briefing was at general-staff level and couldn’t be avoided. His colonel, Arch Prosser, caught him over coffee and said, ‘General Arlington wants words. You’ve been covering yourself with glory again.’
The General, a small energetic man with white hair, took his hand. ‘Damn proud of you, Lieutenant Cazalet, and your regiment is proud of you. What you did out there was sterling stuff. You’ll be interested to know that others share my view. It seems I’ve been authorized to promote you to captain.’ He raised a hand. ‘Yes, I know you’re young for the rank, but never mind that. I’ve also put you in for the Distinguished Service Cross.’
‘I’m overwhelmed, sir.’
‘Don’t be. You deserve it. I had the pleasure of meeting your father three weeks ago at a White House function. He was in tiptop form.’
‘That’s good to know, General.’
‘And very proud, and so he should be. A young man of your background could have avoided Vietnam and yet you left Harvard and volunteered. You’re a credit to your country.’
He shook hands vigorously and walked away. Cazalet turned to Colonel Prosser. ‘Can I get off now?’
‘I don’t see why not, Captain.’ Prosser grinned. ‘But you don’t leave this base until you call in at the quartermaster’s and get fitted with proper rank insignia.’
He parked his Jeep outside the Excelsior, went in and ran up the stairs, excited as a schoolboy. He knocked on the door of her suite and she opened it, her face wet with tears, and flung her arms around his neck.
‘Oh, Jake, thank God you’re here. I was just leaving. I didn’t know if I’d see you.’
‘Leaving? But…but what happened?’
‘They’ve found Jean. He’s not dead, Jake! A patrol picked him up in the bush, he’s badly wounded; they flew him down this morning. He’s at Mitchell Military Hospital. Will you take me?’
Jake felt the room spinning around him, but he spoke carefully. ‘Of course I will. I’ve got my Jeep outside. Is there anything you need?’
‘No, Jake, just get me there.’
Already, she was slipping away from him, like a boat making for different waters and not his.
At the hospital, he peered through the glass in the door of the private room and saw the man who was Captain Comte Jean de Brissac lying there, his head heavily bandaged, Jacqueline at his side with a doctor. They came out together.
Jake said, ‘How is he?’
It was the doctor who answered. ‘A bullet creased his skull and he was half-starved when they found him, but he’ll live. You’re both very lucky.’
He walked away, and Jacqueline de Brissac smiled through her tears. ‘Yes, aren’t we?’ Her voice caught. ‘Oh, God. What do I do?’
He felt incredibly calm, knowing that she needed his strength. The tears were streaming down her face and he took out his handkerchief and wiped them away gently. ‘Why, you go to your husband, of course.’
She stood there looking at him, then turned and opened the door into the private room. Cazalet went down the corridor to the main entrance. He stood on the top step and lit a cigarette.
‘You know what, Jake, I’m damn proud of you,’ he said softly and then he marched very fast towards the Jeep, trying to hold back the tears that were springing to his eyes.
When his time was up, he returned to Harvard and completed his doctorate. He joined his father’s law firm, but politics beckoned inevitably: congressman first and then he married Alice Beadle when he was thirty-five, a pleasant, decent woman for whom he had a great affection. His father had pushed for it, feeling it was time for children, but there weren’t any. Alice’s health was poor and she developed leukaemia, which lasted for years.
Over the years, Jake was aware of Jean de Brissac’s rise to the rank of full general in the French army. Jacqueline was a memory so distant that what had happened seemed like a dream; and then de Brissac died of a heart attack. There was an obituary in the New York Times, a photo of the General with Jacqueline. On reading it, Cazalet discovered there was only one child, a daughter named Marie. He considered writing, but then thought better of it. Jacqueline didn’t need an embarrassing echo of the past. What would be the point?
No, best to leave well enough alone.…
Once elected senator and regarded as a coming man, he had to take trips abroad on government business, usually on his own, for Alice simply wasn’t up to it. So it was that in Paris in 1989 on government business, he was once again on his own, except for his faithful aide and private secretary, a one-armed lawyer named Teddy Grant. Among other things there was an invitation to the Presidential Ball. Cazalet was seated at the desk in the sitting room of his suite at the Ritz when Teddy dropped it in front of him.
‘You can’t say no, it’s a command performance like the White House or Buckingham Palace, only this is the Elysée Palace.’
‘I haven’t the slightest intention of saying no,’ Cazalet told him. ‘And I’d like to point out it says Senator Jacob Cazalet and companion. For tonight, that means you, Teddy, so go find your black tie.’
Oh, I don’t mind,’ Teddy told him. ‘Free champagne, strawberries, good-looking women. For you, anyway.’
‘Good-looking French women, Teddy. But I’m not in the market any more, remember. Now get out of here.’
The ball was everything one could have hoped for, held in an incredible salon, an orchestra playing at one end. All the world seemed to be there, handsome men, beautiful women, uniforms everywhere, church dignitaries in purple or scarlet cassocks. Teddy had departed to procure some more champagne and Cazalet stood alone on the edge of the dance-floor.
A voice said, ‘Jake?’
He turned around and found her standing there, wearing a small diamond tiara and a black silk ballgown. ‘My God, it’s you, Jacqueline.’
The heart turned over in him as he took her hands. She was still so beautiful, it was as if time had stood still. She said, ‘Senator Cazalet now. I’ve followed your career with such interest. A future president, they say.’
‘And pigs might fly.’ He hesitated. ‘I was sorry to hear of your husband’s death last year.’
‘Yes. It was quick, though. I suppose one can’t ask for more than that.’
Teddy Grant approached with a tray holding two glasses of champagne. Cazalet said, ‘Teddy, the Comtesse de Brissac…an old friend.’
‘Not the Teddy Grant from that Harvard cafeteria?’ she smiled. ‘Oh, I truly am pleased to meet you, Mr Grant.’
‘Hey, what is this?’ Teddy asked.
‘It’s OK, Teddy, go and get another glass of champagne and I’ll explain later.’
Teddy left, looking slightly flummoxed, and he and Jacqueline sat down at the nearest table. ‘Your wife isn’t with you?’ she asked.
