“Not when I called HQ and they told me they had no idea where you were.”
“That’s as it should be. We’d all be in terrible trouble if HQ actually knew what was going on.”
The laughter put an end to the matter, and attention shifted back to the guests of honor. Freddie proposed a toast to Lionel and Mitzi, following it up with a small speech he’d prepared. It was a touching tribute, heavy on the humor, which brought some tears from Mitzi. Even Lionel’s eyes misted over a little.
His response to Freddie’s kind words was a predictable mix of awkward affability and pomposity: friendships smelted in the furnace of battle … memories to last a lifetime … the eternal struggle of good versus evil … not “goodbye” so much as “au revoir.” He made no mention of Mitzi and the fact that she had chosen to stay at his side throughout it all, whereas most of the wives had long since bolted for home. Max knew that he should keep his mouth shut, that to speak would only draw attention to Lionel’s oversight, but when the smattering of applause had died down, he raised his glass.
“To Mitzi and all her good work at the Standing Committee of Adjustment.”
Mitzi tilted her head at him in gratitude.
“Hear, hear,” said Rosamund emphatically. “If it wasn’t for women like you, women like me wouldn’t get to sit around all day playing gin rummy and moaning about the scarcity of zip fasteners.”
The final toast of the evening was to Ralph, and in many ways it was the most poignant. None of them around the table was facing a trial like his, and they all knew it was one he might not survive. The next morning, when the replacement Spitfires flew in, he would be waiting at Ta’ Qali, ready to take to the air in one of the new machines. No one doubted that the ensuing air battle would be the fiercest yet, and Ralph was going to be in the thick of it.
“Are you sure you remember how to fly the bloody things?” asked Freddie.
“Stick, rudder pedals, firing button—how hard can it be?” scoffed Max.
Lionel gave a loud snort. “Well, I must say, that’s pretty rich coming from you, old man.”
“He was joking,” Mitzi sighed.
“Oh.”
When they all moved outside for coffee, Max and Freddie snatched a moment alone on the back terrace. It was the first chance they’d had to talk in private, and Max filled him in on Busuttil’s discoveries, including the name he’d turned up.
“Ken?”
“I checked with Tommy Ravilious at the sub base. Nothing.”
“An assumed name?”
“Maybe. Busuttil’s chasing it down.”
“I hope so. Mitzi says the
“I thought it was Monday.”
“It’s been brought forward a day. They want her gone before things really heat up around here.”
“Christ.”
Only one more day for Busuttil to crack it. He wasn’t going to appreciate this new development when Max saw him later.
Freddie wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help. He had just been assigned to the naval hospital at Bighi, on the Grand Harbour side of Valetta, but was more than happy to shirk his duties if the situation called for it.
“You can’t do that.”
“It’s not like I’m stuck out at Mtarfa anymore. I’m right here on the doorstep and ready to do whatever—hang the consequences.”
“I’ll mention it to Busuttil, see what he says.”
Freddie glanced toward the house. Lionel was still seated at the dining table, pontificating to Hugh and Ralph about something or other.
“Have you ever wondered if it’s him?”
“Lionel? For all of five seconds. Why?”
“I hadn’t noticed before tonight…. He’s left-handed.”
As if on cue, Lionel raised his wineglass to his lips with his left hand.
Max didn’t have a chance to respond.
“What are you two looking so furtive about?”
The voice came from high above them. It was Mitzi, peering down from the crow’s nest, barely discernible in the darkness.
“What are you doing up there?” called Freddie.
“Having a last look.”
“Don’t pretend you’ll miss it.”
“Oh, but I shall.”
“And us?”
