New Title 1 (5 page)

“Yes, we
’ve met,” I said, dryly.

“Hmm, I think there
’s a story there, Venzi. Care to share?”

“Some other time.”

He eyed me narrowly, but I twitched a small smile and returned my waning attention to the talk.

Unwillingly,
I glanced at Sebastian, but he was staring out of the window, a faraway expression on his face. I wondered if he was remembering, as I was, how we’d met, and our brief but stormy summer of love. Or lust. Depending on your point of view.

Even as I tried to bat
away the images, they filled my mind. Even now I remembered the intensity of our lovemaking; the way we could never get enough of each other – his hands, his lips, his tongue sweeping across my body.

As t
he lieutenant continued to lecture us on precautions against carjacking and criminal attacks, shatterproof windows and tracking devices, I was devoured by a series of increasingly erotic images that brought a warm flush of color to my cheeks.

“Because most attacks occur
on reaching home,” the lieutenant droned on, “always ensure that you can drive straight into your garage or compound, and secure the door or gate behind you.”

Liz
looked bored, utterly clueless as to the helter-skelter of emotions that disturbed the equilibrium of my mind. She began to whisper an amusing tale to me, the gist of which was that she’d ended up ramming her car into the garage wall not once but twice, during a posting in Cairo, doing exactly what the lieutenant was suggesting. Her sotto voce comment was more voce than sotto, and caused several titters among the rest of the journalists.

The young lieutenant looked annoyed at
Liz’s too-loud interruption to his lecture.

“This is serious, mad
am. What I tell you today may save your life.”

Uh-oh. Wrong th
ing to say to Miss Ticking-timebomb.

She inflated like the turkey float on the Macy
’s Thanksgiving Parade.

“Listen, sunshine, you may think you’re something special with a weapon of mass destruction dangling between your legs, but let me tell
you
a thing or two: I’ve been to the frontline of every war since Uganda in 1979, before you were bloody well born.” She started ticking them off on her fingers. “Angola, Croatia, Rwanda, Bosnia, Iraq, Kuwait, Afghanistan… bloody hell, places you’ve never even heard of. And this woman,” she pointed her chin at me, “has been in more hot spots than you’ve had hot dates.”

I could have predicted
Liz’s response, although I didn’t agree with her: to me the next assignment was always like the first – and experienced correspondents were just as likely to get hurt as the newbies.

The lieutenant
’s ears turned red, and he looked flustered. I thought I detected a small smile on Sebastian’s lips, but it immediately disappeared, so I couldn’t be sure.

Major Parsons stepped in to retrieve the situation and the poor lieutenant was allowed to continue.

Several times, during the rest of the lecture, I felt Sebastian’s eyes on me, but every time I looked up, he’d glance away with a sneer on his beautiful face.

By lunchtime, I
’d worked up enough courage to speak to him. But Sebastian, it seemed, had other ideas. He disappeared out of the door before I had the chance to utter a single syllable. I sighed: it looked like he wanted to avoid me.

Marc, however,
more than usually sensitive to the emotions of others, was on the trail of a story.

“Come on, Lee, spill
your beans. How do you know our Chief Hunter?”

“And how come y
ou didn’t say you know him,” said Liz, sounding annoyed.

“It was a long time ago,” I said, trying to sound casual, and failing miserably.

“And?”

“And nothing,” I insisted.

“Oh, come on, Lee!” said Liz, accusingly. “You get me to tell you all the scandal I know about our mysterious Chief Hunter, and you don’t even mention that you already know him. You’re holding out, I can tell.”

“Yes, ch
érie,” agreed Marc with a smile, “I, too, think you are keeping secrets.”

They knew me
so well. Plus, they were journalists, which made them the nosiest people on the planet.

“I
met him when I lived in California,” I said at last. “When I was married.”

“Ah,” said
Liz, knowingly. “Fair enough, Lee.”

They both knew I was divorced and didn
’t like to talk about my marriage. Thankfully, they didn’t ask any further questions.

I spent an uncomfortable lunch
hour wondering what to say to him. What could I say?
Sorry about that – I hope I didn’t ruin your life – how are you?

In
any event, I didn’t have to say anything because Sebastian didn’t return after lunch. His departure wasn’t commented on by his British colleagues, and they stoically ignored his absence.

The afternoon session continued with little to inform or interest those of us who had sat through these lectures
several times before. The only bit I was really interested in came on day two and covered questions specific to Kabul and, to a lesser extent, Kandahar.

I wondered why
Sebastian hadn’t come back. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with me? That would just be ridiculous.

When we wer
e finally dismissed for the day, Liz wandered off to catch up with some sources, or so she said. I suspected these were more sauces – and of the alcoholic type. Marc muttered something about a prior engagement and I was left to my own, tangled thoughts.

Irritated with myself and perplexed by Sebastian
’s behavior, I spent a dreary evening in my room. I amused myself by writing long emails to Alice and Jenna. I didn’t bother writing more than a few words to Nicole: I knew she only read the first and last paragraphs, unless the messages were from a guy.

I thought that I was at least tired enough to manage a reasonable amount of sleep, but my dreams were haunted by a memory of sea-green eyes, golden skin and naked flesh.

I was rudely awoken shortly after dawn, by an orgasm ripping through me. My back arched and my legs were rigid as I rode out the waves of sensation.

I sat up gasping, shocked at the way my body had betrayed me.

What the hell was that?
An orgasm in my sleep?! That definitely hadn’t happened before.

I staggered into the shower, trying to wash away the memories that continued to torment me.

The second day of the training began much like the first, except Sebastian’s continuing coldness towards me became apparent to the others.

“The beautiful Chief Hunter is staring at you again, Lee,” said Marc, unnecessarily. “He does not look happy with you.”

Sadly, I had to agree.

Today the lectures had started off with
how to spot a minefield. Dead animals were a big clue, but it was also looking out for areas avoided by locals, particularly if the surrounding area was turned to agriculture, where anything overgrown stood out. Pieces of waxed packaging were something to look out for, too – explosives often came wrapped in them.

And then, for the language section of our training,
we were in Sebastian’s capable hands – something of which I’d once had considerable experience.

“Yes,” said Liz, agreeing with Marc
’s assessment, “young Chief Hunter narrows his eyes every time he looks at you.”

I sighed
and smiled at her. “Maybe my Dari pronunciation is lacking.”

I
’d been more than a little impressed to find that at some point over the last ten years, Sebastian had become fluent in Dari, a dialect of Afghan Persian, as well as Pashto and Arabic.

He was teaching us how to
introduce ourselves and give our name, job title and nationality in the languages we’d need, as well as a useful passage from the Koran for emergencies.

I remembered how quickly his Italian had improved when we
’d first started dating. Ugh, ‘dating’: that seemed such a deeply inadequate word for our tumultuous and passionate affair.

“Perhaps
Ms. Venzi can answer that question.”

Sebastian
’s voice cut through my bedraggled thoughts.

“
Excuse me? Um, what was the question?” I stammered.

He didn
’t even bother to answer, but looked away, an expression of disdain on his face.

“
Oh, dear! He’ll have you staying behind after class,” chuckled Liz.

Then he told us that a typical answer to a question an Afghan couldn
’t answer would be for them to say, ‘because the sea is green and the sky is blue’.

“Tell them that and they
’ll think you’re clever,” he said, gazing condescendingly at me.

I felt flustered and annoyed:
no matter what had happened ten years ago, there was no need for him to be so unpleasant. I decided I’d have it out with him at the first opportunity.

Sebastian
’s habit was to be the first out of the door as soon as a break was announced, dodging ancillary questions from any of the other journalists: either that or to dodge me. After the morning coffee break, I’d taken a seat near the exit so he wouldn’t be able to continue avoiding me as we all left for lunch. And I made sure I paid attention during the rest of the language section so he’d have no reason to pick on me again.

Sure enough, as soon as Major Parsons called a break, Sebastian headed for the door.

“May I have a word, please, Chief Hunter?” I said, as he shot past me.

He almost skidded to
a halt, but before he turned to look at me, an expression that I couldn’t catch flitted across his face.

“I
’m rather busy, Ms. Venzi,” he snapped.

“Too busy to say
‘hello’?” I shot back.

He stared at me
for a long second.

“Yes, I
’m too busy for that,” he replied, then stormed out of the door.

Well, fuck you, too!

Unfortunately, I could see that our little tête-a-tête had been far from inconspicuous.

“Bloody hell, Venzi! What did you do to the poor bastard? He looks as pleased to see you as a fart in a teacup.”

I shook my head in frustration.