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desperate, later.
    I threw my car keys on the table, put the ice cream in the freezer, ate some chocolate to keep me going, and then ran a hot bath into which I poured an over supply of Honey and Milk Bubble Bath. I didn't linger in the bath as I was too tense to enjoy it, and was on the process of lathering on copious amounts of Vineyard Peach body butter when there was a loud, insistent knocking at the door. I so hoped it wasn't Douglas.
    I ran to my bedroom and threw on the first pair of jeans I could find, the first bra I could find, and the first shirt I could find, and then hurried to the front door. I was secretly hoping it would be Jamie, but that was not to be.
    I threw the front door open, only to see standing there the two M16-ish type guys I had met on my Morpeth adventure.
     
     
    * * *
     
     
    Ye shall not possess any beast, my dear sisters, except only a cat.
    (The Ancrene Riwle: Guide for Nuns)
    Chapter Seven .
     
    "Bill and Ben," I exclaimed.
    To my horror, I realized I'd said that aloud. I had given the two guys the nicknames back in Morpeth as I had no idea of their real names.
    They exchanged glances, and the taller one (the one I called Bill) raised his eyebrows. "May we come in?" he asked in a tone that had very little sound of enquiry in it.
    The two men barely waited for me to agree before walking into my house. I have what's known in Australia as a Victorian miner's cottage. These houses are typically over a hundred years old, and the front door opens onto a long hallway. The men immediately turned right into my living room. How did they know that wasn't the bedroom, as was the case in many of these houses? I felt a little ill at ease. Had I been under surveillance?
    The two men sat down on the sofa without being invited. So much for the myth of Englishmen having impeccable manners. Ben had a large blue folder, which he opened with a flourish and then set down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I sat down opposite them. I was hoping like crazy that they were here about the job offer, and more so, that the job offer was a desk job which would not have me swinging by a rope from a high rooftop or anything else James Bond-like.
    Bill spoke first. "Ms. Sales, we're here about the position that we spoke about some time earlier."
    Thank goodness! My mortgage was looking safe after all. I nodded, trying not to look overly keen.
    Ben thrust some papers and a silver pen at me. "You will need to read this and then sign in the places so marked."
    Here we go again - the Official Secrets Act. I skimmed the first four pages which were mostly full of boring legalese, but I did note that the fifth page was a waiver stating that they would not be held responsible for death or injury. That was a little alarming. I duly signed and handed the papers back.
    Just as I did so, my cat Diva ran into the room, arched her back, hissed at Bill and Ben, swiped viciously at Bill's leg, and then turned and ran out of the room.
    "Err, sorry. Diva is bit unfriendly."
    Bill and Ben ignored me. "This pays full time wages," Bill said, "but we want you to keep working at the magazine as a cover."
    I was in two minds. Firstly, I was overjoyed that my money worries appeared to be over. The bank wouldn't evict me from my house, and the credit card companies wouldn't be phoning me constantly, demanding to know when I intended to pay - and charging me fees because I couldn't pay, like that made sense! On the other hand, I would have to continue to work for Skinny Troll, who surely had to be the world's meanest employer.
    "Do I have to keep working at the magazine?" I knew that my voice came out whining and childlike, but I couldn't help it.
    Bill and Ben merely looked at me.
    Bill leaned forward. "From time to time, we will ask you to do something for us, although as you read in the contract, you will be paid a good wage on a monthly basis."
    I didn't remember reading that; surely I would have noticed anything with dollar signs.