She left the suite, dosing the door quietly behind her.
She saw him almost every day for the next four weeks. At first he was in Q, Building for daily debriefing sessions. He would seek her out at lunchtime, and they would eat together in the cafeteria or take sandwiches to the park. His manner reverted to his characteristic relaxed courtesy, making her feel respected and cared for.. The sting of his behavior in the Carlton eased. Maybe, she thought, he too had never spent the night with a lover; and, like her, he was not sure of the etiquette. He had treated her casually, as he might treat his sister - and perhaps his sister was the only girl who had ever seen him in his underwear.
At the end of the week he asked her for a date, and they saw the movie of Jane Eyre on Saturday night On Sunday they went canoeing on the Potomac. There was a spirit of recklessness in the Washington air. The city was full of young men on their way to the front or back home on leave, men for whom violent death was an everyday event. They wanted to gamble, drink, dance, and make love because they might never have another chance. The bars were jammed, and a single girl never needed to spend an evening alone. The Allies were winning the war, but the bubble of exuberance was burst daily by news of relatives, neighbours, and college friends killed and wounded on the front line.
Luke put on a little weight and started to sleep better. The haunted look went from his eyes. He bought some clothes that fitted him, short-sleeved shirts and white pants and a navy flannel suit that he wore for their evening dates. A little of his boyishness came back.
They talked endlessly. She explained how the study of human psychology would eventually eliminate mental illness, and he told her how men could fly to the moon. They relived the fateful Harvard weekend that had changed their lives. They discussed the war, and when it might, end: Billie thought the Germans could not last much longer, now that Italy had fallen, but Luke believed it would take years to clear the Japanese out of the Pacific. Sometimes they went out with Anthony and Bern, and argued politics in bars, just as they had when they were all at college together, in a different world. One weekend Luke flew to New York to see his family, and Billie missed him so badly she felt ill. She never tired of him, never came near to being bored. He was thoughtful and witty and smart.
They had a major fight about twice a week. Each followed the pattern of their first row, in his hotel suite. He would say something high-handed, or make a _ decision about their evening's plans without consulting her, or assume he knew better about some subject, radio or automobiles or tennis. She would protest hotly, and he would accuse her of overreacting. She would get more and more angry as she tried to make him understand what was wrong with his attitude, and he would start to feel like a hostile witness under cross-examination. In the heat of the argument, she would exaggerate, or make some wild, assertion, or say something she knew to be false. Then he would accuse her of insincerity, and say there was no point in talking to her, because she was willing to say anything to win an argument. He would walk out, more convinced than ever that he was right Within minutes, she would be distraught She would seek him out and beg him to forget it and be friends. At first he would be stony- faced; then she would say something that made him laugh, and he would melt But in all that time she did not go to his hotel, and when she kissed him it was a chaste brush of the lips, always in a public place. Even so, she felt the liquid sensation inside every time she touched him, and she knew she could go no farther without going the whole way.
The sunny September turned into a chilly October, and Luke was posted.
He got the news on a Friday afternoon. He was waiting for Billie in the lobby of Q Building when she left for the day. She could see by his face that something bad had happened. 'What's wrong?' she said immediately.
'I'm going back to France.'
She was dismayed. 'When?'
'I leave Washington early on Monday morning. Bern, too.'
'For God's sake, haven't you done your share?'
'I don't mind the danger,' he said. 'I just don't want to leave you.'
Tears came to her eyes. She swallowed hard. 'Two days.'
'I've got to pack.'
I'll help you.'
They went to his hotel.
As soon as they were inside the door she grabbed him by his sweater, pulled him to her, and tilted her face to be kissed. This time there was nothing chaste about it. She ran the tip of her tongue along his lips, top and bottom, then opened her mouth to his tongue.
She slipped off her coat. She was wearing a dress with blue-and-white vertical stripes and a white collar. She said: 'Touch my breasts.'
He looked startled.
'Please,' she begged.
His hands closed over her small breasts. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the sensation.
They broke apart, and she stared at him hungrily, memorizing his face. She wanted never to forget the particular blue-of his eyes, the lock of dark hair that fell over his forehead, the curve of his jaw, the soft cushion of his mouth. 'I want a photo of you,' she said. 'Do you have one?'
'I don't carry photographs of myself around,' he said with a grin. In a New York accent he added: 'What am I, Frank Sinatra?'
'You must have a picture of yourself somewhere.'
'I might have a family photo. Let me look.' He went into the bedroom.
She followed him.
His battered brown leather bag lay on a suitcase stand where, Billie guessed, it had been for four weeks. He took out a silver picture frame that opened up like a small book. Inside were two photographs, one on each side. He slipped a picture out and handed it to her.
It had been taken three or four years ago, and showed a younger, heavier Luke in a polo shirt With him were an older couple, presumably his parents, plus twin boys of around fifteen, and a little girl. They were all dressed in beach clothes.
'I can't take this, it's your picture of your family,' she said, although she longed for it with all her heart 'I want you to have it. That's me, I'm part of my family.'
That was what she loved about it. 'Did you take it to France with you?'
'Yes.'
It was so important to him, she could hardly bear to deprive him of it - yet that made it even more precious to her. 'Show me the other one,' she said, 'What?'
'There are two photos in that frame.'
He seemed reluctant, but opened it. The second picture had been cut out of the Radcliffe year book. It was a photo of Billie.
'You had that in France, too?' she said. She could not breathe properly, her throat felt constricted.
Yes.'
She burst into tears. It was unbearable. He had cut her picture out of the year book and carried it, alongside the photo of his family, all that time his life was in such danger. She had had no idea that she meant so much to him.
'Why are you crying?' he said.
'Because you love me,' she replied.
'It's true,' he said. 'I was frightened to tell you. I've loved you ever since Pearl Harbor weekend.'
Her passion turned to rage. 'How can you say that, you bastard? You left me!'
'If you and I had become lovers then, it would have destroyed Anthony.'
To hell with Anthony!' She hammered his chest with her fist, but he did not seem to feel it 'How could you put Anthony's happiness before mine, you son of a bitch?'
'It would have been dishonourable.'
'But don't you see, we could have had each other for two years!' The tears streamed down her cheeks. 'Now we've only got two days - two lousy goddamn days!'
'Then stop crying and kiss me again,' he said.
She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down. Her tears ran between their lips and into their mouths. He began to unfasten her dress. Impatient, she said: 'Please, just rip it.' He pulled hard, and the buttons flew off down to her waist Another tug opened it completely. She slipped it back off her shoulders and stood in her
