“Needed to, from what I hear. Fiancee slipped her moorings, eh?”
“Drusilla, a touch more tact wouldn’t go amiss,” Mitzi replied.
“No doubt, my dear, no doubt.”
“Well, I won’t keep you from your meal,” said Max.
And he didn’t. He ate lunch alone at his allotted table, then headed for the beach. He tried to lose himself in his book
She was wearing dark glasses and a safari-print swimsuit with slender shoulder straps.
“Drusilla’s sleeping.”
“I’m happy for her.”
“She can be a bit heavy-handed at times, but her heart’s in the right place.”
He felt her eyes straying over his body.
“You look well … if a little undernourished.”
“Can’t think why,” he replied.
“We’re all wasting away. I’ve had to take this in twice since I’ve been here.” She tugged at the material of her swimsuit. “For the first time in my life I’m actually happy with the size of my derriere.”
They were lying on their sides, facing each other across a respectable strip of sand. “I can’t see it from here,” said Max, “but I’m sure it’s a very fine derriere.”
A small smile played about the corners of her mouth, then she slowly turned to get her cigarettes from the straw bag on the sand behind her, twisting on her towel as she did so. It was done for his benefit.
“My God, you’re right to be happy,” said Max, more breathlessly than he would have liked. Like the rest of her, it was as close to perfection as anything he’d ever set eyes on.
She lit a cigarette, then tossed him the packet and the lighter. Thanks to Freddie, their mutual friend, he had got to know her well over the previous six months, well enough to come straight out with it.
“Why are you here, Mitzi?”
Exhaling, she replied, “I’ll give you a clue—not to go walking with Drusilla.”
He hoped she didn’t notice the tremor in his hand as he raised the lighter to his cigarette.
“Your hand’s trembling.”
“It does that when I’m nervous.”
“If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one who’s out of their depth. I shouldn’t be here. This is not me, not what I do.” She lowered her eyes, tapping some ash onto the sand. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.”
“I’m not embarrassed. Shocked, yes. And flattered. And trying very hard not to crawl across the sand and kiss you.”
“That would be a deviation from my plan.”
“You have a plan?”
“Everyone knows you have to have a plan.”
“When it comes to matters military, I’m not the real McCoy, I’m afraid.”
“So I’ve heard.” She stared off into the bay. “You’re hairier than I imagined.”
“I’m pleased to say you aren’t.”
Mitzi laughed. “You’ve always made me laugh. Maybe that’s why I’m here.”
“Not the rugged good looks?”
“Oh, those too. Eleanor’s a damned fool.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
He told her about his little epiphany on the cliff top, and for the first time he shared with her the truth about the relationship, not the finished picture he had presented to her in the past—touched up, varnished, and framed—but the raw canvas.
Mitzi listened attentively, her eyes never leaving his. When he was done, she remained silent for a moment.
“I know all about the expectations of others, and I’m not just saying that.”
She had been promised to Lionel pretty much at birth, she explained, a union intended to seal the bond between two navy families who had lived in the same village near Portsmouth for several generations. It was a good life, too good to question when young, impossible to question when a little wiser. She had never held Lionel responsible for his attitude toward her, although neither had she enjoyed the sense of entitlement instilled in him from an early age. It had colored their relationship. She had passed through life never knowing what it was like to be courted by a man, because the only man who had ever been allowed to have eyes for her happened to have believed she was already his by right.
“He has never once looked at me the way you are now.”
