Greg counted the day he landed the Torchwood account among the more important in his life.

The American guy had first come into the showroom on a damp morning some years ago, when Greg was the most junior member of staff. Business was a bit slack at the time, so only Greg and the assistant manager were in on that particular day.

He’d swept in like he owned the place, and stood there in the middle of the showroom with mud on his boots, looking around.

“Can I help you, sir?” Greg stepped forward, as Martin had clearly written this guy off as a time waster the minute he walked in.

“Yes,” he’d said with a grin. “I’d like to buy a car.”

He’d proceeded to describe what he wanted, which sounded like something out of Back to the Future. Greg could see Martin, sitting at his desk, rolling his eyes and adding “nutter” to his description of the potential customer.

“If you’d like to come with me, sir, I’ll go through the range with you.”

They didn’t have quite what the guy wanted, but Greg went through the details of their range with the American anyway. It was better than cleaning in the back office, which is what Martin would tell him to do otherwise.

He sold a top-of-the-range four-by-four. The American arranged for his bank to transfer the full price, straight away.

Martin didn’t look so smug, after that.

Greg was managing the showroom now. The commission he’d earned from the Torchwood account over the years had paid for deposit on his flat. It had given him the security to ask Jenny to marry him – and it had had bought them some really nice holidays.

They traded the car in fairly often, if Greg could offer them something faster, sleeker, more high tech. There was a Japanese girl who came along with the American, in the last couple of years. She knew a lot about the technology, talking to Greg about the fittings Torchwood needed in order to put their own systems into the vehicle.

Greg always dealt with Torchwood personally. He had built up the account himself, and although he now had a whole team reporting to him, he liked to offer the Torchwood people the best service.

The Torchwood vehicles came in for a service every couple of months – they needed the cars in top condition, for whatever it was that they did. He never asked what that was – he had enquired once, some years back, in order to work out which vehicles would best suit their needs, but the American had changed the subject and Greg was astute enough not to ask again. If they didn’t want to tell him, he was discreet enough not to ask. He made it a policy not to ask questions of Torchwood, like what it was they did that was so hard on their tyres. Instead, he just suggested harder-wearing brands. When the SUV came in scratched, or occasionally with bullet holes, he arranged the repairs and made no comment.

Greg sometimes thought that he would leave the company if they ever lost the Torchwood account. He’d put enough years in here, there were lots of other jobs in the industry. Torchwood were different, though, bringing an air of mystery to what was otherwise a pretty normal existence. Greg made sure that he and his staff offered their customers what they needed – top quality service, competitive pricing, and above all else, discretion. In return, Torchwood made life just a little bit more interesting.