life that no longer existed in the way that he wanted it to.

"There was one other point of discussion, Smithers". Speaking up again, Menzies watched as the Captain dipped his head, moving to return to his seat. "No no, stay stood up".

Confused by his superior's actions, Smithers stood frozen to the spot, watching Lieutenant-Colonel Menzies walk over to the door. Silently, he beckoned Lotty into the room with them too, the bright-faced young beauty beaming at the Captain when she entered. There was something in the palm of her hand, Smithers took note of it as soon as he glanced in her direction, although what the item was, he did not know for certain.

"The Prime Minister and I discussed some… changes in structure, shall we say, and that has meant certain positions have changed and new opportunities created".

"I see…". Smithers replied warily, still not completely understanding.

"How does Major Robert Smithers, sound to you?"

Blinking away his disbelief for a moment, Smithers looked up to find the smiling faces of both Lieutenant Colonel Menzies and Lotty. It suddenly became clear to him that in the palm of her hand was his stripe to denote him as a Major, ready to be sewn onto his official uniform. When he'd joined the Intelligence Services, the last thing that he expected was to be promoted up to the rank of Major. All he wished to do was serve his country to the best of his ability, an ability that was clearly recognised and appreciated by those senior to him. Whilst the life of James Maguire may have been a nightmare to control, especially to the extremes they'd gone to in order to maintain said control, it was equally a blessing for his career. Thrust into the spotlight as the man trusted with Britain's mightiest secret, he'd secured the path to a higher responsibility as a Major.

"It is well deserved, Robert". For the first time that he could remember, Smithers heard Menzies address him by his first name. "You have proven yourself to be an exemplary Intelligence Officer, and a valued servant of the country, and the Commonwealth. There was no other candidate for this position, not after what you have done for the war effort".

"Congratulations". Lotty shuffled forward, offering her hand to him, placing the rank into his outstretched palm. "Major".

Menzies soon moved in to shake his Major's hand, his gratitude being felt through the power of his handshake. Smithers was a most valuable member of the branch, the superior officer believing there to be few men who'd work as tirelessly as Smithers. He still held many good years of service left himself, he liked to think, but in Major Smithers, he'd already identified his long-term successor. Any man who'd gone to the lengths that he had for James at times, experiencing the failures of the Taranto rescue to the great high of welcoming his fellow countryman back into allied territory, was destined to go to the very top. One day, whether it was during the war or after it, Menzies hoped Smithers would ascend to his rightful place.

Despite the warm congratulations of both his superior officer and Lotty, Smithers knew there was something else that meant more.

His wife and, in time, his son, would be extremely proud of him.

That was the most important part of all.

---

Finally, it was her day.

Well… their day.

After months of frustration, compounded by what she believed to be vile discrimination, Michelle was going to take her relationship with Clint to a new level. Still it was not to the level that most assumed they would have conquered long ago, owing to her reputation as a bit of a goer, a similar reputation her Aunt Kathy once held. The level that they were going to explore that day, rather perfectly a Sunday in her mind, was one that any man would also be nervous of. Although Clint might not have held her worries about commitment, it would have been unnatural of him not to feel a little anxious ahead of the day.

She was going to introduce him to her parents. An audition of sorts, for a fella that she wanted to be with.

Martin and Deirdre were hardly the harshest of battleaxes despite the appearances that at least the latter kept up. If Sean Devlin was her Da then she wouldn't have dared bought Clint to meet him. Her far more liberal parents would be far more respectful than he ever would be, which was going to be important when all she wished for was the day to go smoothly. It called for drastic actions too, actions that were very much different to the normal behaviour of the young Mallon. Praying the night before, actually doing so rather than like at Church when she pretended to, only to whisper the names of fella she thought to be rides, Michelle desperately wanted them to like him. For her own comfort, she'd even gone as far as to invite James too, making it a true family occasion with him there to support her. He'd already met Clint the once, which she in turn hoped would make her fella relaxed.

"I've never seen 'chelle so nervous". Martin spoke aloud, in the direction of James. "She really must like this fella".

The two of them were stood in the hallway, waiting for her to open the door to the house. James had already spotted her walking up the street with him from the living room. Watching over the dinner, Deirdre remained in the kitchen, ensuring that her cooking would leave a good first impression on the fella. When Michelle spoke of him as much as she did, her parents were incredibly excited to meet him. Though they tried to press him for details, James remained mostly silent on what sort of a man Clint was, telling his Aunt and Uncle that it was up to them to cast their opinion on him, not have one already laced with his thoughts. Having only met rather fleetingly the once since he'd returned from the continent, James held Clint in a high regard. During the couple of minutes that he'd conversed with him, a bond of respect was already formed between the two. The complete opposite to the tense, hostile nature of his acquaintance with Lieutenant Hamilton.

"She's in love, Martin". James chuckled, hands clasped together behind his back. "It is only natural for her to be worried that you might not accept him".

"Why wouldn't we?" His Uncle quizzed him.

"I cannot answer that. That will come from the impression that you draw of him".

A gentlemanly answer from a man that was a gentleman, Martin could only shake his head at his nephew. Sometimes James spoke far too well for his own good. He definitely wasn't jealous of his command of the English language, not at all. On one of his better days, the James of before the war could be spotted that lunchtime. There were not the bags that were beginning to define him, sat under his eyes, nor did he look at all anguished as he sometimes did if glanced at secretively. No one could say for certain whether there was anything wrong with him or not, and though Martin and Deirdre had both noticed signs of his stress, neither found themselves to be worrying too greatly. Their nephew was a hardy soul after all, coming back mostly on his own steam all the way from Italy where his war appeared to have been declared over. The reprieve was only a temporary one for James though; beneath the gentlemanly layer, he knew his terrors would come for him again in the night. His war was not over.

"Martin!" Deirdre called out from the kitchen.

"I want ye on yer best behaviour! No scarin' the fella, ye hear!?"

Mouthing, 'me', in shock to James, Martin's head shaking grew in intensity. He was the light to her darkness in those sort of situations, apart from when he found Johnny Kells in his daughter's bed one morning. That was different though, and any fella they found near the house that wasn't a family friend or James, usually found Deirdre's ire to be blasted towards them. Granted, a lot of the fella's Michelle had been with previously were very much limited to one night and they would never meet them, but she made sure to let them know they were not most welcome upon a return visit. Clint was not going to fall to the same fate, especially when it was clear to the two of them that he meant a lot more to Michelle than most lads did.

"I wouldn't dream of it love!" He shouted back to her. "How about yerself! Will ye be behavin'!?"

There was a short pause that both James and Martin knew would mean that the latter would be going down in his wife's estimation.

"You watch that tongue of yer's, Martin Mallon or I'll cut it out!"

Sniggering at his wife's words, Martin shared a look with James, who found himself to be in charge of the shaking heads. He admired the relationship that his Aunt and Uncle held together over so many years, though since he'd returned to the city, he could never allow himself to dwell on it. The reminder of what could have been for him with Erin was painfully close to his heart whenever he witnessed any such interaction between them. He'd always imagined that he would have such a friendly, easy-going love with the blonde like his Aunt and Uncle had, the two able to joke around each other, seeing out their days as the best of friends as well as lovers. Another opportunity stolen from him by fate, he knew he would never be able to submit to the experience with anyone else.

"My god… I love that woman".

Whispering, Martin's words softened James' otherwise pained heart. Thankfully for his own conscience, he would not have to think about it any longer, as the front door opened to reveal Michelle. Due to the cold, she was wrapped up in a large, thick jacket, but underneath they knew her to be wearing an almost golden dress, that she treasured above all of her other possessions. It only made an appearance on the most special of occasions, and it certainly beat the white dress she'd worn to Sarah and Shane's wedding. They'd not let up on her for a good week or more after the wedding, which she thought to be too strict, leaving them to wonder whether they'd been too lenient with her. She hadn't quite ruined the wedding, Sarah having forgiven her and telling her that she would have probably made the same choice, a point of contention that could not be argued from their perspective.

"Alright Da!" Excitedly, Michelle practically bellowed, leaving James to wince at the ear crackling sound. "MA!"

"Hello love!" Deirdre called back. "I'm keepin' an eye on the dinner, so I am".

Awkwardly filling the space behind her, Clint looked to be a bag of nervous when James and Martin caught his eyes. He deliberately avoided making eye contact with Martin when he worked out that the man was Michelle's father, barely able to even look James in the eye despite knowing him. He instead looked down to find the warm, comforting smile of the woman that he loved in front of him. It was not right, that was what a lot of his crewmates and even some of the officers told him, for him to fall in love with a woman like her, but there was no doubt in his mind. Right or wrong didn't matter to him; her love did. That Michelle felt exactly the same way was music to his ears, and in all of his twenty-two years, the sailor had never felt the same passion for a woman as he did with her.

"Clint!". James called his name, advancing forward to meet him. "It is good to see you again".

Suddenly, having been awkward and gangly behind Michelle, the sailor sprung into life. He used his foot to close the door, a technique that was eerily similar to Martin. All three of them, Michelle included, were reduced to frowns almost instantly, that was until the door was shut and he changed his stance. James then understood what was going on, though the Yank didn't have to do what he was doing at all.

"Vice Air Admiral Maguire, Sir!"

Stood to attention, his right palm facing down to his shoulder, he was showing James a respect that the young man did not believe that he deserved. It was correct and proper for a man of the rank of Steward's Mate to be saluting a senior officer, even if that officer served a different country. There was an element of respect to the gesture, a recognition of superiority that saw through the flags that the two men served under. As an officer though, James did not like to be seen as a man above the rest of his men. He appreciated that he held far more responsibility than they did, but it did not make him any better than them. Certainly since being shot down, he would not stop to consider being superior to any other man, serving or not.

"Clint… I….". He was lost for words, trying not to laugh, huffing with a smile instead. "I appreciate the respect that you are giving me, but I am retired. You have no need to salute me".

"I disagree, Sir…".

"James, please". Interruption made, James felt Michelle squeeze his arm.

"I disagree, James…". Still rather uncomfortably, Clint's voice betrayed his hesitancy. "You are a war hero and should be treated as one".

Clint didn't know how wrong he was, James thought to himself initially, bestowing upon him a title that simply did not fit. Most who knew of his record would find themselves agreeing with the American, but James knew himself better than anyone. He was his own largest nemesis, and knowing his enemy, he knew he was no hero. There was too much of his past that was bathed in blood, overshadowing his heroic actions of a time at the start of the war when he was arguably the finest officer Britain had within its ranks.

"No, it is I who should be saluting you".

Altering his own stance, James came to salute the man that was making his cousin happy. He was the serving man of the two, therefore it was he that deserved recognition and respect. Michelle could feel her heart melting at how the two of them clearly held each other in a high regard, though she'd never doubted anything but sincerity from James. She might not have seen it during his original spell in the city before the war, yet years on it was clear to her that she was one of the luckiest women in the world. There were so many brilliant fellas in her life, that would continue to be there in a future she hoped would be prosperous.

"Right…". Raising his voice, all eyes turned to Martin. "Now that the two of ye have finished playin' soldiers… Clint, I'm Martin, Michelle's father".

Displaying a look of total bewilderment across his face, Clint almost did not know what to do when Martin extended his hand. To his side in the hallway, Michelle's stomach performed cartwheels for a moment of complete and utter awkwardness between her fella and her Da. She'd not seen a rabbit in the headlights of a car before, but if she were to imagine the expression on the face of the furry little creature when the beams shone upon it, the one on Clint's face was what she pictured.

"Clinton Johnson…". The American eventually offered his hand. "… Mister Mallon, Sir".

"Ach none of that with me, son. Ye've no need to be calling me, Sir, I'm not a Lord now, am I?"

"No…".

"Exactly. Just Martin will do".

Accepting that he was already allowed to be on friendly terms with Michelle's father, Clint couldn't quite believe what was happening. In his wildest dreams he couldn't have imagined to have been welcomed so warmly by her family, even when a lot of the locals were kind. To be in a relationship with one of them, and subsequently meeting their parents, was something far greater. The usual rules did not apply, leaving Clint to assume that he would be eyed with suspicion throughout. Martin and Deirdre were fairly liberal parents though, proven by how often they'd overlooked Michelle's antics, or at the very least quickly forgiven her when they'd had to come down hard. It developed her into becoming the passionate young woman that she was though, a job well done as far as they were concerned. The American merely represented the next step on their daughter's path in life.

Edging past her Da, Michelle made a beeline for the kitchen to see her Mammy, with Martin and Clint trailing in behind her, as James brought up the rear. The Englishman was more than happy to sit back and support his cousin, as well as Clint, thankful that he was not the centre of attention for a change. A lot of the time since he'd returned to the city, James often felt as if he could not escape the attention of others, although it was all mostly positive. There were so many people interested in his story, with many clients of the bank being told that he could not tell them such stories, for there was nothing interesting to tell. The general populace would never know of anything he went through after the fateful night where he was shot down. For the most part, it was good that they did not.

"Mammy…". Michelle, fidgeting nervously, spoke to her mother who'd turned to face the new arrivals in the kitchen. "… this is Clint".

So unusually nervous, Michelle could barely believe the sound of her own voice when she spoke. She wore her rebellious armour tightly to her chest, but beneath it was a layer of vulnerability that she knew all too well. There was a timid, almost innocent, young woman there despite the appearances that she made to others. Loud and brash might have been two words more associated with her than others, but shy and uncertain could be applied at times. So desperately wishing for her parents to approve of Clint, she was up nearly all of the previous night with the most shocking nerves. They'd barely receded that morning, where she was constantly in a state of panic and worry before she left to meet the sailor. The fact he'd managed to get the time off the ship was a surprise she hadn't been ready for, and when he'd announced it earlier in the week, a rash decision was made for him to meet her family. It was going to have to be a bridge crossed at some point though, sooner rather than later suiting her much more.

"Mrs Mallon… I… it's…". Clint fumbled, unsure of what to say to her.

Deirdre did not have such a problem.

"Come here, ye silly fella!" She laughed, pulling him forward and wrapping her arms around him. "Don't ye be so nervous! The pair of ye… what are ye like!"

Coaxing laughter out of Michelle, Deirdre settled the tense air that neither her nor Martin created in the first place. Clint still found himself to be shocked by how warm he'd been welcomed, deciding against saying anything else to the older Irishwoman when he could not find the right words to express himself. Almost immediately after he was released, he shared a look with Michelle before he returned to her side, taking his hand in hers to show just how much he meant to her, in front of her parents. The action was duly noted by them both, Martin and Deirdre exchanging pleasant glances from what they saw. As first impressions went, nerves aside, they couldn't have been happier that she'd chosen Clint as her fella. Unlike the fella that Erin was with, who seemed to be quite arrogant from what they'd seen, he was reserved, cautious but gentlemanly. They couldn't have asked for much more.

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes or so". Deirdre announced. "Martin, take everyone through to the living room would ye, love?"

"Aye love".

Leading the procession, Martin made sure to take his prized spot on his armchair before any of the others could sit there, most notably James. When Michelle took the sofa with Clint a moment later, it left the Englishman with the crooked old chair in the corner. Realising that with his weight, mostly his still fairly impressive upper body muscle, he would go through the chair, he decided to stand or rather perch on the windowsill at the back. The one advantage of the back window was the rather large windowsill, and though it wasn't the most comfortable of seats in the house, it was better than destroying the chair that did not belong to him. Even with the money that he had at his disposal, it would have been an unnecessary waste to purchase a new chair.

The toughest test, or at least what he assumed was the toughest test of the day, was to come for Clint. Martin and Deirdre, and to a lesser extent James, would be able to cross-examine him. Michelle might have been by his side, but she could not deflect questions on his background. There was still a lot that she had to learn about him too, as despite having so many conversations with him since they'd gotten to know each other, there never seemed to be a good time to talk about it. His time was so limited by his duties, as well as the watchful eyes of some of the officers abord the Lyman, that their time together was quite short. Within the four walls of the Mallon household, she was going to learn more about him.

"So, Michelle tells me yer from New Orleans… lotta good music there, I hear".

"That's right… Martin…". A still uncomfortable Clint uttered. "I've grown up around music all my life. Some of my friends are musicians back home".

"Really?" Martin questioned, surprised. "Anyone we might have heard of?"

"No, not really. They only play to the local crowd… you know how it is".

Martin didn't really know how it was but nodded his head out of courtesy anyway. His knowledge of New Orleans extended no further than the music, but it was enough to at least start a conversation. One of his friends from work went to the trouble of doing a bit of research about America before the arrival of the Yanks, with New Orleans' culture being something that was touched upon. From what Martin could remember, it appeared to be a lively place that was a close-knit community at heart, not too dissimilar from Derry yet somehow miles apart. If Clint was the standard of man that came from the city though, it could hardly be a terrible place.

"What is it? Jazz?"

"Oh yeah!" He rather excitedly replied, for the first time relaxing, before he remembered himself. "You like Jazz?"

"I've not heard too much of it but some of the fellas from work say it's pretty class so I guess I'd like it too".

"And I would second that". James added, with a smile on his face.

"Maybe ye could take us all back with ye, Clint". Michelle suggested, the hint of hope not lost on any of them in the room. "The three of ye's can all enjoy the music while me and Mammy have a drink".

Speaking of her future so openly, without letting her worries effect her, Michelle almost told herself to catch herself on. She was already making the leap to assuming that her future would be with the fella, which could very much change when he went out into combat. Although he was hardly a frontline serving sailor, as a Steward's Mate, he would still be expected to fight should the circumstances arise. His training covered the basics of combat even though it was not his main responsibility, a training program designed to ensure that all servicemen could defend themselves in the eventuality of combat, whether it be at range or hand to hand. The thought that he could be killed was not one she entertained often, and when she did, Michelle did everything in her power to think of something else in its place.

"It does not sound like you to be at the bar, Michelle". James wryly offered, as Martin rolled his eyes.

"Alright watch it!" She warned him playfully. "I just like the idea of us all going to see where ye grew up, Clint. Ye've seen our city so… ye know, when the war's over… we could see yer's".

"That sounds grand!"

Clearly, Deirdre was still listening in from the kitchen, as she shouted out to them from it. She liked the sound of drinking at a bar whilst listening to music, perhaps watching a performance or two as well. A relaxed lifestyle during her older age was something that Deirdre Mallon could only long for though, the economic position held to even consider such peace being one that they were miles off as a family. Except James, but even he couldn't be that frivolous to help her. The accountants of the crown were expected to keep a lot under their hats, but James racking up large bills in New Orleans was not something that could be lost in a suspense account.

"Great, now ye've put ideas in yer mother's head, Michelle". Martin sighed quietly, so Deirdre did not hear him.

"Wise up Da!" She retorted. "Can ye not see yerself in America… the land of the free, isn't that right, Clint?"

When he did not answer straightaway, she was worried that she'd said something wrong. Michelle hadn't of course, but neither did Clint agree with what she'd said. Such a sweeping statement might have been said for a certain part of the country, yet for others, the reality was far different. America may have been a growing power throughout the world, but it was not the tranquil land of prosperity that many painted it to be. There were deep problems that went right to the core when it came to society, problems that were only exacerbated by the Great Depression. At a time where unity was surely the best answer to the financial problems that defined the age, there was instead more division. Equality was a fanciful word that meant very little in America… as Clint knew too well. He knew well enough not to damage the illusion either.

"Yes Ma'am". He replied, with a slightly cheeky grin on his face in the end. "I quite like it here though. You have a lovely city. Good people".

"Aye but it's feckin' cold sometimes". Martin answered. "We've had some harsh winters… haven't we love!"

"The worst!" Deirdre called back. "Say what's the weather like back home for you there, Clint? Is it nice and warm?"

"Humid… wet sometimes…".

"At least ye don't have any English out there though, aye?"

Pulling a face at James just after she spoke, when she found his mockingly raised eyebrows, Michelle was beginning to find herself relaxing even more. Joking about James' accent was once something that was not a joke to her, but after their reunion where she apologised for her prior behaviour, she could condemn him to the odd barb or two. Her parents were clearly more than pleased with the man that she'd chosen to be with, inviting him into the home as if he were a part of the furniture already. The road to her future was still a long one to be travelled upon, but with Clint by her side, she was more confident than ever of exploring it. Commitment to a fella might have once terrified her. Meeting him was the tonic to quell those fears.

"From what I've seen of Englishmen, Michelle…". Clint spoke softly, lacing their fingers together before looking up to James. "They seem like a damn fine bunch of gentlemen".

"Hear that James, yer damn fine!" Michelle spoke in what was a poorly contrived attempt at copying Clint's accent.

"I think the description flatters me…".

"Stop being so modest, James!" Deirdre once again interrupted from the kitchen, being sure to look her nephew in the eye from afar. "Ye see Clint, love, there's not a lot of love for the English here. Sometimes I look at an Englishman and… it's just pure hatred. Not our James though… he's special, so he is".

The James of many a year before would have blushed at such a description, and he was doing so again even when he was not the same man as he once was. He was being flattered even if they did not realise they were doing it, though that was down to how little he was starting to value himself. Not knowing any different when he was not conditioned to hate the English, Clint could only see James for what he was. A gentleman and a hero, whether he liked it or not. There were few men who'd attacked the Nazi's and their allies so daringly and lived to tell a tale or two of how they'd managed it. It wasn't just James though; he was taken with them all. Beginning to lose himself in his thoughts, he could not help but feel a wave of serenity wash over him. Few men like him knew how it felt to be accepted so ardently by those that were not part of the community that they grew up in. He often felt such relationships were part of another world that he was denied access to, but Derry was showing him that it was not the case. Not when there were families such as the Mallon's that lived within the city. From what he could see, thanks to James, acceptance was something they held plenty of practice in.

"Are you alright, Clint?" James was the first to notice how he'd zoned out, catching the American unawares. "You look very lost".

"I… I…". Stammering, he wasn't quite sure if he should speak, unwilling to risk spoiling the mood. "I… I just…".

"What is it?" Michelle, eyes coated with a watery glaze in seconds, worriedly enquired.

"I just… I'm not used to regular folk bein' so kind to me, that's all". Finding his voice, he began to explain himself. "It's… it's not so easy for me back home".

The statement left them confused, especially when he'd confirmed the belief of America being the land of the free just moments before. He was not so free, at least he did not feel as if he was, feeling the burdens of past generations upon him every time he strayed too far from home. Serving with the Navy, he knew what to expect too, the true reason as to why he was left so shocked by Martin and Deirdre especially. There were men and women of their age back across the other side of the pond, who were not so inviting of a man like him walking into their lives.

"What are ye on about?" Martin took over, curious to find out more.

"I'm a black man, Martin". Clint put it rather bluntly. "If I was back home then you wouldn't be lettin' me within a mile of Michelle… I wouldn't be allowed near her… wouldn't be right for her".

Getting up from his armchair, with a stern expression upon his face, Martin walked over towards the American who was opening up like he'd never done before. The look petrified Michelle, who'd been worried sick what might happen the moment her fella met her parents. Even if they were more accepting than most, they could hardly be criticised for hesitating to recognise him. Their names would be spoken of harshly at Church by the old battered hags with nothing better to do, whose attitudes were most likely not too dissimilar to those in America. She shouldn't have been scared though, because her father was a better man than most. He only saw Clint for what he was; a good man.

"Son". Addressing him stoutly, but warmly, Martin placed a hand on Clint's shoulder. "I couldn't care less whether yer black, white or orange… yer my daughter's fella and ye care for her a lot. That's all that matters to me son, nothin' else. Same for my Deirdre… and for James. Anyone who can't see that… is a feckin' eejit!"

Reduced to tears by the hallowed, meaningful words of Martin Mallon, Clint couldn't help but burst out into fits of them. They were not just tears of joy but of pain too, except he was ridding himself of the pain rather than once again being on the end of it. Throughout his life of service, and long before, being told he was worthless because of the colour of his skin was something he was used to. It wasn't right, discrimination of such kind never was and never would be, yet he'd had to suffer in silence. As long as he was with Michelle Mallon, and her family, he would not have to endure such suffering when they saw him for more than his skin colour. They viewed him as he wished to be viewed; an ordinary man with a lot of love in his heart, love that he wished to give to Michelle. She was just about the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Dinner's ready!"

Deirdre's shout prompted them to all to return to reality, after a precious moment was shared. Michelle was crying too, having to stop herself as to not worry her Mammy. James and Martin could hardly say they weren't a little choked up either. The former was very much in agreement with his Uncle too. He couldn't care less where Clint came from or what the colour of his skin was. He could already see that the man was going to become a firm friend.

"Dry yer eyes, Clint". Chuckling, Martin couldn't help but repeat a phrase more accustomed to his wife. "If yer goin' to be around this family, yer goin' to learn to love my Deirdre's Sheppard's Pie".

That afternoon had been an incredible lesson of learning for them all… and Clint loved the Sheppard's Pie.

For him, it was a blissful break before he went back to the jeers and sneers of the racist officers that treated him as if he was nothing more than a fleck of dirt on the end of their boot. The Mallon's were a rare breed. It was back to normality when he returned to the ship, especially when it came to a certain group of officers. One of them stood out from the others even more.

Lieutenant Lance Hamilton.

---

Third and fourth wheels on what was an uncomfortable date, if it could even be called that, Erin and Orla could not have wanted to be further away. Although they might have done almost everything as friends, including being there for one of the group at their time of need, spending the afternoon with Clare as she pretended to be into a fella was one of the least enjoyable experiences of their lives. Orla wasn't quite as fussed as her cousin, although she would have rather spent the time with her wee daughter, who was spending the afternoon with her Grandma Sarah and Shane. The happily married couple were enjoying their new life together in the eyes of the Lord, and though Sarah decreed she was too old to have another child, they could glean some parental joy from looking after Marie.

Erin really shouldn't have been annoyed, as it was mostly her idea in the first place. The vague details of Clare's arrangement with the fella Jamie, who neither she nor Orla particularly liked at all, meant she had to come up with something rather hasty when the diminutive blonde asked. For once, it was Sean's lack of saying anything about what was going on, not acting as a protective father, that terrified Clare the most. They'd spent a few weeks courting, a loose description of what the fella was paid to do, and he'd not raised an eyebrow. For a couple of weeks, Clare assumed he was giving her some leeway as she got to know the fella properly but as time went on, his lack of comments disturbed her. When Erin suggested that the four of them go out together, to show that he was also interacting around her friends, Clare jumped at the opportunity.

Discovering that James was behind the original plan with Jamie, Erin found herself surprised that he would make such a suggestion. The James that she knew, and once loved, would have never have acted so callously when it came to the topic of love. He was passionate, remembering how so all too well if she ever allowed herself to, which was a lot more frequently than the young woman could freely admit to. Clare smartly left out the element of bribery from what she'd told her friends, insisting that James used his abilities as a linguist to convince Jamie into keeping up appearances with her. Michelle thought differently, though she was yet to get the truth out of her cousin or her friend.

Conversation was quite poor, especially when it lacked the energy of Michelle to drive it on. When they weren't so fond of the fella, Erin and Orla didn't want to say too much, and he wasn't up for too much talking when he was only being paid to be there, not make small talk. It was left to Clare to keep the atmosphere alive around them, and the topics varied wildly when she almost cacked it every time she put something across. The cack attack queen was living up to her billing that afternoon, especially when she was thrust into a situation that she didn't find entirely comfortable. Inviting her friends along was supposed to be a help but if she were to tell herself honestly, Clare found them to be more of a hinderance. Running out of things to say, she eventually turned to the war itself.

"So… I reckon Michelle was right after all".

The sudden change brought a frown to the surface for Erin, while Jamie and Orla both remained unaware, and in the latter's case, uninterested. Michelle being right about something was not a statement Erin enjoyed hearing, albeit it was better when it didn't come from her friend. There was less boisterousness when Clare said it, which was far better in her opinion.

"About what, Clare?" Erin enquired after another couple of seconds.

"The war… ye know about it lasting till forty-five… I reckon that's about right, ye know".

"It'll be sooner, I reckon". Jamie interjected with a rare remark, happier to discuss the war than sewing shirts.

"Aye right…". Erin replied, not hiding her dislike of him. "What gives ye that idea?"

"The Soviets… they're who we need to be trustin', ye know. They know what their doin', so they do".

An ally, a tentative one at best, who'd started the war on the wrong side, Erin didn't know enough about Russia to be able to agree or disagree. There were always stories about Russia, mostly about some of the strange ways in which the people lived. She didn't know whether to believe half of it or not, but Granda Joe seemed to believe that they could not be trusted, having said as much on numerous occasions. Anna appeared to have taken that rhetoric from him too, very much taking on his view of the world in that regard. Soviet ideals would not be ones that she subscribed too, and when she knew her sister to be smart, Erin would most likely follow her lead. Jamie appeared to believe otherwise.

"They have been helpin', I suppose". Clare mused, as they turned onto the street of the Devlin house. "It's right cold out in Russia though… colder than here".

"What's that got to do with it, Clare?" Erin sniped. "Sure it's Baltic there, but they're probably used to it. I remember Granda sayin' they get up to right funny business out in the cold".

"He doesn't know what's he talkin' about!"

Any man or woman that made the notion that Joe McCool didn't know what he was talking about was either the bravest or the brave, or one of the biggest fools going. Erin recoiled at Jamie's words when he spoke up again, almost no one ever having dared to suggest her Granda would not know what he was on about. Sure, he could go a wee bit overboard at times, with Gerry mostly, but he was a knowledgeable man with far more worldly experience than Jamie. She didn't know much about the young bank clerk, but he wasn't exactly a well-travelled, well-versed man like Joe. It only added to her growing contempt for him, which did not bode well when he would be around Clare for the foreseeable future.

"I think ye'll find my Granda knows a lot more about the Soviets than you!" She argued back. "Why do ye want to know about them anyway? It's weird…".

"It's not weird!" He grunted back. "They've got a grand way of life, so they have. Better than the fuckin' Americans, that's for sure".

"I don't know about that". Orla interrupted, Clare being thankful for it for all of a half second. "Those wee Russians must have terrible frostbite… I bet they've got less fingers than the Yanks".

"They're much better people…".

"Oi! Ye don't know that". Erin once again was riled by Jamie. "Me and Michelle both know the American fella's quite well, so we're a lot more qualified to judge than you are. They're no worse than yer precious Soviets".

"Filthy capitalist bastards if ye ask me".

Getting into such talk was something that Erin was not prepared to do, mostly down to the fact she was not well versed in the topic. Clearly, the fella had some sort of a problem with the Yanks, which made him almost a perfect match for her mother. At least her Mammy wasn't quite so vindictive about it compared to him, hearing the venom in the fella's voice when he criticised the Americans. For all that they might have caused trouble, there was no reason for it to suggest that their way of life was wrong. After all, they were merry young men when they arrived, compared to what Granda Joe told the family about the Soviets, claiming they were all miserable. She was more inclined to believe him than Jamie.

"Yeah well, I'd rather be friends with an American than a Russian".

"Aye… I bet". He almost snarled at her in return.

"Excuse me!"

For once, Sean's presence, having opened the front door to the Devlin house upon seeing them walking up the street, became a blessing. Instinctively deciding that she needed to show her Da that she was serious about the fella, when she was anything but, Clare reacted so quickly than none of them had a chance to stop her… nor did she manage to stop herself. She practically jumped into Jamie's arms, the poor fella only just about being able to catch her without taking the pair of them over into one of the neighbour's lawns. She had no clue on what to do with a fella but having seen her friends kiss fella's plenty of times before, it didn't seem to be too hard to fake. If anything, in her brief moment of psychotic clarity, she didn't know why she hadn't done so before. Pressing her lips to his, hoping for the best, it left her two friends open mouthed.

"I thought she didn't…".

"Shut it Orla!" Erin hissed. "Christ… is she goin' to let him up for air anytime soon. It's one thing kissin' him, it's another neckin' the poor fella!"

From the doorway, Sean was very much appeased when he saw what he assumed to be his daughter completely in love with the fella. His approval was already in place after meeting Jamie on numerous occasions, not that Clare was aware of it being the case. More than happy to welcome the young man into his family, he quite liked him. He didn't quite measure up to James in his estimation, but the Englishman held the advantage of having fought for their freedoms. There was always an extra edge to a fella who'd served to fight, even if Sean himself would not have dreamt of doing so. Jamie certainly wasn't going to be signing up for a war he wanted no part in.

Eventually, Clare did let him up for air when she determined that her Da would have been placated enough. For a young woman so terrified of getting within a metre of a fella, she'd somehow managed to snog the face off of one. Striking her first though, was how little effect it actually had on her. She truly did not feel anything, no excitement or rush, like there should have been. Confirmation of her persuasions was not something that she needed anyway when she was so sure, but if there was ever any doubt, then it was firmly ironed out by her performance that afternoon. Only after the initial shock of how little she felt passed, did she realise what she'd actually done. There was a taste in her mouth, a taste that she did not like at all. She'd kissed a fella… an actual, living breathing fella. Tidal wave of cackery cometh…

"Oh my God! Oh my God!"

Luckily for her, Jamie was so shocked he'd moved away, back behind her as he regained fresh air to his lungs, having been practically assaulted by the wee blonde. Sean didn't think too much of it, having turned around to inform Geraldine of what he'd seen outside. Left with just a few seconds to spare, Erin took control of the situation, recognising the danger if Clare didn't pull herself together quickly.

"Clare!" She growled, grabbing her by shoulders. "Stop it!"

"I… I…".

"I mean it! Do ye want him to get suspicious!?"

As Erin tried to calm her friend down, Orla watched Jamie walking away, rather briskly too. He was paid to simply act as if he was her fella, not take part in any additional work in order to help maintain her cover. James didn't pay him enough to be kissed by a young woman that he did not find attractive in the slightest. There was only so much a fella could take, and her launching herself onto him was far more than he was prepared to put up with. He'd leave the girls to make up a lie as to why he couldn't follow them all the way up to the house. For him, all he wished for was to get home, shut the front door and drink until he could forget what happened. A sore head whilst trawling through ledgers at the bank the next morning was almost certain.

When Sean turned back from informing his wife of the good news, he spotted the young man walking off, in turn frowning at what he was seeing. What he hadn't seen was Erin's successful attempt at recomposing Clare, only seeing what they wanted him to see, which was the three of them walking towards him with smiles on their faces. Orla was mostly oblivious to what was going on, vaguely understanding the point of Jamie helping Clare, without really fully grasping the reason why. Her Da was always going to try to get her to marry someone, so the young mother couldn't work out why Clare didn't just marry a fella. It would stop all the hassle of having to pay someone to pretend and she could probably still kiss other women if she wanted. Everything was rather lost on her.

"You alright girls?" Sean enquired. "Where's Jamie goin'?"

Frantically, Clare looked to the other two to provide an answer. One was unlikely to come from Orla when she didn't know what was going on, so it was once again left for Erin to pick up the pieces. As annoying as Michelle could be in similar situations, she missed her presence as a backup in case further details needed to be embellished. The two of them made an excellent team when it came to making up cover stories.

"He needed to get back to help his Ma with somethin'…". She began, lying through her teeth. "… said he had to go right now or he wouldn't make it in time".

"Right… I didn't think he lived with his Ma…". Continuing to be perplexed, Sean replied slowly.

"He doesn't! That's why he has to go now ye see… so he can get home himself later".

"Aye I need to get home later, too". Orla pitched in. "I promised my Marie that I'd finish that story about the elephants with her tonight".

"That story yer enjoyin' more than her?"

"That's the one, Erin, that's the one".

Rolling her eyes at her cousin's juvenile antics, Erin hoped that they'd done enough to keep Sean off the scent. It wasn't her finest lie but it was by no means her worst, and from the look on his face it did appear to be enough. Saving them all though was the sudden presence of Geraldine behind him, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder to let him know that she was there. Erin often wondered whether Clare should just tell her Mammy the truth, reasoning that perhaps Geraldine would actually understand and be somewhat supportive of her. She certainly didn't think she was the sort of mother that would push her daughter into something she did not want, though Sean was not an easy man to oppose. The dynamics of the Devlin household were so different to that of her own, making judgement calls was far from simple for her.

"Right… well it's good to see everythin's going well with Jamie, Clare". Sean addressed her, before turning his attention to the other two. "Don't ye think girls?"

"It's only bec-".

"Oh aye we do, don't we Orla?"

Erin interrupted her cousin, to stop the truth from being spoken. All it did was confuse Orla even more, but she went along with it out of the sheer will to not want to annoy Erin, and therefore have her moaning the whole way home. Orla loved her cousin a lot, but that didn't mean she was immune to how annoying that she could be. That was before the poetry was even taken into consideration…

"Aye, we do".

"That's grand. Do ye want to come in girls? I'm sure Geraldine can get ye a cup of tea, if ye'd like?"

"Of course, it wouldn't be a bother love". Geraldine replied to him. "Come on in girls, it's always lovely to have ye".

Beaming up to Geraldine, who she held a lot of sympathy for, Erin found herself grabbing Orla by the arm to drag her in. Avoiding any further conversation about Jamie around Sean, where the young mother might say something that would ruin everything, was absolutely paramount. The two of them followed Clare's Ma in as her Da let them through, Clare then left alone with him at the door. He allowed her through as well, a gentlemanly gesture from a man who couldn't always be described as a gentleman. She was in far too much of a state internally not to realise that he wasn't going to let her in without making further comment, especially when Erin hadn't exactly been convincing outside.

"I can't wait till ye marry that fella, Clare". He mused to her, with her back turned to him, allowing her face to express the horror her conscience played at his words. "It'll be the proudest moment of my life givin' ye away to Jamie. My daughter… a married woman".

Having used all of her bravery on snogging the face of the fella, there were no reserves to be found as her Da spoke of the future. Clare couldn't marry any man, not when she did not feel anything towards them. Once again, fate and the sands of time were against her, as with the idea of marriage in his head, it wouldn't take long for Sean to push further. He could have a word in Father Peter's ear to get a wedding date booked well in advance, settling the issue for her even if Jamie hadn't proposed. The young Devlin didn't know how much money James had, but even with all his theoretical riches, he'd never be able to pay the fella enough to live the rest of his life with Clare. James' solution was only temporary though; she would have to go back to him to find a more permanent solution that didn't involve his employee.

An employee that could very easily cause them a lot of problems if he ever revealed the bribery, though his slate was not entirely clean either.

The walls were closing in on Clare Devlin, not for the first time in her life, but she couldn't help but feel as if this time, luck would not shine upon her. There would be no miraculous time buying exercise.

She was going to have to face what was to come.