British, an army captain, and yes, he was quite good-looking; actually, all the girls thought so.
A little voice at the back of my head told me to go back to my room and get a good night's sleep. I didn't listen; I was surprised that voice kept giving me advice after all the years I'd ignored it. It wasn't always bad advice; it just came when I didn't want to hear it. I jumped in a taxi and asked the driver to get me to the Cafe Continental fast, tossing a bunch of British pounds on the front seat, probably enough to buy the cab and a couple of donkeys to boot. He floored it with abandon, weaving around a colonel who almost lost his service cap in the slipstream. My kind of cabbie.
He came to a stop that sent me slamming into the front seat, in front of the Cathedral of Saint Phillipe, its twin minarets, graceful curving arches, and decorated tiles revealing it had been a mosque before the French took over. Or so Diana had told me, last time we were here, walking to the Cafe Continental. The cathedral was lit up, the blackout long gone since we'd chased the Luftwaffe all the way back to Italy. I legged it along the side of the limestone building, the stones looking as old as the ruined temples I'd seen in Sicily. The side street brought me into the Casbah proper, a maze of narrow streets and winding alleyways. It was easy to get lost but all you had to do was walk down the hill and you'd end up at the harbor, where you could turn around and try again. But I knew my way around. I knew where you could buy hashish, sell your sister, hire an out-of-work spy, or arrange for a smuggling route into the desert, to Spanish Morocco or the Rio de Oro. What I didn't know was how to talk to Diana when I found her, or whether she'd listen.
I dodged Arab women, their robes covering every inch of them, embroidered head scarves and veils drawing the eye though I thought the idea was to discourage male glances. Boys pulled donkeys weighed down with dates, jugs of water, blankets, firewood, and wooden crates stamped U.S. ARMY. The alleys were dark, the only light coming from overhanging balconies built out over the street so far they almost touched their neighbors across the way. I'd left my pistol back at the hotel, figuring that it would go better if I didn't arrive armed, and I cast a few glances over my shoulder before I hit Rue Marengo, a wider street where, during the day, open markets sold everything from fruit and vegetables to trinkets for GI tourists, brass baubles, Arab daggers, and German Lugers.
I slowed my pace, collecting myself, trying to calm down so I wouldn't punch out the Brit officer before we were introduced. The evening was cool but I wiped sweat from my temples as I adjusted my fore-and-aft cap, loosened my field scarf, then tightened it again, before rubbing each shoe on the back of my pants to get rid of the dust. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and sauntered off, just another bored soldier looking for a new bar or brothel. The Cafe Continental was around the next curve in the street, and I wanted to scout the position from a safe distance.
I knew the layout: a gleaming white building with sky blue doors and shutters, the sign in the same blue and white over the door, the main entrance on the street. Off to the side, there was a courtyard shaded by trees, where Diana and I had eaten a couple of times. Strings of lightbulbs hung low in the tree branches, casting a leafy glow over the tables, each flooded by candlelight.
I saw Diana-no, I heard Diana-that laugh, like glass chimes in a low wind, quiet but insistent, with the promise of more to come. Then I saw her profile in the candlelight, the yellow glow reflecting off her honey brown hair. Her FANY uniform fit her well and she looked even better than the last time I had seen her. More at ease and confident. There was no hesitation in her gestures as she raised a glass of wine to her lips, patted her companion on the arm and leaned closer to whisper to him. I turned away. I had hurt her, waited too long to stand by her side, and now she was out with one of her own, a British captain. He even outranked me.
I walked back the way I had come, waiting for the downward incline to propel me out of the Casbah. Maybe Diana had thought about the same things I had, the difference in who we were, where we came from, and found it easier to imagine her future with a countryman. I'd glimpsed that with Slaine, the comfort of thinking how easy it would be. No hard road there.
No, I told myself. No, I needed to talk to Diana. Things had gone this far because I hadn't said the things that needed saying. I turned again, rehearsing my lines.
I walked through the restaurant before the maitre d' could intercept me, and before I could regain my senses. I watched Diana nodding at her date enthusiastically, smiling up at him. He looked like a recruiting poster, his brass and leather gleaming, khaki dress uniform unwrinkled, his face tanned and his hair burnished blond by the desert sun. And he wore medals. I was definitely outclassed but he'd seen me already, and raised an eyebrow, signaling Diana.
'Billy!'
'I'm sorry to intrude, Diana, I was just passing by and saw you. I wanted to say hello, and wish you well, with whatever you're doing next.' I avoided looking at the other guy's face and resisted the urge to vault the wrought-iron fence and run screaming down the road.
'Billy, I didn't expect to see you tonight,' Diana said, standing to face me.
'That's obvious,' I said. 'Look, I know we didn't part on the best of terms. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. And that you should do whatever you think is right, not that you need my two cents' worth.'
'Billy, I-'
'Never mind, you don't need to make excuses. I was a bum, I know it, and you deserve someone better. Now enjoy your dinner, sorry I interrupted.' I watched her eyes for some signal, some evidence in them of desire or longing. All I saw was blue.
'Diana, I thought you said he was terribly smart,' the Brit said, his long legs crossed and one hand idly resting on a knee.
'Listen, bub, you butt out or-captain or not-I'll bust you wide open,' I said in a low growl. This was hard enough without some aristocratic twit chiming in.
'Champagne, monsieur and mademoiselle,' announced a waiter carrying an ice bucket. This was too much.
'Champagne, what the hell are you celebrating, Diana? Couldn't you have waited until I was out of town? It's not like we have any claim on each other, but-'
'Would you like a chair, sir?' the oblivious waiter asked as he set down the champagne on ice.
Diana stood, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me. Not a glad-to-see-you kiss and not a goodbye kiss. A real kiss, a hungry kiss, a kiss full of passion, a lingering, come-on-upstairs kind of kiss. She finally let me go and a table of French officers applauded.
'I think I'd like that chair now,' I said to the waiter.
'Billy,' Diana said, taking me by the arm, her eyes twinkling. 'I think it's time the two of you met. Lieutenant Billy Boyle, this is Captain Peter Seaton.' I watched both of them suppressing grins. Of course. Diana's brother, Peter. She and Daphne had both spoken of him; he was serving with the British 8th Army, now fighting in Italy. We shook hands.
'Glad to meet you,' I said. 'And sorry for the scene.'
A chair and a third glass appeared. We sat as the waiter poured. I watched Diana, transfixed by her beauty, her presence, her scent, the taste of her still on my lips.
'What are we drinking to?'
'My engagement,' Peter said. 'To a wonderful American girl on the embassy staff in Cairo. We met at a party, one of those incredibly boring duty events. We both fell head over heels. Audrey's from New York City, somewhere in Manhattan. She's been to Harlem, all the jazz clubs, can you believe it?'
'Congratulations,' I said. We clinked glasses and drank.
'Well, I promised some chaps I'd meet them at the hotel bar. Now that Billy's here, I'll leave you in his care.'
'Oh, Peter,' Diana said. 'You don't have to go.'
I didn't say a thing.
'Catch up with me at the bar. You two finish the champers and.. . well, whatever.'
We watched him leave, a bit nervous at being left alone. I took another drink.
'Listen,' I said. At the same time she started to speak.
'No, you go first,' we both said at the same time. That was good for a laugh.
'Let me get this out, Billy. Kay told me about how exhausted you looked, and your long trip back here. Peter is only here for two days, then he goes to Tunis as part of the conference with the president and the prime minister. So I thought it best to let you sleep and see you in the morning. Or maybe later tonight.' That was promising.
