The Night Letters

had been as immediate as it had been unwelcome. There was never any doubt in his mind that going to Sofia’s hut so soon after Alice’s death had been a betrayal of Alice and he had not been proud of it. Yet the vivid memories of his lover in the village in the Hindu Kush had never left him. In the years that passed he had wondered whether he would ever see her again, but if he did he wanted to explain and apologise for his behaviour. When the job with the UN had come up he began making enquiries among his contacts in Afghanistan about whom he should speak with. It had been Clem who had mentioned the Australian doctor training midwives in the villages. Emailing Clem, he asked if she knew this doctor’s name. When she said she didn’t he had hesitated, not wanting to pique Clementine’s interest, but a week later he emailed her again, asking if she could find out the doctor’s name or whether she had red hair.

Clem had replied a couple of days later: Sofia Raso. No idea about hair!?! What gives?

The only thing he remembered about her surname was that it was Italian and short. He began to suspect he’d found her again. A few days later he had received another email from Clem.

Your friend is turning out to be quite an interesting character. Not only does she train midwives but she also works as a general practitioner in Shaahir Square in Kabul near the old city and volunteers in the slums with a woman I know. She also has red hair. You owe me a story, Abiteboul.

That afternoon Daniel had sent an official email to the practice of Dr Sofia Raso of Shaahir Square, outlining his mandate and requesting an interview. He didn’t mention that they had met, not because she might not remember him, as he’d told her, but because she would remember him and refuse to see him before he had a chance to apologise and explain why he’d left without a word. A few days later he had received a short email from Dr Raso agreeing to a half-hour meeting in her office. It was all he needed. He would explain, apologise and put his guilt to rest once and for all, but then he had seen her again and the attraction had been as strong and as immediate as it had been the first time and he’d said nothing, but tonight he would. He would also give her the letter, the one he’d been carrying around for the past five years.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Clem said, kissing him on the cheek before flopping down in the chair opposite. Dressed in dungarees and an overly large shirt and jacket, she pulled the scarf off her hair, setting the tight curls free before stuffing the scarf in her handbag.

‘Hello, Clem, how are you?’ he said formally at her lack of greeting.

‘Very well, Daniel,’ she said formally back. ‘You looked very pensive when I walked in. Where were you?’

He held up his coffee cup. ‘I was thinking how I wished this place wasn’t dry.’

A couple with two small children wandered in. When one of the kids bumped Clem’s chair, she turned to give him a filthy look, but by then he was too busy putting sticky fingers all over the glass cabinet holding the sweets selection.

‘God, who’d want them,’ she said. Although her face had been side-on to Daniel, he saw her wince. He wished she could get over what had happened and move on. There was nothing either of them could do to change the past.

‘Well,’ she said, turning back to him with a smile, ‘you chose a coffee shop in the Serena to meet. What did you imagine? However,’ she said, holding up a finger, the silver bracelets falling down her wrists with a familiar clatter, ‘all is not lost. I’ve got a somewhat depleted supply of hooch back at my place.’ Clem shared a flat with two other aid workers close to the MSF office in Kabul. Their place regularly became a party house. He watched her screw up her face in pain. ‘Actually, I probably enjoyed a little too much of it last night so there mightn’t be much left. Anyway, you know where to come if you’re really in need,’ she offered when Daniel didn’t take her up on it.

Putting a couple of teaspoons of sugar in the coffee he’d ordered for her, she took a sip before pulling a face and putting it back down on the table. ‘It’s cold.’

‘Perhaps if you broke the lifetime habit of arriving late it might still be hot.’

Ignoring him, she turned to catch the eye of the man behind the counter, pointing at her coffee. ‘So,’ she said, turning back to Daniel and pushing the cup further away, ‘I can appreciate your interest in Dr Raso.’

‘Who said I was interested?’

‘Now you’ve found her again, what’re you going to do about it?’

‘Come on, Clem, it wasn’t as if I’d lost her and spent the last five years looking for her in some lover’s haze. I met her once. We spent a short time together working in a village. That’s all. I thought it would be nice to see her again.’

‘Nice,’ Clem said, raising her eyebrows as if he had used a very strange word.

‘We can go to Kandahar to see the midwives if you still want,’ he said, changing the subject.

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER the fundraiser had begun Daniel was standing in front of the Serena with Clem, waiting for her car to arrive. With a stream of people still arriving for the function, they moved off to the side of the entrance. As Daniel stood talking with Clem he saw Sofia stepping out of an SUV with a tall, elegant woman dressed in black and a short, older man, who he guessed was her boss. Until that moment he had only ever seen Sofia in shapeless dark clothes,