A/N Husband away on business trip, and you who have followed any of my other stories might know that it usually means I indulge in my favourite hobby - writing. So, hopefully a few chapters to be written in the next days when the kids are tucked in bed. As always, so grateful you are following my story and letting me know what you think.

Chapter 5

'Oh, bloody hell!' I shouted inside my head.

When he stepped towards me, simultaneously loosening his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, a surge went through my body and tingling sensations seemed to converge in a specific spot somewhere near my pelvis. It was not motivated solely by the fact that I had taken on an involuntary celibacy since the end of my marriage and was starved of physical contact in general, but more by the undeniable fact that he was so f-in hot in that moment that my emotions scared me. When he moments later stood there in only tank top and a ballistic vest, both enhancing the shape of his extremely fit body, and with the arms bare so I could see every muscle and tendon, he was more than easy on the eye. I hope he thought I stared only because I wondered what he was up to, but truth was that I stared because I wanted to take in the sight of him before he put on more clothes again. I also found it kind of sexy that he did not lose his calm in the situation, instead took charge and came up with a solution, unlike McDonald who first was nonplussed, then half-drooling at the prospect of watching me change before I sent him away. Sometimes I do not know how to put up with him, but he is a good and loyal advisor. One of those that I can count on to have my back when I need it, so I must put up with a bit more than I would like to. However, I drew the line at letting him watch me only wearing bra on my upper body.

Without me needing to ask for it, PS James turned his back to me and (to my regret) started putting on his jacket again. I felt abashed as I removed my own jacket, followed by my blouse. I was sure he paid no attention, but to me it was both unnerving and kind of sensual getting undressed with him behind me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye to check that he did not look at me, but he respectfully kept his back turned to me. Suddenly I had this flash vision of him coming over, standing behind me when I was dressed only in my bra and skirt, how he would pull me close to him so I would lean my back to his torso, put his arms around me and first place his lips to my neck, then as I turned to him, move them to my lips… It was a very inappropriate but very pleasant vision. I tried to shake it off by putting his shirt on, but it was still warm from his body and smelled of an after-shave I found very appealing. It almost made me feel like he was hugging me for real, so it did nothing to relieve me of the fantasy. Luckily, the studio man returned for me, told me it was time and helped me snap out of it.

Time to be professional, time to officially defend that regulation which I behind doors was so against. I was thinking that the PM was a dangerous man, with ambitions which I did not like. Controlling private information is controlling people in a way that no one should be able to, because it is too tempting to use power for the wrong purposes. I knew that I had to thread carefully during this interview though. If I did not come across as supporting him, I could be considered as a threat to him and then the wolves would come running after me. My interviewer was Norman Hawkes, a very respectable newsman, but also a sharp one. I knew I could expect difficult questions and I had to be fully focused, which suited me perfectly when I wanted to forget what I just had been feeling.

Norman started with questions about the current threat level in the country, what actions had been taken since the 1st October attack and if people could feel safe. Then moved on to more mined territory.

"I understand that one action which is under consideration is to implement the so called RIPA-18, which would allow the Security Service to eaves-drop any phone conversation or read any e-mail of persons that could be connected to any future planned attacks. Would that not be a serious breach to the privacy of common people? Could it not be an excuse to find out information about anyone?"

Personally, I agreed with him, but that I could not say.

"It would not be used that way. It would only be used to find out more about persons that had somehow caught the attention of the Secret Service."

"But what would that take? Would it for example be enough to google manure? Then any farmer might be incriminated."

He was referring to the fact that in the past some home-made bombs had been done using manure. I tried to laugh it away, even if I was not sure what the criteria would be.

"No, of course not. It would take more than that. Like a combination of search words, on repeated occasions."

He changed direction slightly, but not into more comfortable ground.

"It is rumoured that you don't agree with the PM that this regulation should be implemented?"

"A rumour is exactly that Norman. I'm here am I not? Defending this very regulation. That means I'm behind the PM in this."

"So, can you reassure the viewers that you believe that this is the best for the country? Best for them?"

I could not make myself lie and answer that with a straight 'yes'.

"I'm sure that the PM only has the country's and the people's best in sight."

"But it would not be the first time your opinions differ, if I'm correctly informed."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it true that you consistently have voted against sending troops to Afghanistan? Something that the PM strongly advocated."

He had me cornered. That was official information which anyone could find out online, and also something I did not wish to deny. I had voted as my conscience told me at the time.

"It's true that we have sometimes respectfully disagreed, but that doesn't mean that I don't stand behind him and the general party view overall."

The bollocking the PM had given me after that voting. It had nearly thrown me out in the cold, but others had convinced him it was still wiser to keep me on his team. It had nearly been the end of my political career though, and was one of the reasons I had to watch my steps.

"Do you still maintain the view that it was wrong to send troops there?"

I had to speak from my heart.

"Honestly, I don't know. I wish we had not had to. I wish the presence of British soldiers was not needed in war zones where we are not actually part of the conflict. Still, I think we achieved good things in stabilising the country, helping local people, helping the Afghan National Army to improve their skills so they could continue the work – but I think it came at a great cost for many individuals. Many British soldiers who were injured, killed or returned home with PTSD and lost limbs and maybe have a ruined or at least very changed life. I find it hard to judge if it was worth that sacrifice. I find it hard to say if I would vote the same way today or not."

"That sounds like an unusually honest answer from a politician, Home Secretary."

It probably was, and I wondered what trouble it might get me in this time. The interview was finally over, and I could exhale. I felt that my shoulders were tense and knew I would not relax completely until I was back home in my studio with a cup of tea and could call mum and ask what she thought of the interview. As she had no interest what so ever in politics, I knew she would only say that I had looked nice and point out how different I talked, and I would laugh, and everything would not feel so deadly serious for a moment. I saw PS James standing in the shadows, outside the bright lights, with his eyes fixed on me and suddenly I wondered what he had thought of the whole spectacle. I would like to know his opinion.

It was just us, and Terry, in the car home. I had sent Chantal and Rob off home in other cars, did not want any company this evening, just felt exhausted. He followed me up, naturally, and checked the flat. I saw him move nimbly from room to room, he knew his way here now and I had even gotten used to him being in my studio.

"All clear Ma'am."

I did not want him to leave immediately.

"Do you want a cuppa?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm having a cup of tea. Do you want one too? I know you're not drinking alcohol on duty, but I assume tea would be okay?"

He looked a bit hesitant, but then nodded.

I put the kettle on and took out a few different jars of tea leaves from a cupboard.

"Chose which one you want."

He smiled.

"I'm normally a coffee kind of guy, so any tea bag will be fine for me."

"Come on, smell them and say which one you like."

Obediently he opened the different lids and smelled, finally went with the Russian Earl Grey. I prepared two cups and sat down by the kitchen island on a stool opposite to him and asked what I had been wanting to ask him.

"So, what did you think?"

"Of what?"

"The interview."

"It's not for me to have an opinion on my client's work, Ma'am."

"First, can you stop calling me Ma'am? That and that code name 'Lavender' makes me feel like a granny."

That made him laugh. 'Lavender' was the code name that security always used for me, communicating to each other; 'Lavender is on the move', 'Lavender is approaching', maybe even 'Lavender is on the loo taking a shit' – what did I know. In the beginning it took me a while to understand it was me they were talking about and the name just made me think of those little bags with lavender that Nan always insisted to have in her drawer where she stored knickers, so they would smell good. Not that I know if anyone ever smelled her knickers, but I was always thinking that it would scare anyone off if they ever came close to her knickers because I did not like the smell very much.

"As you wish Ma'am", he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "What should I call you then? Dawes?"

"You can call me Molly, Chantal does."

"I think that would be considered a bit too informal for your bodyguard. I'll stick with Dawes if you don't mind. Unless you prefer that I call you 'Lavender'?"

"Dawes it is then", I smirked. "Secondly, maybe it's not for you to have opinions about my work, but now I asked you because I want to know what you thought about the interview."

"Okay", he was silent for a while and I liked the way he was not rushing his answer, thinking it through.

"I think you did quite well. I heard you in the car on the way there, so I know you're not behind this RIPA-18, but I think you got away without seeming like you are completely opposed to the PMs view. And I think you managed to reassure the viewers that the PM thinks this is in their best interest, without actually saying that you think so."

"How very observant of you", I said dryly.

"You asked…"

"Yes, sorry, please continue."

"Your answer about Afghan surprised me."

"Really, how come?"

"I knew that you voted against sending troops there…"

He must have seen my surprised look, so he explained.

"I googled you the day before I started working for you. I always do with new clients to have some idea of what they are like and stand for. Of course, google tells a very limited story and I always find out much more interesting things about a person once I start working for them."

In that moment I wanted to know both what he had found about me on google, and what else he had found out about me since he started working for me – and what he possibly found interesting.

"Anyway, then I had you down for this undifferentiated anti-war politician, who would be against everything I had done and been proud of being part of in my past, maybe even despise it… but what you expressed today was much more nuanced. With an understanding of both the gains and the losses. I liked that."

I digested what he just had told me.

"You were a soldier before this?"

"Yes, for many years. I was an officer, captain, went for four tours to Afghan before I understood it was time to leave the army."

That explained his ability to take charge in a stressful situation like the one today, piece of cake compared to the situations he must have found himself in in the past.

"And what did you think of it?"

"I always loved being in the army, or at least until in the very end. I felt like I belonged there in a way I didn't ever in the boarding school my parents sent me to, or in the company of their friends and the children of their friends. There was an easiness to that life, a camaraderie which I had not known before, and the sense that I could make a difference. But the more time I spent amid the conflict, the less sure I felt I was making any real difference, and people around me were injured and even died. It took a toll on me, and on my family."

"You have family? Then I should not be keeping you from getting home."

I felt unmotivated disappointment.

"I'm divorced, but I have a son who is part of my life. He comes to live with me every other weekend. I suffered from PTSD and that became the nail in the coffin for my marriage. It was probably never meant to last anyway."

"I'm sorry to hear it. And your PTSD?"

"What about it?"

"Did you get help?"

"I did, finally, but it took a divorce and nearly loosing Sam before I could make myself see a therapist. I'm very glad about it now. I'm through on the other side and able to look forward, able to be there for Sam."

It was a lot of information to take in, but he continued.

"So, I'm one of those persons you spoke about today. One of those who have paid a price, suffering from PTSD, losing my family… I can't tell you if it was worth the price for everyone. I really can't, but if I was given the choice I would have gone again on that first tour and the ones after too. I would not have wanted it undone. So even if the price was high I would have done it, but now I need move on, find a life after all that."

I just nodded and suddenly felt very aware of that I was sitting here alone with this very attractive man in my kitchen, having the longest non-work-related and quite personal conversation I had had with anyone but my family in a long time. It made me feel a need to withdraw, not to expose myself – even if there were so many other things I was curious to find out about him.

"Thanks for sharing your story. I will not keep you longer. Go home now and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, thanks for the tea, even if I still think a nice Nespresso is the winner. Good night, Dawes", he smiled the most charming smile and then he was out the door before I knew it.

I was knackered and headed for the bed, but before I fell asleep I opened my laptop and googled. Not him, because I still preferred to find out about him from himself, but myself. I wanted to know what he had been able to read about me. Beside my political views, the official ones, my votes in parliament, one could read how I had risen from a simple background to become the Home Secretary, almost presented like a fairy tale. This was something that the party liked to broadcast so of course it was one of the first hits of the search. One could also read that I had been married to the Rt. Hon. Roger Penhaligon, the Government Chief Whip. One could not read that he had been an asshole who thought I would be a good wife for his political career, or that it had hurt me to discover that.

Okay, so he knew I had a past. I wondered if he cared at all.

Tired as I was, I went to sleep in his shirt. Too knackered to bother taking it off - that was the only reason.