Kitabı oku: «The Heretic’s Treasure», sayfa 5
After that, there had been a flurry of shots.
Then nothing. Just darkness and empty silence.
He was dead.
But suddenly, amazingly, he wasn’t.
His next memory was of waking up in a soft bed in a military hospital. The first thing he’d seen when he opened his eyes was Harry Paxton sitting by his bedside, anxiously watching over him like a father with a sick child.
Eight men had gone in that day; only two had come out.
And if it hadn’t been for Paxton, it would have been Ben inside one of the bodybags that had been choppered away from the smoking ruin in the aftermath of the firefight.
Harry Paxton, last man standing. It was one of those tales of heroism that was destined to become enshrined in regimental legend. For a long time afterwards, men had retold the tale-maybe they were still telling it now, years later. How Kananga, the Cross Bones militia captain, his forces scattering under air attack, had murdered Sergeant Smith and been just about to execute the injured Major Hope with a bullet to the head when Paxton had stepped in to save him. How the Lieutenant Colonel had selflessly got in the way of the bullet meant for the Major, before shooting Kananga with the last round from his pistol.
The rest of the story had come together gradually as Ben recuperated in the hospital over the next couple of weeks.
By the time the reinforcement squad of paratroopers from 1 Para had arrived, it had all been over. Paxton’s unit had accomplished its objective. The Cross Bones Boys were largely wiped out. Nobody ever knew what happened to The Baron. He’d either managed to escape, or never been there in the first place-but that didn’t detract from the victory, and in any case he was never heard of again.
It had been one of the gravest losses of life in the regiment’s history. Back in Hereford, the fallen had been laid to rest with full military honours. Amid the grief, Harry Paxton, arm in a sling from his bullet wound, was the hero of the hour. Plaudits and decorations had been heaped upon him, and soon afterwards he’d been given the promotion to full colonel.
As for Ben, nothing in his military experience had ever quite moved him the way Paxton’s actions had done. He’d sworn he would do anything to return the favour to the man who’d saved him. Nothing-nothing–was ever going to stand in the way of that.
Chapter Eleven
Ben snapped back to the here and now, and glanced at his watch. Time was passing quickly, and Paxton was waiting for his decision.
But he already knew what he had to do.
There was no way he could refuse the colonel’s request. He had too big a debt to repay the man. He couldn’t just walk away.
One last time. Then the slate would be clean and it would be over. It was the least he could do for the hero who had saved his life.
And yet…the prospect of carrying out this task filled him with revulsion.
Unable to bear it any more, he jumped up and headed out of the hotel. The street outside was bustling with the first of the season’s tourists. He filtered through the crowds and just followed his nose, trying to keep himself occupied with the ambience of the town, the architecture, the winding backstreets filled with interesting little shops, the colourful sprawl of spring flower displays that San Remo was famous for.
After a while he suddenly realised he’d wandered near to the hotel where Kerry was staying. He checked his watch. A couple of hours had gone by since he’d left her there. He thought about going in to check on her, make sure she was OK. Maybe she’d have time for a coffee or something. The distraction would be good for him, to help get his head straight and calm his thoughts a little.
The hotel wasn’t the finest establishment he’d ever seen, with a smell of damp in the air and a frayed path across the entrance to the reception desk. He guessed Kerry was a traveller on a budget, just passing through. It struck him how little he knew about her.
He walked up to the desk. Behind it was a bleary-eyed man reading a newspaper through a pair of dirty half-moon glasses. He peered over the top of them as Ben approached. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked in Italian.
‘I’m a friend of one of your guests,’ Ben replied. ‘Her name’s Kerry Wallace. I don’t have a room number. Could you call her for me, please?’
The receptionist grunted, chucked down his paper and started leafing through the old-fashioned register on the desk in front of him. He flipped a few pages back and forth, peering through the dusty glasses at the columns of names.
He looked up. ‘There is no Kerry Wallace here.’
‘She’s checked out?’
‘No, Signore, there is no Kerry Wallace on the register. We have had no guest of that name.’
‘She was here two hours ago. I saw her come in. Were you on duty then?’
The man’s brow wrinkled with annoyance. He glared heavily at Ben. ‘I think perhaps you have the wrong hotel, Signore’
Ben glared back at him. ‘No, this is the right place. You’re making a mistake.’
The receptionist let out an exasperated huff. He spun the register around on the counter. ‘See for yourself.’
Ben ran his eye down the open pages. Frowned. Flipped a page. Scanned down the names. Flipped another page. Checked the dates going back a month. The guy was right. Nobody called Kerry Wallace, or Miss K. Wallace, or anything remotely resembling her name, had checked into the hotel.
‘I’m sorry to have troubled you,’ he said to the receptionist. ‘My mistake.’
The man grunted again and flapped his newspaper back up in front of his face.
Ben left the hotel, puzzled. Had he got it wrong? He’d seen her walk in there. It was perplexing. He thought about it for a moment, and shrugged. A woman on her own, getting into trouble with men chasing her: maybe she’d wanted to be cautious and had given him a false name. But then again, she’d trusted him enough to go off to a strange yacht with him.
What the hell. It didn’t matter that much. As long as she was safe. He had enough on his mind without worrying about Kerry Wallace.
He looked at his watch. He still had quite a while before he had to head back to the harbour for his dinner rendezvous on board the Scimitar. He walked on. It was warm and close, and dark clouds were beginning to gather overhead. The burning electric smell of a coming thunderstorm hung in the air.
He turned into the street where his hotel was, and the tall white building came into view a hundred yards further on. As he walked, he threw a casual glance to his right at a second-hand bookshop. It had a striped awning and stands of old hardbacks sitting out on the pavement. He’d always been drawn to those kinds of places, and sometimes when he was in Paris he’d spend a whole afternoon browsing around the bookshops by the Seine. It took him into a different world, helped him to forget the real one.
He glanced inside the shop. It was shady and inviting, and for a moment he was tempted to go inside, but decided against it. This wasn’t the time.
Just as he was about to walk on, he noticed something inside the shop.
Someone inside the shop, browsing the shelves of dusty hardbacks.
She was wearing cream cotton trousers and a light blue silk blouse that accentuated the colour of her eyes and the gold of her hair. She turned to face him.
It was Zara Paxton.
Ben felt a surge of anger at the way his heart jumped when he saw her. He did his best to cover it up, and walked towards her with a smile. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ he said.
‘Yes, what a surprise,’ she laughed. ‘I was shopping in the town, and I remembered this little bookshop. It’s got a good poetry section.’ She waved the book she was holding. ‘I found this. Samuel Taylor Coleridge.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ he replied uncertainly.
‘Good to see you too.’
He stood there for a second, feeling awkward. ‘I’ve decided what I’m going to do,’ he said. ‘I’m taking the job. Going to Cairo.’
‘Harry will be so pleased. It’s kind of you to help him.’
Another silence. ‘Well, see you this evening, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll be staying overnight on board, and I guess I’m leaving in the morning.’
‘Ben, do you fancy going for a drive? I could show you the town,’ Zara said suddenly as he was about to turn away. She looked down at her feet, tugged at a lock of her hair. ‘If you feel like it, that is, and you’ve got some time. My car’s just around the corner.’
He hesitated, nodded. ‘Why not?’
She talked animatedly as they walked-a little too animatedly, he thought. Like she was nervous. So was he, and he didn’t like the feeling. He worried that his answers to what she was saying were monosyllabic and trite. But the harder he tried to relax around her, the more he felt choked, and hated himself for it. I shouldn’t have agreed to this, he thought desperately.
‘This is it,’ she said, pointing at a sleek black BMW Z4 Roadster convertible at the side of the street. She tossed her handbag in the back of the open-top car, bleeped the locks and they settled into the cream leather seats. She twisted the ignition and the engine rasped into life. As she put the lever in first gear, her hand brushed his. It was only the slightest contact, but she drew her hand away as though she’d touched a hotplate. She blushed. ‘Sorry.’
‘My fault,’ he said, and cringed at his reply. Jesus, Hope.
They drove for a while, and she pointed out various architectural features of San Remo town. He listened, nodded, feigned interest. But he was more interested in her, and he felt bad about it. He shouldn’t be here. This was all wrong.
But after a few miles around San Remo and its outskirts, something else was beginning to crowd his thoughts. Most normal civilians would have no way of telling when a professional surveillance team was following them. But Ben Hope was no normal civilian. He’d spent almost half his life watching his back, and a well-developed knowledge of surveillance techniques, coupled with a sixth sense for when he was being watched, was a combination he knew he could pretty much rely on.
Back in the streets after Kerry’s hotel, he hadn’t been so sure of it. Just a feeling. Then, when the big Suzuki Hayabusa motorcycle had passed three times as he walked, he’d started taking more notice. The rider was wearing a black leather jacket and full-face helmet with a tinted black visor, and he couldn’t be sure-but it looked like a woman riding the bike.
When the dark blue Fiat slipped into the traffic behind Zara’s Roadster and sat on their tail for three full kilometres, staying back in the traffic, trying too hard to make it look casual, he knew what was happening. The bright sunlight playing on the windscreen blotted out the faces inside. Two men, he thought. Who were they, and what did they want?
She noticed him looking in the driver’s mirror. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Not exactly wrong,’ he said. ‘But not exactly right. Someone’s following us.’
She looked at him in surprise, then peered in the mirror, frowning with concern. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Pretty sure.’
‘Who?’
‘I was wondering that myself.’
‘What should we do?’
‘We could stop the car, get out, walk back to that coffee bar we just passed, sit tight and see what happens. Or we could act stupid and try to lose them, in which case they’ll know we know.’
‘Who cares what they know?’ she said. ‘I’ll lose them.’
‘You think?’
‘Hold tight.’ She dropped down two gears and the engine note soared as she pressed hard on the gas. Ben felt himself pressed back into his seat. A gap opened up in the traffic ahead and Zara darted the sports car through just before it closed again. She laughed as she swerved across the road to avoid an oncoming van while a chorus of horns sounded angrily. She ignored them and stamped harder on the pedal. The BMW surged powerfully forward. Zara flashed through a red light, skilfully weaving in and out of more honking traffic.
Ben glanced back in the mirror. The dark blue Fiat was gone, left behind somewhere in the mayhem she’d created.
‘How long did you say you’ve been living in Italy?’ he asked over the noise of the engine.
‘We’re never in one spot for long. Harry takes the Scimitar all over the place. Why do you ask?’
‘Just that you drive like an Italian.’
She smiled with pleasure. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Did I scare you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I want to show you something,’ she said. They were heading away from the town now, and out onto a winding coastal road with the sea on one side and sloping forests on the other. She took the bends fast and confidently, braked hard and took a turn to the left, accelerating smartly up a dusty single-track lane.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
The lane led steeply upwards, trees flashing by on each side. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers and vegetation. The storm was still gathering overhead.
Another couple of turns, and Ben was sure that whoever had been following them was truly left behind. But that didn’t make him feel any happier about it.
Zara bumped the car down a rough track and pulled over onto a grassy verge. ‘We’re here?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘This is it. We can walk the rest of the way.’
He followed her up the winding track through the trees. As they walked, her smile faded. ‘Who would be following us, Ben?’
‘I don’t know.’ Not us, he thought. Whoever it was, it was him they wanted. Which meant it was his concern, and he didn’t want to burden her with it. He put his hand out to reassure her, touched her arm. ‘It was probably nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m just paranoid. Wanted man in several countries. Too many unpaid parking fines.’
She laughed but didn’t move away from the touch of his hand, and he dared let it linger there for a few seconds before snatching it away guiltily. She led him to a break in the trees up ahead. ‘This is what I wanted to show you. Isn’t it fantastic?’
Ben followed her gaze across the bay. From up here you could see the whole coastline, the sea stretching flat out to infinity. The sky was dull and leaden, but the view was spectacular.
‘I come here sometimes just to look at it.’ She paused. ‘And to be alone.’ She frowned up at the darkening clouds. ‘Looks like we’re in for some weather.’
As she said it, the first heavy raindrop spattered on Ben’s shirt. Then another.
‘Here it comes,’ she said. ‘We’d better take cover.’ She pointed. A few hundred yards away, just visible through the greenery, a half-built house stood alone in a weed-strewn building site. ‘Race you to that house,’ she said. Her eyes were lit up with excitement, and her cheeks were flushed.
She took off, sprinting across the rough ground, and he followed her. The rain was coming faster and faster, soaking his shirt. As he ran he watched her, thinking how lithe and athletic she was. She jumped over a low fence and reached the half-finished house a second before him. They ran inside the shelter of the bare block walls, and listened to the rain hammering on the roof. She was giggling, only a little out of breath. Her silk blouse clung to her. She brushed her wet hair back from her face. ‘That was fun. I win.’
He looked around him. ‘Who owns this place?’
‘Someone who ran out of money halfway through the build, I think. It’s been like this for ages. Nobody ever comes here.’ She wiped down her face and neck. ‘God, I’m soaked through.’
The rain outside had become a storm. There was a flash of lightning, closely followed by a long, rumbling clap of thunder. ‘This has been building all day,’ she said.
Ben walked over to the glassless window and looked out. ‘I love storms.’
‘Really? Me too. I can never understand why people are afraid of them.’
Another lightning flash split the dark sky.
‘You said you like to come up here to be alone.’
She nodded.
‘Why do you want to be alone?’
She didn’t reply for a moment. There was a silence, just the thunder crashing above them and the rain drumming on the tiles of the roof.
Then she said, softly, ‘I need to get away from him, sometimes.’
‘From Harry?’
She nodded again, biting her lip. ‘Ben, I haven’t been completely honest with you.’
He frowned, waited for more.
‘You know earlier on, when we bumped into each other in the bookshop and I told you I just happened to be in the area?’
‘Yes?’
She paused. Flushed, turned away from him. ‘I kind of lied. I wasn’t interested in the bookshop. In fact, I’ve never been there before. I don’t even like poetry.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I was there because of you. I wanted to see you. But I got scared, so I hung around trying to pluck up the courage to go into the hotel and ask for you. I was about to walk away when you turned up.’
He sighed. Put a hand on hers. It was trembling. ‘Zara, I—’
‘I want to leave Harry,’ she said, the words tumbling out. ‘I’m not happy with him. Just when I was about to tell him it was over, we heard about Morgan’s death. I couldn’t do it to him then.’
He didn’t reply. The rain was pounding even harder now, the storm right overhead. Lightning flickered in the sky, and another crash of thunder shook the house.
She ran her hands up his arms and pulled him towards her. ‘I know what you think,’ she breathed, her voice half drowned out by the roll of thunder. ‘You think I’m just some frustrated wife looking for an adventure. But I’m not, Ben. It’s not like that. When I saw you this morning, I…I’ve never felt…’ she broke off.
He wanted to say he’d had the same feeling, but he couldn’t find the words. It was all wrong, being here with her. She was Harry Paxton’s wife.
She shivered again. Looked up at him with sadness in her eyes. And at that moment, all logic deserted him. Their lips touched, just a little. Then the kiss became passionate.
He backed off, pushing her away. ‘No. This isn’t right. I can’t do this. I owe everything to Harry Paxton. I mean everything.’
She looked up at him, blinking in confusion. ‘What are you talking about? I thought you and he were just—’
‘He saved my life, Zara. He took a bullet for me. Nobody’s ever done that for me. I can’t betray him.’
She stepped back, eyes widening. ‘He never said anything about that.’
‘He wouldn’t. That’s the kind of man he is.’
The storm was moving quickly on. The black clouds were dissipating, and rays of sun were filtering through. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started.
Zara shivered. They stood for a moment in uneasy silence.
‘We’d better get you out of those wet things,’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s go back to my hotel.’
Chapter Twelve
They didn’t speak as Ben drove them back to his hotel. He pulled the car up and took Zara to his room. He didn’t care about anyone following. That was something he could worry about another time.
As he sat on the bed and listened to the patter of the shower, he sank his head in his hands. He was wet through, but he didn’t care. He felt terrible. ‘Of all the women in the world,’ he muttered to himself, ‘I had to go and fall in love with this one.’
Love. He’d said it. The word hit him like a punch in the stomach.
Love wasn’t an emotion that came too readily to Ben, and normally he would have laughed at the idea of love at first sight. But, no matter how crazy it seemed to him, he knew that was what had happened. There was no other way to say it. No point in denying it. No point in trying to understand it. There was just something about her, and the thought of her so close was driving him wild.
He heard the shower stop running, and a moment later the hum of the hairdryer. He closed his eyes and lay back on the bed. After a couple of minutes the bathroom door opened and Zara came out, wrapped up in a white bathrobe. She walked to the window, her eyes averted from him, and stood with her back to him. He stood up, wanting so badly to go over to her and hold her, kiss her. But he fought it, and turned away to get himself a drink at the mini-bar. It would have been so easy to let too much happen. Nothing could-that was a forbidden zone. They had to go back to the yacht together and face Paxton at dinner-there was no way Ben could go through that, knowing he’d given in to what he was feeling.
After a while, Zara’s clothes had more or less dried out on the heated rail in the bathroom. She changed and brushed her hair while he quickly towelled his own and put on a dry shirt. They walked downstairs in silence. Ben checked out, paid his bill and they went out to the car.
Thierry was waiting for them at the jetty with the motor launch. Dusk was beginning to fall by the time they boarded the Scimitar.
As they came on deck, Harry Paxton was standing at the rail watching them. When he saw the bag in Ben’s hand, his face broke into a smile.
‘Look who I happened to run into in town,’ Zara said to her husband. ‘Just think, we bumped into each other in this little bookshop. Don’t you think that was an amazing coincidence, Harry?’
Ben winced inwardly at the way she said it. Explaining too much. She wasn’t a great liar.
But Paxton didn’t seem to pick up on it. He was all smiles and charm as he got a crewman to take Ben’s bag and show him to his cabin below.
The cabin was more like a luxury hotel suite, a three-room apartment with glistening walnut panelling, Persian rugs and antique furnishings. But to Ben it felt like a gilded cage, and he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of dinner with Paxton and Zara. He killed time in the vast cabin, leafing desultorily through some yachting magazines he found on a coffee table. The drinks cabinet in the living room was richly stocked with vintage wines, cognac and single malt Scotches. He filled a crystal tumbler with Glenmorangie and sat drinking it, staring into space, struggling to keep Zara out of his thoughts. Then he showered and shaved quickly, rummaged through his bag and changed into the only spare clothes he had left, a pair of black jeans and a black roll-neck sweater.
After half an hour there was a knock on his door, and the same crewman informed him that dinner was served.
The huge dining room was as opulent as anything on board a luxury cruise ship. Paxton greeted him, wearing an open-necked shirt and grey flannels. ‘It’s a bit showy, I know,’ he said, gesturing at the room. ‘But when your business is persuading oil billionaires and Japanese business tycoons to part with their money, you need to make a big impression. My clients expect the ultimate.’
There were three places set at the long, burnished dining table. Paxton showed Ben to the top of the table-‘As you’re the guest of honour.’
Ben sat, glancing down at the array of silver cutlery and the sparkling glassware in front of him. A door opened and Zara walked in. She looked stunning in a grey cashmere dress that was cut diagonally across the shoulder. Her hair was piled up in loose curls, and she was wearing a simple but elegant gold necklace. Ben struggled not to stare as she walked the length of the table and sat down facing her husband.
Staff brought in the first course, a dish of seafood pasta. Paxton reached for a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé that was sitting in an ice bucket, and poured out three glasses. ‘I want to thank you once again for deciding to help me,’ he said to Ben. ‘You don’t know what it means to me.’
Ben sipped the chilled wine.
Zara was avoiding his eye. She raised her glass, and spilled some wine on the tablecloth.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Paxton asked with concern. ‘You seem a bit preoccupied.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I always get a headache after a thunderstorm.’
Paxton seemed surprised. ‘You love storms.’
She flushed a little. ‘It’s OK. It’ll pass.’
They ate. Conversation was sporadic, Paxton avoiding any mention of Morgan. Ben quickly ran out of small talk. Zara was quiet, toying with her food. The first course dishes were taken away, and the Steak Wellington main course arrived on a silver platter.
At a certain point Zara put down her knife and fork. She dabbed her lips with her napkin and pushed her chair away from the table. ‘I’m really sorry about this. But you’ll have to excuse me. My headache’s getting worse, and I have to go and lie down.’
Paxton was straight up on his feet, fussing over her. ‘You should have said, darling. You go and rest, and I’ll get you a painkiller.’
Ben was left alone for a few minutes as Paxton escorted Zara from the room. He knew she was lying-he’d have made some excuse to escape the atmosphere, too, if he could. The way Paxton so obviously cared for her made him feel even worse than before.
He was almost thankful that tomorrow he’d be leaving for Cairo, on a mission to avenge a man he’d never met.
Paxton returned a few minutes later, full of apologies for leaving his guest unattended. They finished eating, and Paxton invited Ben into an adjoining lounge that looked like a salon from the Palace of Versailles. He offered Ben brandy, and they sat and talked about the yacht business.
Finally, Ben had had enough of skirting around the main issue. ‘We need to talk about Cairo.’
Paxton glanced at his watch. ‘It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m afraid I have an engagement this evening. There’s a chopper coming to pick me up for a business meeting in Monaco. One of my more eccentric clients, a Hollywood star who thinks everyone has to come to him. And of course they do.’ Paxton smiled grimly. ‘Make yourself at home. We can talk in the morning, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.’
Paxton left a few minutes later, and Ben heard the helicopter come and go. He was glad to be alone again, even though his thoughts were in turmoil. He lounged back in his armchair and drank another large glass of brandy, trying to relax. But it wasn’t working.
He wandered back through the maze of corridors and passages, glancing at the rows of gleaming wood doors. Caught himself wondering where Zara was.
Back in his cabin, he grabbed the bottle of Glenmorangie and a glass, slouched on a sofa, aimed the TV remote at the big screen on the wall and flicked through dozens of satellite channels before settling on some mindless zombie movie that he watched idly for a while. Eventually he switched it off and sat in darkness. His thoughts passed back and forth like conflicting voices in his head.
It’s not right for Paxton to be asking me to do this for him. I don’t know these men I’m supposed to kill. They’re nothing to me. I have no personal reason to harm them.
But it’s only a job. You’ve done it before.
Not like this. Not since the army. You swore you were never going to do that again. You gave up fighting other men’s wars and killing other men’s enemies.
Are you just trying to justify your feelings for this man’s wife? You want to be with her, take her away from here. So you’re looking for excuses.
He kept on like that, argument after counterargument, until he felt exhausted. The fact was, he was here; and just being here, on board for the night, was as good as giving his word to Harry Paxton. Like it or not, he was committed now.
A sound made him sit up, suddenly alert. He listened. Nothing. Just the whisper of the waves against the sides of the vessel.
But then he heard it again. A gentle tapping on his door.
‘Who’s there?’ he called softly.
A crack of light appeared in the doorway, widening until he could see the figure there. It was Zara.
She slipped into the room and snicked the door shut behind her, closing out the light and merging with the shadows. He saw her dark shape move silently towards him, and step into the patch of moonlight that was shining in through the porthole.
‘Zara, you can’t be here,’ he whispered.
‘I had to come,’ she said, sitting beside him on the sofa. She moved close, and he could smell her perfume. ‘I need to be near you.’
‘Why?’ he said falteringly
‘I think I’m falling in love with you.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s the truth. I can’t help it.’
‘Harry loves you,’ he said. ‘I can see it.’
‘It’s over between me and Harry. It has been for months.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s nobody’s fault.’
‘If he knew…’
‘I know. It would destroy him. But you feel the same way, don’t you?’
He couldn’t answer.
‘Don’t you?’ she repeated, a little more urgently. Her hand slipped into his, and she moved closer. The warmth of her body made his heart beat fast.
He didn’t speak.
‘You do, don’t you? I know you do.’
Then she kissed him, and he could feel the quickening of her breathing.
‘Harry’s gone for a few hours,’ she whispered, breaking the embrace. Her arms encircled his neck and she moved forwards to kiss him again.
He gently took her wrist and pushed her back. She sat there gazing at him in hurt bewilderment.
‘I already told you this can’t happen,’ he said softly.
‘I’m going to leave him. When this is over, when you do this job for him and he’s not suffering so much. I’ll wait a while, a month or two. Then I’m out of here. So it makes no difference what happens here between us tonight.’
‘I can’t do this to the man who saved my life.’
‘I want you,’ she said. ‘I want to be with you.’
‘I want you too,’ he replied. ‘But you have to understand. I’m not free to make that decision.’
‘But you love me.’ Tears glistened on her face. He wanted to kiss them away.
He hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Is it so wrong, if it’s love? If we didn’t plan it this way, if it just happened to us? Why is that wrong? People do fall in love.’
