By the time midday came around, she was dazed and felt sure she had already done a day’s work. She had requested that the entire staff come to the open area on the third floor so she could speak to them all, but as she faced them she didn’t feel inspired to make a stirring speech, so she simply thanked them for their warm welcome and hoped that they would work well together. She could see from the smile on Óðinn’s face that she had said enough. He led the applause that morphed into general mutter as some people drifted back to work and others pulled on their coats to walk over the road to the ministry’s staff canteen. She was starving so followed their example. When she arrived in the hall, though, her cheeks rosy from the brisk walk, one of the canteen staff hurried over with a look of distress on her face, and Úrsúla realised that it probably wasn’t standard practice for ministers to use the canteen.

‘Just sit there, dear,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring you something to eat.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ Úrsúla said, but then Óðinn was at her side, agreeing with the woman.

‘Normally it’s only the minister of finance who eats here, because it’s convenient. But when other ministers come here for lunch, as they do sometimes, we don’t want them to waste their 39time standing in a queue,’ he said. ‘So I arrange for the minister to sit down and their food is brought to them. You don’t have any dietary foibles, do you?’

‘I eat everything,’ Úrsúla said, and noted the look of relief on the server’s face as she hurried away while Óðinn lightly but firmly took her by the arm and steered her to a seat.

‘This table is kept free for you and other ministers, and their closest colleagues,’ he said. ‘And they’ll serve you here.’

Úrsúla sighed. She had no choice but to let this cloying attitude remain in place, at least to begin with, while people learned to trust her. Right now protesting could be taken as discourtesy, and she had no intention of offending anyone by trampling roughshod over their habits and customs.

She had hardly sat down when the server was back and placing a tray in front of her.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘You’re really looking after me.’

The server glowed, took a small bottle from the pocket of her apron and added it to the tray.

‘Ministerial sauce,’ she said.

Úrsúla looked blank.

‘Chilli sauce,’ Óðinn explained. ‘It kills off stomach bugs.’

Úrsúla thanked them, and stifled a laugh, realising that the permanent secretary was entirely serious. She was not overly fond of spicy food, but for the first few days she would go along with it, although considering all the fuss, it didn’t seem likely that she would use the canteen frequently. On the other hand, she was determined to stick to her guns on the ministerial car, whatever the police commissioner had to say about it. She hadn’t even had a driver in Syria, so she certainly wasn’t going to allow herself to be driven around the city like some princess.