'Look, don't confuse me,' he said, sorting through his clothes to see what was wearable and taking her point about throwing them on the floor. 'I'll bring you something to eat, okay?'

Eve made a soft sound that said she was already half-asleep again, and Harker got dressed, kissed her hair, and left.

He was wearing damp clothes, the sun was invisible behind a sullen clutch of clouds, and he was starving, but he was smiling. He smiled at the flag, he smiled at the morning parade, and he smiled at the canteen worker slopping out his breakfast.

'So did you sleep with a coat hanger in your mouth,' came a voice behind him as he picked up his tray, 'or are there more cheerful forces at work?'

It was Charlie. Well, it had to end some time.

'The latter, I'm afraid,' he said, unable to work up any real anxiety over her reaction.

'Eve?' she said, following him to a table and setting her tray down opposite him.

Harker nodded, grinned, and started eating. The porridge here was weak gruel compared to the honey-laced ambrosia the cook had created at Hatfield Chase, but after the tasteless slops he and Tallulah had been living on for the past week, it still tasted pretty good.

'And I don't care,' he said, 'you can lay it on me, I don't care.'

'Lay what on you, sir?' Charlie asked, sprinkling salt on her porridge.

'You don't mind?'

'Mind about what?'

'Come on, Charlie, I know you ain't stupid. Me and Eve. We weren't playing chess all night.'

'No, I don't suppose you were.' She didn't look remotely bothered. 'You'll probably get more shit from Daz than me, especially if you've torn any of her stitches.'

'She doesn't have any not visible ones,' Harker reported, a touch smugly, because he'd checked everywhere.

'Sir, look. I know I had doubts about her, but if she was shot, beaten, burned, and locked up in a cell with a fever, then I really don't think the Coalitionists are her friends, do you?'

Some of Harker's glow diminished slightly as his old anger came to the surface. I'll kill every one of them. But he banished it, concentrated on the feel of Eve in his arms, her soft mouth and smooth skin and the way she moved under him, the sounds she made Charlie cleared her throat, and he shook himself.

'No,' he said. 'They're most definitely not her friends.'

'And if Eve makes you happy'

'She does, Charlie,' Harker said quietly, because even if Eve had spent so much time driving him spare, it was true.

'Well, then,' Charlie said, and that seemed to be that.

He was still feeling pretty good when an extremely junior Ensign came in and informed Harker that there was a telephone call for him from General Wheeler.

Whereupon reality came crashing down on him, his good mood evaporated and that old sick feeling settled in his stomach again.

'When Daz got the phone working, she insisted you call the minute you got here,' Charlie said.

'Why the hell was Daz working on the phone and not taking care of Eve?'

'Because there's a full medical staff here, and she was unconscious most of the time anyway. Sir, go and talk to Wheeler.'

He stood up, shoved his chair out of the way, and scowled at the Ensign. 'Well, then?'

The telephone was in the Colonel's office. Harker took a deep breath before picking it up. 'Sir?'

'Major Harker. How kind of you to check in.'

Harker nearly checked the receiver for icicles. 'Sir,' he said.

'How long have you been at Hull?'

'Since last night, sir. It was quite late,' he added, hoping the Colonel hadn't already contradicted this.

'Yes, that doesn't matter. Harker, we've found nothing like you've described at the Tower. We need your computer. How soon can you be in London?'

His mind reeled. 'Uh well, sir, it'll probably take us a couple of weeks to travel, plus'

'No, that will be far too long. I'm sure Commodore Bletchley can spare a ship to take you at least some of the way.'

'Yes, sir,' Harker said gloomily.

She doesn't trust you to come back by yourself. Suddenly, Harker realised how blessed he'd been to have Wheeler's favour all this time.

'I am informed that your civilian is recovering.'

'Eve? Yes, she's'

'Fit for travel?'

Harker pounced on this opportunity. 'No, sir. Not yet. Still needs full medical care here, sir, can't travel.'

'Perhaps she could stay there, while you bring the computer down.'

'Uh,' Harker searched for a new excuse, 'well, no, sir, because she's really the only one who knows how to use it.'

Wheeler made an impatient noise. 'Major Harker, I do hope you are not procrastinating to delay your own court-martial.'

'No, sir,' he said, because he'd been procrastinating to spend more time with Eve.

'It will take place upon your return to the Tower.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I shall expect you to telephone me daily with a report on Miss Carpenter's progress and travel as soon as possible.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Hand me back to Colonel Robinson.'

Harker did so, and was dismissed by the Colonel. Leaving the building, he saw Daz coming out of the hospital and waved him over.

'Do you think Eve's fit to travel?'

Daz pulled a face. 'Travel where?'

'London.'

'Nope.'

'Good. Repeat that answer whenever you're asked.'

'Uh, yes, sir. Oh, and sir? Eve left this outside the NAAFI last night.'

It was the crutch she'd been hopping about on. Harker took it, ignoring the twinkle in Daz's eye.

'I found her a bed in one of the recovery wards,' the doctor said, watching him.

'Did you now? She won't need it.'

Daz grinned. 'Right, sir.'

Leaving Daz, Harker picked up some food and fresh clothes for Eve, and found her still curled in his bed, tousled and sleepy.

'Hi,' she said, looking so desirable he couldn't breathe for a moment. She smiled. 'You did bring me food.'

'I said I would.'

'Yes,' she said happily, as he set down the plate and sat on the edge of the bed, 'you did.'

Harker kissed her; a wonderful, sweet, soft kiss, and immediately felt better.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Despite the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, Harker remembered those cold, rainy days in Hull as some of the happiest of his life.

With nothing else in particular to do, he spent most of every day with Eve. She tried to teach him to play the guitar, without much success, and the piano, with even less. In return he showed her how to assemble and disassemble a rifle, and how to shoot, an exercise met with total futility by a uselessly right-handed Eve.

He took her to the officer's mess, where she befriended a young Subaltern who played the piano, and entertained the whole mess with her songs. She was allowed to dine with him, which was just as well as he had to cut up food for her.

He helped her to dress and to bathe, which generally turned into an excuse for something else, and he went with her each time she went back to the hospital, which amused Daz and irritated the other staff. Harker didn't care. He'd seen the wound on her leg, and the state of her palm, and he wasn't taking any chances with some junior quack seeing her.

When Daz told Eve he had to debride her palm, her face went white and her other hand reached for Harker's. He held her as Daz cut away the thick, hard tissue that was beginning to grow back, and even after she'd been given strong medication, she shook and sobbed in Harker's arms while he devised horrific tortures for the Coalitionists who'd hurt her.

That night, she curled in his arms and told him that she deserved the pain, because she'd grabbed the poker and that was just stupid of her.

'Why did you grab it?'

'He was going to smash it into my face. And the end of it was white-hot, way hotter than the bit I touched.'

'Eve,' he said, stroking the back of her hand, 'that wasn't stupid at all. And we'll get it fixed. You're young and healthy, you still have some use of your fingers, and I've already told Daz if you don't get full use back, I'll demonstrate to him just how painful a hot poker really can be.'

'You're evil,' Eve said, but she smiled as she did.

By day she tinkered with the computer, connecting it to the thing she called the Internet and exclaiming over every little thing.

'So, you use one of these a lot?' Harker said, watching her. He had a French dictionary open on his lap and was surreptitiously using it to look up endearments.

'Used to, at work.' She tapped a couple of keys. 'What's French for Wikipedia?'

Her hair was pinned up, but a few wisps had escaped and caressed the back of her neck. Harker found himself wishing he could do the same, then remembered that he could, because he was allowed to touch her now, anywhere he wanted.

She leaned into him as he stroked the back of her neck. 'Have you told Wheeler about the computer at the Tower?'

'Yes. Couldn't really leave it any longer. But I still don't see how something this big and fragile could be hiding there. There aren't many rooms that aren't in constant use, and she's searched everywhere else.'

'Well, maybe it's a laptop.'

'A what?'

Eve described to him a smaller computer which could be folded down to the size of a large book.

'I mean, is there a library at the Tower? It could be disguised in there. Or just shoved under someone's bed.'

Harker sighed. Searching everyone's private property was never high on any officer's list of Fun Things To Do. The men hated it, and it was usually fruitless, anyway.

Someone tapped on the door and Harker said, 'Yeah?' without looking up. They were in one of the small rooms near the Colonel's office that were usually occupied by relatively unimportant officers. One of them stood in the doorway, saluted, and said, 'Sir, telephone call for you.'

Harker made a face and got to his feet. 'Wheeler again?'

'No, sir. Colonel Watling-Coburg.'

Eve looked up, her eyebrows raised.

'Did she say what she wanted?' Harker asked.

The junior officer hesitated. 'Well, sir.' He glanced at Eve.

'I can leave the room if you want,' she said wearily.

'No, it's fine,' Harker said. To the Subaltern he said, 'You can speak freely in front of her,' and Eve beamed at him. He smiled back, losing his concentration somewhat.

'Well, sir, she said it was, er, about your court-martial.'