She opened her mouth, sure a clever retort would find its way to her tongue, but all words went silent when the admiral strode into the room. His all-knowing gaze took in the newspapers with a blink. His lips thinned. But then he focused on Barclay. “Sorry, Pearce. Did I keep you waiting long?”

“Just long enough that I could say hello to my little sister.”

Despite herself, a corner of her lips turned up. Barclay was the only person in the world who seemed to think that liking a person made them a sibling. Well, one of his adopted sisters had married Margot’s brother . . .

Hall chuckled and slid a hand to his inner pocket. It emerged again with a folded paper. “See to this, if you would.”

“Yes, sir.” Barclay didn’t even ask what it was. Just took the paper and straightened again. And then he leaned over to press a kiss to Margot’s forehead. “See you on Sunday, Margot.” In a whisper he added, “If you need me, you’ve only to ask.”

“Bye, Barclay.” She wanted to ask, even now. But she knew she shouldn’t. She may be willing to risk irritating Hall herself, but she certainly didn’t want to land Barclay in any hot water for pursuing what the admiral thought to be a waste of time.

He watched Barclay exit and then turned back to Margot. The sigh was, no doubt, over the newspapers spread across her desk. He too would know well what she was doing. But it was her own time. She could spend it however she pleased.

Perhaps he realized as much. Or perhaps he didn’t want to open the debate again. “When your break is over, my dear, I’ve a task for you: a new recruit who needs to be trained.”

Margot set her pen down and frowned at her superior. “Since when do I train new people?”

Hall grinned. “Since the new chap has a chip on his shoulder that has already put off half the fellows here—and the rest haven’t met him yet. I didn’t think you’d be prone to such reactions.”

He must be quite a chap if Hall was determined to bring him on board despite not fitting in well with the rest of the team. “Who is he?”

The admiral tapped a finger to another of the newspapers on her desk. “Black Heart.”

Her brows flew up before she could stop them. “We’ve brought an RFC pilot into our numbers?”

“He has talent with more than aircraft. And I enjoyed pulling one over on the people who wanted to make an example of him. Took a few tugs on odd strings to get him here, but worth it, I hope.”

She chuckled and nodded. “All right. Consider me your new trainer. Where can I find this Cœur Noir?”