As a senior Army officer, Monty was renowned for his brutally quick decision-making; the same instinct applied when it came to women; Monty always got what he wanted, whatever the cost. It came as little surprise to the department that the philandering Brigadier had wasted no time in getting his pretty private secretary into bed. Sybil had undoubtedly enjoyed the perks that came with becoming Monty’s mistress: the endless social whirl of dining out in the most fashionable restaurants in town (for the rich with connections in high places, rationing hardly impacted), cabaret shows, opening nights at the Drury Lane theatres and ballroom dancing in exclusive West End clubs. Her envious gaze would occasionally drift towards young men on leave, dashing in their smart military uniforms, but ever the realist Sybil knew that in a blink these same young men could be whisked away to the Front Line and never come back. She would stick it out with Monty, at least for the time being.

Everything had been perfectly satisfactory, until Sybil had stupidly fallen pregnant. At first, she had point-blank refused to accept the fact; she had always insisted Monty used condoms, though when drunk and over-needy he could be a fumbling fool and tear the wretched things. After she had missed her third period, Sybil could no longer allow herself to be in denial. Determined to take care of herself, she sought help from a professional with specific skills whom a friend had recommended. After making an appointment Sybil had endured the woman’s ghastly poking down below before she had returned home, where she had been assured bleeding and back pains would soon commence. Unfortunately, neither of these things happened, so Sybil, furiously disappointed, had been forced to accept that she was still carrying a baby that she didn’t want. If there had been any doubts in her mind about keeping the baby, they would have flown out of the window when she announced her predicament to her lover.

‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ Baldwin had seethed. ‘Do you know what you have done, woman?’

Giving him a cool haughty look, Sybil answered in a steely voice, ‘I think it would be more appropriate to say, do you know what YOU have done?’

Knowing it was true, that he had indeed made a hash of things, caused Monty to bluster even more loudly: ‘You’d bloody well better get rid of it.’

‘I’ve tried that,’ Sybil snapped. ‘It didn’t work.’

Lowering his voice, Monty attempted a more reasonable tone. ‘Now listen here, Veronica puts up with many of my indiscretions, but she would throw everything at me if she thought I might introduce a bastard into the family.’

‘Then you had better make arrangements for me to disappear until the baby is born,’ Sybil retorted.

Turning his back on her, Monty growled as he reached for the whisky decanter.

‘Leave it with me.’

‘I most certainly will,’ she assured him.