Oxford

The London train pulled into Oxford a little after one. It was only 15 minutes late which, in wartime, was akin to being on time.

Craig stood slowly and pulled his kit bag from the overhead rack, letting it land dully at his feet. Around him, most of his travelling companions were showing far more enthusiasm for disembarkation than the Lieutenant was.

Truth be told, he still wasn't sure why he was here. He had just tried to execute the British Prime Minister. At the least he should be in the stockade, awaiting court martial. Instead, his second in command had, with the apparent approval of British Military Intelligence, sent him on... holiday.

GGG

Jan had been shocked when she'd picked up the telephone in her bookshop that morning. On the other end of the line was a man with a rich voice and an Italian accent.

"Signora Janine, you and I have never met, but you may have heard Craig speak of me. He calls me Actor."

Jan gave a sharp intake of breath. Craig was not one to talk at length about his work, but he had, on occasion, mentioned the names of his men and a little about how they came to be fighting in a war so far from home. This man, Actor, she knew had become the Lieutenant's right hand man. She was also certain that Craig would never have mentioned her to his men. Any of his men.

Actor knew instinctively what the woman was thinking, and he had to admit, it had been hard work finding her. To start with, it had only been a suspicion that the 'oh so correct' officer might be having a relationship. Casino, oddly, had been most certain. It had been Will that had finally let slip that he had a name and contact. It had taken Actor at his most persuasive to get the better of the British Sergeant-Major. He wasn't proud of what he'd done. A man's private life should be just that - but there were times when principles had to be broken.

"I have a favour to ask." Hesitantly, Actor described as succinctly as he could, the kidnap and subsequent assassination attempt. Now what Craig needed, the doctors said, was to rest, somewhere he would feel safe, where he had no need to pretend. "You don't have to do anything," he finished. "Just give him time."

Jan slowly replaced the receiver. 'Of course,' she had agreed. Although quite what she was agreeing to, she wasn't sure.

Now, just a few hours later, she was standing on a railway platform, waiting to greet the London train.

GGG

She saw Craig before he spotted her. Whilst on the face of it, he was no different from when they'd last been together, she saw many subtle differences. Yes, he looked tired - but that was the same as almost every return from a mission. He wasn't holding himself as upright as usual, as if he wanted people not to notice him, and his eyes were downcast. With a deep breath, Jan stepped forward to meet him.

He almost knocked her down, so absorbed was he in his own thoughts. "Jan?" It was odd. He'd known he was coming to Oxford... Actor had said as much when he'd escorted him to Paddington station. He just hadn't expected Jan to be here to greet him. He gave a half smile but didn't attempt to kiss her.

"Craig," she responded, reaching out to take his case, but the Lieutenant shook his head.

"It's fine. I can manage."

"Have you eaten?"

Craig shook his head, and Jan breathed a sigh of relief. She'd managed to procure a large brown trout that morning. With a few sautéed potatoes and a heap of spring vegetables it would be a substantial lunch for her friend. For herself, she was happy to eat a little less than normal if that was what was required.

GGG

Forty-eight hours later and Jan was in despair. Craig had eaten her food without enthusiasm, made polite but disinterested conversation and little else. He had slept a lot during the day, but at night not come to bed until he thought she would be sleeping. 'Give him time' Actor had said, so she maintained the pretence, deliberately holding her frustration in check. He would come to her, or not, when he was ready.

Leaving Craig to his post-lunch snooze, Jan slipped down to the shop, flipped the sign to 'Open' and retired to the counter. She was meant to be analysing a sale catalogue for an auction later in the week, but the words weren't registering, however many times she scanned them.

The shop doorbell brought her back to her senses. A flood of cold air preceded the arrival of a tall, skeletally thin man in his early 60's, wearing a flowing overcoat, a bright fuchsia pink scarf and hair that brushed his collar.

"Damien!"

Despite her musings, Jan smiled and pulled herself to her feet to greet her customer. "I thought you were in Scotland."

Damien pulled a wry smile. "I was, but Adrian was missing the bright lights, so we're back."

Jan gave a sympathetic shrug and shook her head. Adrian. Damien's lover, thirty years his junior and the bane of the older man's life. He led him a merry dance, but despite the breakups and histrionics on both sides, the two men were devoted to each other.

"Next time..." Damien had been about to say something else, but stopped, mid-sentence and looked at Jan. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" He cocked his head on one side and looked at his friend quizzically. "It's your American, isn't it? He's dumped you and's seeing someone else."

Jan had to smile, even if it was half-hearted. "Not quite."

Damien's expression changed instantly from that of flamboyant queer to serious professor. "Do you want to tell me? Hippocratic oath, and all that?"

An hour later and Jan had laid her soul bare. Damien had discarded scarf and overcoat ten minutes into the telling, purloined notebook and pencil, and jotted numerous notes whilst consuming endless cups of tea. As time had passed, Jan had grown nervous at the lack of sounds from upstairs, but all had been quiet.

"He's hiding from the world. We have to give him a way to find his way back." Damien tapped the pencil thoughtfully against his top lip. "First in class at West Point, decorated in North Africa, leading one of the most successful undercover combat teams - and he's not only let himself be captured, he's also led his men into a trap then tried to assassinate one of the heads of the Alliance. You can't really blame him for feeling suicidal, can you?"

"He wouldn't... Would he?"

The older man shook his head. "I think he would like to, but from what you say, he's never taken the easy way out."

A floorboard squeaked overhead.

"I think you visitor has arisen. I must be going, otherwise Adrian will have a hissy fit." Damien picked up his coat and scarf. "You said he used to box, in college. Do you think he might be up for a little sparring practice?"

Jan shrugged her shoulders. To be honest, she had no idea, but if Professor Damien Grant, head of Psychology at her father's old college thought he might have found a way forward, she wasn't about to discard the idea out of hand.

"In that case, just make sure he's at the college gym at 8. We'll be waiting for him." Damien tossed the scarf around his neck, gave a flick to his hair and headed out the door, a smile on his face.

The door tinged shut just as Craig emerged into the shop. "Who was that?" he asked, somewhat tersely.

"One of my father's friends, just seeing if a book he was asking for was in stock yet." Jan tried to keep her voice light. Lying was not her forte, and she was sure Craig would hear the deceit in her voice. "It isn't, unfortunately, but when he heard I had a friend staying, he insisted that he be allowed to extend you access to his college gymnasium." Jan looked up and held her gaze steady. "I said you might not be ready yet, but he wouldn't take no for an answer." She paused. "I would hate to offend him..."

GGG

Craig stepped through the doors to the college gym promptly at 8am. To tell the truth, he was intrigued. He'd known Jan was lying, but that in itself was so unusual that it had dragged him out of his torpor.

The atmosphere immediately took him back to his student days, the mix of old sweat, wood, leather and liniment. The room itself intensified the memories - high, windowless walls decorated with wooden climbing bars, dirty skylights that cast a pale light onto the apparatus below. The Lieutenant breathed deeply, closing his eyes as he absorbed the aura.

"You must be Lieutenant Garrison." A heavily muscled man, with short-cropped iron-grey hair broke into his reverie and Garrison snapped his eyes open, the moment broken.

The man who had addressed him was wearing white flannel trousers into which was tucked a quarter-sleeved tee shirt. A mass of tattoos writhed their way up the exposed forearms and disappeared under the white cotton.

Garrison didn't reply, just tipped his head in acknowledgement.

The tattooed man smiled. "Understand you did a bit of boxing, back in the day?" The voice was English regional, but Craig's ear wasn't attuned enough to know where the man might originate from.

"A bit. Not for a while though."

"Get yourself warmed up, and we'll see what you can do... Got any sports clothes with you? Don't want to mess up that smart uniform."

Garrison took a breath and was about to respond, but bit back what he'd been about to say, realising he was being challenged. "No... wasn't expecting to need them."

The man threw a pile of clothing at the American. "You can borrow these. The name's Brian by the way."

GGG

Two hours later, Craig made his way stiffly back towards Jan's apartment. He ached in every muscle.

The warm-up circuit around the bars, ropes, benches, pommel horse and vault had been innocuous enough, as had the session with the punch bag, where he'd soon remembered the rhythm needed to strike it properly. Then the torture had started. Brian might have been 15 years older than him, but he was hard as nails. They might only be sparring, but the Lieutenant quickly realised he needed to be on his mettle just to stay safe.

When the college clock struck 10, Brian had dropped his hands and backed away. "Reckon that's enough for one day. Same time tomorrow?" He didn't wait for a response. "Showers are over there and there's a stack of towels. Just drop your kit in the bin. There'll be fresh for you tomorrow when you get here."

GGG

With Craig occupied for an hour or so, Jan was finally able to make some progress on the auction catalogue. She knew instinctively that there were a number of books that her father would have made a beeline for, but she knew were unlikely to sell in the current climate. It was a dilemma and made her feel guilt towards her father's memory.

The shop doorbell announced the arrival of what was hopefully a customer. They had been few and far between of late. Her heart sank slightly when she realised the new arrival would be unlikely to be purchasing anything that morning. Her surprise visitor was Damien's partner Adrian.

If she hadn't known otherwise, she would have had no idea of the way this other man's tendencies lay. With matinee idol good looks that exuded masculine charm he was the antithesis of the camp, older man. He was a fairly frequent visitor to the shop, where he liked to read some of the rarer books, but he never bought.

"I come bearing gifts..." He dropped a brown paper wrapped parcel onto the shop counter.

Jan looked at him quizzically, searching for enlightenment.

"Your man seems to be a little sartorially challenged?"

Jan laughed. It was true. She wasn't sure if the blame could be entirely placed on Actor's shoulders or if the only clothes Craig wore were variations on his uniform. Either way, that was all he'd brought with him. The shirts and underwear were in need of the laundry, but that would leave him with nothing but a blanket until everything was dry and ironed.

Shirts and pullovers she could manage. Foolish though it was, she'd been unable to give away all of her father's clothes after his death. Instead, the nicer items had been consigned to a pine chest in what had been her old bedroom. They were there still. Her father had been a few inches shorter than Craig and a bit heavier, but the shirts and pullovers would probably fit well enough even if the trousers wouldn't.

Adrian undid the string and tumbled the contents of the parcel in front of the somewhat perplexed woman. It was a pair of grey, woollen trousers. "Almost brand new, but a bit tight around the spuds for me."

Jan's eyes opened wider, before she laughed again. Adrian was probably right - he was probably a similar height to Craig but with a bigger bottom.

"Let me know if they fit. There's a black pair too, if you can use them." Adrian turned to leave.

"Thank you." Jan's voice was quiet, but the sentiment was heartfelt. Society might criticise what these two men were, but they were two of the nicest, most genuine people she knew.

She looked at her watch. It was only 9am. Quickly she flipped the shop sign to 'Closed' and taking the trousers upstairs, headed for the pine chest.

GGG

Jan glanced up in interest as her man pushed open the shop door and made his way inside. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he looked tired - but he also seemed more relaxed than he had done since his arrival. Maybe, just maybe, Damien's theory was right.

Jan put down her pen. "I'm taking some laundry over to Mrs Shepherd, if you'd like to add your shirt to the pile?"

Craig looked down at his uniform. The thought of laundry hadn't really occurred to him. At the Mansion, it was something that 'just happened'. There were always clean shirts and fresh underwear in his room. His current set were on their second day, something he would normally never contemplate.

"There's a fresh outfit on the spare bed for you. Most of them were my father's, but they're clean, so you're welcome to borrow anything you want." Jan dropped her head back to the paperwork she was dealing with, leaving Craig to decide how he felt about the matter.

It was about 15 minutes before he reappeared - clad in grey trousers, a soft, white flannel shirt topped with a rather flamboyant turquoise pullover.

Checking his expression, Jan decided the Lieutenant was, all-in-all, not dissatisfied with his new clothing.

"Your father had a taste for the colourful."

"He said it helped at the book sales. People were more likely to remember him if he wore something recognisable." Jan put down her pen again. "If you wouldn't mind watching the store for me, I'll just pop the things over."

Whilst she was gone, Craig took stock of how he was feeling. The black cloud that had hung over him for the last few days had definitely started to lift a little. The sparring had been a big help. He'd been able to let go in a way he never could around his men - and oddly, being out of uniform was having a similar effect.

He looked down at the papers Jan had been working on. The shop accounts. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but take an interest. By the time the bell over the door announced her return, he was engrossed - but also somewhat concerned. From what he could see, the shop was barely breaking even.

GGG

It was gone midday before Jan returned. If he hadn't been so absorbed in the accounts, the Lieutenant would have been worrying, but as it was, he hadn't been aware of time passing. The 'ting' of the shop door brought him back to his senses.

Jan had left with a bundle of laundry, wrapped in a sheet. She returned laden with shopping bags of produce. She looked excited and very pleased with herself. She extended her arms, holding out the bags waist-height to demonstrate how full they were.

"I'm sorry I was so long but look what I've managed to get!"

Jan had taken full advantage of the fact that she didn't need to rush back for fear of missing customers.

Most of her purchases were vegetables, but in addition to the carrots, potatoes, swedes and parsnips, there were onions, sprouting broccoli and leeks. The butcher had provided liver, kidneys and sausages, plus 4 eggs and a lump of cheese.

She displayed the produce with the enthusiasm of a young child.

Craig smiled in encouragement, although his heart had sunk at the mention of both liver and kidneys. He disliked both, in fact offal in general but, since knowing Jan (and being exposed to the realities of what was available to ordinary people), he could understand why she was excited. Living at the Mansion, he and his men were very spoiled. Yes, occasionally they had to eat Spam but, more often than not, their meals consisted of fresh meat from the countryside or the neighbouring farm, complemented by vegetables from the kitchen garden.

Craig waited until after lunch (liver and onions) before he raised the subject of the accounts. Actually, the liver could have been worse, he had to admit. Hunger had a tendency to change one's perspective he was coming to realise. He decided to come straight to the point.

"How much longer before you have to give up the shop?"

Jan stopped piling dishes and looked at the American in shock. "Why would I give up the shop?"

"Have you sold enough to pay the bills this month?"

"No... but it's always slow in March."

"It's been 'slow' for months, Jan." He took her hand gently and brought her back to the table. "I know you haven't wanted to face it, but what's going wrong?"

Jan tried to look brave... but the bravado lasted seconds, before she gave in and, dropping her head into her hands, began to sob. "I just can't do what Daddy did," she managed between gulps of air.

Craig huffed. "There's a war on. I doubt he'd be doing any better than you are at the moment. Tell me what's changed." He handed Jan a handkerchief, not so white and crisp as the one he'd provided all those months ago. But comforting, nevertheless.

"Fewer students and those that are still here have less money."

An hour later, Jan had stopped crying and together the two had formulated a plan - of sorts. Firstly, Jan needed to shift some stock. Even she had to admit, that many of the books her father had bought would never sell. He'd bought them because he loved them. She would make a loss but, at the moment, income was more important if the shop was to make it through. They had to go to make space for cheaper, more popular items that would turnover faster, at a profit.

Craig's second suggestion was more 'left field'. "What about the thesis editing you've been doing?"

Jan shrugged. "Just a few favours, for friends," she retorted, knowing it wasn't quite true. At first, it had been the case, but word had got round and suddenly 'friends' had become 'friends of friends'.

"Don't you get paid?"

Jan shook her head. "I've never asked."

"It won't be easy, but you need to start asking. I've worked out that even if you were only paid the same rate as our cleaners at the Mansion, you wouldn't need to sell another book before the end of the war to live here quite comfortably, and you should be able to ask a lot more for your skills than a cleaner could hope for."

"I couldn't."

"D'you want to lose the shop?"

Jan shook her head.

"Then you've gotta ask."

Together, they spent the next few afternoons collating the books for sale. Some would be going to auction, others were destined for private buyers. The Lieutenant had turned out to be a very effective salesman, Jan had found. She'd provided him with a list of contacts and prices, and he'd taken it from there.

Craig put the last of the volumes into the shipment crate for the auction and straightened his back with a groan. What with this and the boxing, he was convinced he would never move again.

A small noise attracted his attention. "Did you just laugh?"

Jan lifted her head from where she'd been doubled over, trying to reach the roll of string she'd just dropped.

She giggled again...