‘Yes. I was jealous.’
‘I’m still with the same people, but I became their route manager at Lympne, and now by some fluke I’ve been asked to be a director. I still haven’t got a clue what that means, but it will pay well.’
‘Maybe I’ll phone you up one day, and ask for a job.’ She leaned over to stub out her cigarette, and gave me a peck on the cheek. Wide mouth. Soft lips. ‘That’s my first break. I’ll have to give the others a hand now. I’ll come back later.’ As she moved I caught a discreet whiff of her perfume, and for a moment a picture of flowers all the colours of the rainbow exploded in my head. I leaned out to watch her walk away from me, along the narrow gangway between the seats, and for a microsecond saw her as she might be naked: I’d never really thought of her that way previously. Men do that sort of thing, and women never stop complaining about it. One of the squaddies also followed her with his eyes, then looked back at me and gave me the thumbs-up. I probably grinned back at him.
I went back to Cyprus for a late holiday a few years back. It was a reward for growing up. The sun was shining, and on the Greek side the houses gleamed white or faded pink under new coats of wash. A UN truck with a couple of bored-looking French Legionnaires on loan patrolled the Green Line keeping the Greeks and the Turks apart.
To outsiders like me the Greeks and the Turks appear to be two sides of the same coin, and I like both races a lot. I just can’t understand why they have to keep on inventing new reasons to kill each other. The Israelis and the Arabs are the same, I suppose – more similarities than differences. The problem with the lot of them is that the radicals can’t let go of the characteristics which make them radical: maybe they would have no purpose to their lives without the hate.
Anyway, when I had last returned it was like any old holiday island in the Med, apart from the swirling knots of drunken squaddies who took over the bars after midnight.
It wasn’t like that when we slid down the runway in 1956. The first thing I saw out of the aircraft window as we taxied in was a recently burned-out airframe. Smoke was still rising from it: I wondered which poor sod had had the job of putting the fire out. Still, it was nice to know I’d had some practice: welcome to Cyprus, Charlie. The second thing I saw was a lioness lying in the scrubby grass alongside the runway, as we taxied past her. She looked like the Sphinx. I’m sure we made eye contact, but she didn’t budge. I had seen a lioness several times in Egypt, but the doctors told me she wasn’t really there: something to do with stress and alcohol. It was good to know she was back.
There was only one woman passenger on the flight. A starchy-looking army lieutenant. She gave me three looks while we were standing on the tarmac waiting for our bags to be sorted out. I counted them. The third time she smiled. It was an I know you’re there and stay out of my way smile. She was my sort of size, and had severely cut fine blonde hair. Wide eyes; deep forehead; wide mouth. The distance between us meant that I couldn’t read her flashes. She had the look of someone who was going places and didn’t mind who she knocked over on the way.
Alison must have seen where my attention was. She stalked over and said, ‘I wondered when you would notice her. She asked me to point out a passenger to her.’
‘Which one?’
‘This one,’ and she poked me in the chest. ‘Charles Bassett RAF (retired). I’ve never thought of you as a Charles before, or retired – makes you sound stuffy.’
‘What is she?’
‘A military policeman – are you in trouble already?’
‘Not as far as I know. Name?’
‘It says Ann Thirdlow on the passenger manifest, but you can’t trust the MPs with names. She could be anybody.’
Then I paid attention to Alison. I held both her hands, and looked at her. ‘You outgrew me – you grew up to be taller. That’s not fair.’
‘We have a three-day stopover. Maybe I could take you swimming, and make up for it. Some of the beaches are still safe.’
‘That,’ I told her, ‘I would love.’ I didn’t tell her that I could only swim six feet before I began to drown. ‘But it depends on Her Majesty. I don’t know what her minions have planned for me. How do I contact you?’
‘Tony’s Hotel in Famagusta. I’ll be there until Monday – but don’t worry, I’ll be back again the week after.’
‘Is that its real name?’
‘No. It has a Turkish word with about three hundred syllables and the odd squeal, but everyone knows it as Tony’s. Inside the old walled city – the safest place for Brits is alongside the Turks. The Greeks are scared of them.’ She spotted her bag in the heap coming out of the hold, and gave me another peck on the cheek before she went to collect it. I had that hairs on the back of your neck feeling, which told me I was being watched. A staff car had come out for Lieutenant Thirdlow, and she had paused before climbing into the front passenger seat, to look my way again. This time she didn’t smile. Maybe one a day was all you got. Short rations. I knew immediately that she was one of those people who were unable to laugh at themselves. That was always trouble, wasn’t it?
I watched
