Then he noticed a courier come in the door. It wasn’t the usual courier, he noticed. He began to clear off his desk – the courier was clearly delivering quite a bit – and just about had it empty as the courier entered his office.
“The daily mail, sir. I need your signature on these.” He said, handing over a stack about six inches tall, as well as a box.
“Of course.” He began to sign. “Is Mitford ok, or does he have the day off?”
“Bit of a cold, sir.”
“Ah.” He continued to sign his way through the pile. About three-quarters of the way through, he noticed the courier looking through the glass at Heather. She did look pretty damn cute right now; her clothes hid the scars and the casts, and the courier couldn’t see the gentle baby bump when she was seated at her desk.
“Don’t bother, soldier. She’s taken.” He said gently.
“I don’t see a ring… ” was the wistful reply. Beck decided he needed to bring the hammer down. Heather was doing well, but he didn’t know if being hit on right now was a good idea.
“I couldn’t find a jewelry store.” He said, letting his voice harden. The soldier straightened instantly, facing the wall behind Beck’s head at the announcement that that was Heather, Major Beck’s wife. He waited silently for the Beck to finish. When the final item was signed for, the courier took the clipboard and marched out of the office, never once looking towards her desk.