that’s a matter of opinion. Write, I think. Yes, I suppose you could say I was a writer.’
Langley’s voice was raised behind as he moved into another public performance. ‘Surely we’re all agreed that Vietnam was the most obscene episode of the century?’
I turned and found him in the centre of an eager group of girls. They all nodded enthusiastically. He smiled, then noticed me watching. ‘Don’t you agree, old stick?’ he demanded and there was a challenge in his voice.
I was a fool to respond, I suppose, but the last two drinks were like fire in my belly. I didn’t like him and I didn’t like his friends and I wasn’t too bothered about letting the whole world know.
‘Well now,’ I said, ‘if you mean was it a dirty, stinking, rotten business, I agree, but then most wars are. On the other hand as a participant I tend to have rather personal views.’
There was genuine shock on his face. ‘You mean you actually served in Vietnam?’ he said. ‘My God, how dare you. How dare you come to my party.’
I was aware of Gatano moving in behind me and Simone Delmas tugged at my sleeve. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Oh, no,’ Langley told her sharply. ‘He doesn’t get off that easily. I know he didn’t come with you, sweetie.’ He moved closer. ‘Who brought you?’
‘Richard Burton,’ I said and kicked him under the right kneecap.
He went down hard, but without making much of a fuss about it which surprised me, but I had other things on my mind. Gatano grabbed my shoulder and I gave him a reverse elbow strike that must have splintered three of his ribs.
I wasn’t too sure what happened after that. There was a great deal of noise and confusion and then I surfaced to find myself leaning against the wall in an alley at the side of the house. It was raining slightly and Simone was pulling my coat collar up about my neck.
‘So there you are.’ She smiled. ‘Do you do this kind of thing often?’
‘Only on Fridays,’ I said. ‘My religion forbids me to eat meat.’
‘Have you got a car?’
‘A white Alfa. It should be around here somewhere.’
‘Where do you live?’ I told her and she frowned. ‘That’s forty miles away. You can’t possibly drive that far in the state you’re in.’
‘You could.’ I fished the keys from my pocket and held them out. ‘Nice night for a drive. You can stay over if you like. Plenty of room and bolts on all the bedroom doors.’
I followed this up by starting to slide down the wall and she caught me quickly. ‘All right, you win, only don’t pass out on me.’
I leaned heavily, on her all the way to the car and only passed out when she’d got me into the passenger seat.
When I woke up the following day it was almost noon and she was painting on the terrace using some old oil paints she’d found in a cupboard in the living room. It seemed she liked the view as much as I did. She was still there at sunset. And after that …
Two months – probably the happiest I’d known in years, I told myself as I sipped the drink she pushed across the bar to me.
‘Is it all right?’ she said.
‘Perfect.’
She folded her arms and leaned on the bar. ‘What do I know about you, Oliver? Really know?’
I raised my glass. ‘Well, for a start, I drink Irish gin.’
‘You write,’ she said, ‘or at least you once showed me a detective novel under another name and claimed it as yours.’
‘Come on, angel,’ I said. ‘If I’d been lying I’d have chosen something good.’
‘You have a scar on your right shoulder and another under the shoulder blade that suggests something went straight through.’
‘A birthmark,’ I said lightly. ‘Would you like me to describe yours? Strawberry and shaped like a primula. Back of the thigh just under the left buttock.’
She carried straight on in the same calm, rather dead voice. ‘An American who could just as easily pass as an Englishman. A soldier because you did let slip at Justin’s party that night in Almeria that you’d been in Vietnam, although you’ve never mentioned it since. An officer, I suppose.’
‘And gentleman?’
‘Who can half kill a professional heavyweight boxer twice his size in two seconds flat.’
‘Poor old Gatano,’ I said. ‘He shouldn’t have joined.’
She seemed genuinely angry now. ‘Can’t you ever be serious about anything?’
She moved to the end of the bar as if to put distance between us, took a cigarette from an ivory box and lit it with shaking fingers. She inhaled deeply once then stubbed it out in the ashtray.
There was a direct challenge now as she turned to confront me. ‘All right, Oliver. This afternoon. What was it all about?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ I told her with perfect truth.
For a moment I thought she might make a frontal assault. Instead she hammered on the bar with a clenched fist in fury. ‘I’m frightened, Oliver! Scared to death!’
I moved to take her hand. ‘No need to be, I promise you. Not as long as I’m here.’
She gazed at me, eyes wide for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head slightly, and moved across to the window. She stood looking out into the night, arms folded in that inimitable way of hers, rain drifting across the terrace.
‘Rain, rain, go to Spain, never come my way again,’ she said in a lost little-girl voice.
I moved in behind her and slid my arms around her waist. ‘Come to bed.’
‘Do you know what’s the most frightening thing of all?’ she said without looking round.
‘No, tell me.’
‘That man out there in the marsh. He was a professional, you said so yourself, and yet he didn’t stand a chance, did he?’
She half-turned, looking up at me. I kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘Come to bed,’ I said again and took her hand and led her out of the room.
I came awake from a dreamless sleep to find her gone. The windows to the terrace stood open and the white nylon curtains rose and fell in the gray light of dawn. I reached for my watch. Six-thirty.
I got out of bed, found a bathrobe and went into the living room. There was no sign of her there either, but somewhere a car door banged. I went out on the terrace and looked down to the drive.
The Alfa stood outside the garage. Simone was standing beside it dressed in slacks
