‘Mr Bradshaw!’ said Jane with feigned petulance. ‘Until I learn what you need of moi, I have no intention of fostering familiarity! Observe formality, please! Thank you!’

‘As you desire, Miss Woodley.’ While her manner may have offended others, he appreciated her spunk and vivacity. He went on wise authority - Guy Ashton - and surmised she was larking at his expense.

The prattle soon wore down Jane’s patience. Her curiousness peaked, and she tried anew to draw an explanation for his interest in her, gaining nought. She verged on annoyance.

In contrast, Tom was anything but imprudent. He could be as cool and deliberate as she was ardent. Rational and calculated, he persisted by chatting about life and the culture in British Malaya. He queried her history and links and extracted her views on the conflicts in Europe and China. The entire while - to Jane’s chagrin - he appraised her. With surreptitious scrutiny.

He considered her lineage and societal prominence and whether he should exclude her from choice, then dismissed the thought. They could always post her to an Allied base away from danger.

The Englishman ordered a second round of beverages after they’d drained the first. He resisted the urge to rush while interviewing Jane, for that was what it was, a job interview. She, the potential employee, albeit unwitting. While he represented the employer. The barkeep refreshed their drinks and departed.

Tom made his call. He admired Jane’s characteristics - she was savvy and nobody’s fool. Her confidence and wilfulness were obvious, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. And he reflected: She has an inner light that glows! Somewhat headstrong or assertive, perhaps, but they could channel that into a positive attribute. Tom’s tone shifted businesslike.

‘Righty-ho, Miss Woodley. First, as you might have guessed, I serve with His Majesty’s forces. I’m a Lieutenant-Commander in the Royal Navy, but my rank and official service arm are of little consequence.’ Tom held his military credential low, masked by the coffee table.

He’s twenty-four! I’m right, she noted with hidden glee. Their four-year age gap pleased her, for reasons she couldn’t explain.

‘Second, you shan’t repeat what I say. Nor divulge your activities to anybody if you join our organisation. Not even to your kin. Not without authorisation. Flout the Official Secrets Act and we will incarcerate you. Or worse. Clear?’

‘Quite! Crystal! Cross my heart!’ she chirped, gratified the enigmatic stranger was getting to the point.

Jane hadn’t flinched, Tom noticed. And she’d stared into his eyes when she responded.

He inhaled and started plain. ‘There’s no smarter motto than that of the Boy Scouts: “Be Prepared.” Given the Japanese menace, we’re recruiting people with specific skills to counter the threat… to give the enemy an uncomfortable time if they should land on our shores. We aim to prepare for war.’

‘Bugger me!’ Jane ejected, somewhat unladylike. ‘Hell, someone taking our predicament seriously at last! The Governor and the GOC have their heads buried in the sand!’ She pressed, ‘And their underlings aren’t better. They fare daft, content to do the littlest! Apathy is their order of the day! Don’t you think?’

‘Uh-huh.’ He guessed her source was her dad.

Jane continued with fervour. ‘If you ask me, the ballyhoo painting the idea the Jipun are short-sighted and can’t shoot or fly at night is sheer poppycock! They’ve invaded and taken whole countries! If only those nincompoops in London, and here at Government House, besides Flagstaff, would grasp the dire reality?!’

‘Our own assessment, indeed,’ Tom admitted, pleased with her response, relieved she shared their outlook.

They had vetted her clan and researched her character and abilities, and he felt confident Jane would prove an asset to the unit. Her skill in languages, and her aptitude in technical subjects, were potent. He thought she possessed a mental toughness to match.

‘I won’t sugar-coat it,’ the officer said. ‘Training will be arduous, downright taxing, and there’d be nobody to mollycoddle you. If you make the grade, the endeavour will be hazardous. Damned risky.’

Tom pressed on, ‘If a war with Japan befalls, and we believe it’s likely, your chances of survival could be, shall we say, less than even. Further, your involvement could put your family at added risk.’

For the first time, Jane frowned, but her glare remained with his.

‘Any person in their proper mind would decline, but we meet troubled times. It is voluntary, and I’d understand if you refuse. Your decision.’ Tom rested.

The prospect contemplated her options: Give nothing or be proactive. Either way, she concluded, British Subjects and those with Chinese blood, like herself, would be at peril in Japanese hands.

Her ancestry was eclectic.

Jane was ‘British’ de jure - by right - by her birthright. The government had classified her as such, given her father was British and her birth had taken place in the Straits Settlements. In Singapore.

Her mother was Eurasian, a mingle of Portuguese, Indian and Peranakan. But her parent’s race was irrelevant in the matter of Jane’s category.

That Jane had never set foot in Britain, and her loyalty sat with Malaya, would mean little to the Nipponese. She’d read they treated the subdued with deep hatred, abusing and slaying them by the thousands.

The fresh-faced woman took scant seconds to decide.

‘When do I start?’

‘Brilliant! Good lass! I was hoping you’d agree because we have much in store for you.’ Tom cheered, thrilled. Then he tempered his demeanour and warned, ‘I repeat, not a squeak to anyone.’

‘Assuredly, Tuan Besar!’ she bleated, ribbing in tone, calling him ‘sir’, ‘master’ or ‘boss’ in Malay. ‘Tender my resignation right this instant, shall I?’

‘Ah yes, ahem… no need. Evans, the GM, is a trusted friend, and I had enlisted his help. For appearances, your position here forms your cover. Where it concerns others, you work at the Raffles. Beyond knowing the forces want your service, Teddy is unbriefed, but as a former army officer, he’d realise better than to pry.’

In her enthusiasm, Tom’s presumption had escaped Jane’s attention.

‘Thursday, 1 May at 8.30 am? I’ll fetch you from your home and take you to the school. Your father and brothers would have departed for work. Can’t have them heeding... hush-hush and all that. Although I dare suggest they’d be proud of you.’ 

‘Fine. Rather exciting, is it not? Like starting an adventure or quest!’

‘Hmm, wouldn’t label it that. Be careful what you yearn for.’

‘Who’s “we”, tuan? Or is your tongue numb?’

Tom fixed his eyes on hers and responded in sombre tones, ‘The Orient Mission of the Special Operations Executive. The OM and SOE for short.’ He stated with emphasis, ‘And you, Miss Woodley, shall be in the maiden intake to undergo intensive training at a secret location.’

Jane went clueless about what the entities were, but they mattered none to her. The whole bargain promised to be more stimulating than tallying old Dr Pocklington’s countless bar chits every month.

The covert agent rose, bringing the talk to an end. With a tilt of his head, he shook her palm and said, ‘Well, Miss Woodley, it has been a pleasure.’

‘Oh, “Admiral” Tom...,’ she gushed with a wide, fetching, teeth-flourished smile, ‘... it’s no longer “Miss Woodley” to you... it’s Jane!’