Looking blasé he answered, ‘I’m briefly in the area, visiting one of the bases, thought I’d pop in and see my best gel,’ he added with a lascivious wink, as his hand slipped over her pert bottom.

Desperate to get him out of the building before he started pawing her again, Sybil babbled, ‘I … I … er, maybe we should talk somewhere more private?’

She stopped short as Matron came hurrying into the hall. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling politely. ‘Sister Mary Paul told me we had a visitor.’

Grabbing Monty’s arm, Sybil almost dragged him to the front door. ‘Sorry, Matron, we were just heading out for a walk.’

Keen to introduce himself, self-important Monty, looking smart and impressive in his Army uniform, slipped from Sybil’s grip and hurried to shake Matron’s hand.

‘Pleased to meet you – Brigadier Monty Baldwin at your service.’ He clipped his heels and gave a smart salute before barking, ‘Just heading over to Boswell Army base, doing a spot of training with the lads up there, thought I’d drop by and see Sybil, an old chum of mine from the War Office.’

Matron’s jaw dropped. ‘Boswell Army base?’ she exclaimed.

Monty gave a curt nod. ‘Know it?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ Matron replied. ‘We’ve had several Boswell representatives in the area recently. Rumour has it that they’re keen to requisition property for the Army. Possibly even our Home.’

Monty’s florid face was startled. ‘I’ve not been notified of any such order.’

Sybil, who hadn’t said a word throughout, quickly added, ‘It’s only recently come to light.’

Trying to control his temper, Monty snarled, ‘I should have been bloody well told of this before I even left London.’

Seeing that Matron had heard more than enough from the uncouth Brigadier, Sybil ushered him to the door.

‘Why don’t we get some fresh air?’

‘My car’s outside,’ Monty retorted as he followed her, grumbling and grunting under his breath.

Once outside, Sybil, keen to dispense with the requisitioning discussion, immediately hopped into Monty’s car, while he breathlessly clambered into the driver’s seat and started up the engine.

‘Let’s find a nice private spot and make up for a bit of lost time, shall we?’ he suggested, as he steered the car down the drive and out of the front gate.

Groaning inwardly, Sybil guided him to a narrow sandy lane that flanked the empty marsh. In the short space of time it took him to drive there, Sybil frantically tried to work out a diplomatic plan of action. When he pulled up and drew her into his arms, she blurted out, ‘Monty, please stop.’

‘What kind of a welcome do you call that?’ he complained, in a voice heavy with self-pity. ‘When a fellow drives two hundred miles to see his gel, he expects more than a rebuff.’