The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I couldn’t take any more—I thought my legs were going to buckle when I came—but he didn’t stop: pounding on and on and on, in a way that would leave bruises across my hip bones from the wooden desk.

  I felt his body shudder and empty into me, and his chest rested on my back for a brief moment before he pulled out. I sank to my knees, and collapsed onto the floor. He lay down next to me, his breath hot on my neck. I twisted around to gaze into his eyes, softly brushing the tips of my fingers over his face.

  I didn’t need to ask why he’d fucked me like that, with such desperation: it was an adrenaline rush—the heightened sense of awareness that came from being in a war zone and close to death. It was an intense need to prove that you were still alive, to reaffirm life.

  “Fuck, that wasn’t enough, Caro. I want you again.”

  “We can’t, Sebastian,” I panted. “As it is, we’ll be missed if we don’t hurry.”

  He frowned unhappily and tugged my limp hand to his lips, sucking my fingers, one by one.

  “I need you, Caro. Let me come to your room tonight, please, baby.”

  “You can’t: I’m sharing with Liz.”

  “Get rid of her!” he whispered, persuasively into my ear.

  Suddenly someone rattled the door handle, and I could hear men’s voices outside.

  “Fuck it,” he hissed, tucking himself in quickly.

  “My panties,” I said, feeling panicky.

  Sebastian grinned at me, and searched around until he found them hanging disconsolately from a handle on the desk drawer.

  “I think these are yours, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” I said, hurriedly pulling them on and straightening my skirt.

  The door handle rattled again, and I held my breath, but the voices receded into the distance, arguing with each other.

  Sebastian helped me up, and listened intently at the door. He hesitated, glancing back at me, then opened it cautiously.

  “You’re good to go,” he said, quietly, his eyes searching the corridor in both directions.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not so bad yourself, Chief.”

  He grinned wickedly. “Later?”

  But then we heard more voices coming toward us; I smiled once, and hurried away.

  He let me go first, and I made my way into the reception area, where people who’d been invited to the dinner were circulating.

  I was concentrating on calming my breathing when I heard someone say my name.

  “Hello, Caroline.”

  I recognized that voice. And only one person called me ‘Caroline’.

  A cold shiver ran down my spine, and I turned slowly.

  My ex-husband stood in front of me, a stiff smile on his face. He looked handsome, in a silver fox sort of way.

  “Hello, David,” I said warily, as feelings of dislike and distrust swept over me.

  “I heard you were here tonight: the famous war correspondent ‘Lee Venzi’, as you’re known now.”

  I listened out for the sarcasm in his words, but I wasn’t certain I could hear any. How odd.

  “I see you’ve been promoted, Captain Wilson,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “Congratulations, David.”

  He looked pleased and surprised. “Thank you.”

  Meeting one’s ex-husband was never going to be a Kodak moment, but this was perhaps more than usually awkward, bearing in mind my cheeks were still flushed from screwing Sebastian in an office about 40 yards away.

  But David’s next comment took me by complete surprise.

  “I’ve enjoyed reading your articles, Caroline. They show great insight.”

  He gestured around him to indicate all things military. Compliments from David were rare. Very rare.

  “Thank you very much,” I said, as my eyebrows rose up to my hairline. “I’m … flattered.”

  I thought David was going to say something else, but what he saw over my shoulder made him lose his composure, and a familiar expression of haughty disdain transformed his features.

  “I see you’re still with him,” he said, coldly.

  I knew immediately who he was talking about, of course.

  “I must say I’m surprised, Caroline.”

  I felt the heat of Sebastian’s furious glare as he came storming over.

  Military protocol demanded that he salute a superior officer, even one from another service, and David was Navy, not the Marine Corps. Instead, Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets, with deliberate insolence.

  David frowned, but just when I was sure he would insist on his dues, he simply ignored Sebastian and looked back at me.

  “Good to see you, Caroline. You look lovely tonight. I hope you enjoy the evening.”

  And he strolled away, greeting a few people as he moved through the room.

  “What the fuck were you doing talking to that asshole?” snarled Sebastian.

  “What are you doing making it so damned obvious that you care?” I shot back, angrily.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” he said, sounding hurt.

  I guess he’d been too busy fucking me over a desk to notice before.

  “I am wearing it—just not where anyone can see it. But right now I am so furious with you: all you’ve done is make it absolutely necessary for me to go to my ex-husband and beg him not to tell anyone about us. Have you any idea how that makes me feel, Sebastian? Do you? Because he’s the last person I’d want to ask a favor from.”

  “I’ll handle him,” said Sebastian, arrogantly. “I’ll…”

  “You’ll do nothing,” I hissed. “Absolutely nothing, do you hear me? Now leave me alone: you’ve already attracted enough attention tonight.”

  I walked away, leaving him standing, his expression wounded, angry and defiant.

  I forced myself to smile politely as I moved through the crowd, but inside I was fuming: Sebastian wasn’t particularly risking his own career, but he was damn well risking mine—again. Who the hell did he think he was?

  I made myself concentrate: I was here to meet the unit commander that I’d be embedded with, a Captain Ryan Grant. In all likelihood he’d resent having a journalist assigned to him; as far as he’d be concerned, having some hack looking over his shoulder when he was trying to do his job, was nothing more than an irritating, additional worry. I just hoped he’d behave with polite tolerance rather than make my position more difficult. At least I knew that someone senior to him had made the decision to give me access, which meant I shouldn’t have a problem with open hostility. I hoped.

  I’d been informed that I’d be seated next to him at dinner: I could wait until then for introductions.

  First, thanks to Sebastian’s ridiculous territorial display, I had to go and grovel to David. I hated the fact that he’d handed David the power to ruin my career with a few, quiet words in the right ear.

  My former husband was standing talking to an Army Major when I walked up.

  “Hello, again,” I said, blandly.

  He blinked, looking surprised, then politely introduced me. I was taken aback when he used my professional name: that was decent of him.

  We chatted casually for a few minutes, before the Major was claimed by a colleague and moved away.

  “David,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I won’t insult your intelligence: I’m here to ask you not to reveal what you know about me and Chief Hunter.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “It was certainly a surprise, Caroline, but no; of course I wouldn’t dream of saying anything that could hurt your career.”

  I was shocked he was being so magnanimous; I’d expected that he’d take the chance to belittle me. He’d been an expert at it while we were married.

  “Thank you, David. That’s very good of you.”

  “I would suggest, however,” he said, calmly, “that you advise him to act with more circumspection.”

  “Yes. I’ve already mentioned it,” I said, a little bitterly.

  He gave a thin
smile.

  “He seems just as hotheaded as ever.”

  Yes, you could say that.

  “You were taking a great risk, continuing your relationship,” he couldn’t help adding. “But despite what you may think of me, Caroline, I have never wished you ill.”

  I met his eyes, but saw only sincere concern.

  “Thank you for that,” I said, with more warmth than I thought I’d ever feel for him. “I will try to minimize any more … risk.”

  He cocked his head to one side, and looked at me quizzically.

  “I meant it was a risk to continue seeing each other when he was …well, younger.”

  I stared at him, finally realizing what he was alluding to.

  “David, that’s not it. I haven’t seen Sebastian for ten years. We met again by accident, eleven days ago in Geneva.”

  He looked dumbstruck. “But I thought … the way he behaved just now … well, I see I was mistaken.”

  At which point an announcement was made in English, French and Pashto to call us in to dinner.

  “I do wish you well, Caroline,” he said, briskly. “And I meant what I said: you look lovely tonight.”

  He smiled briefly, and then offered his arm to escort me in to dinner.

  I accepted, baffled by his pleasantness and consideration.

  He helped me into my seat, then with a half-smile, disappeared toward his place at another table.

  CHAPTER 13

  I sat at one of the long banqueting tables in a state of mild shock. I had never known David to be so considerate, especially when it was anything concerning me. During our 11 years of marriage, he’d been a domineering bully and … no, ‘domineering bully’ said it all. Since the divorce, I’d had nothing to do with him; I certainly hadn’t known he’d be in Afghanistan. Maybe he was working at the hospital at Bagram Air Base north of Kabul.

  My attention was diverted when I noticed that the woman in green had swooped into the room and was eyeing the place cards. I had a strong suspicion that if I kept watching her, I’d see her swapping them around. Well, that was Sebastian’s lookout; I doubted he’d have too many problems with her—I was pretty certain he’d had plenty of practice dealing with slutty women. I tried to brush the thought away—I had other, more important issues to concentrate on tonight.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, I think you might be in the wrong seat.”

  I looked up to see a man in the Dress Blues of a US Marine Corps captain gazing down at me. He was perhaps a few years younger than me with a strong face, and clear, gray eyes.

  “Captain Grant?”

  “That’s right, ma’am,” he said, looking puzzled. “And you are?”

  “Lee Venzi. I’ll be embedded with you for the next month. It’s good to meet you.”

  He looked bemused. “You’re Lee Venzi?”

  “Let me guess,” I said, with a polite smile, “you were expecting a man. I get that a lot.”

  He gaped, looked thoroughly pissed off, then settled for a cool disinterest.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  We shook hands as he eyed me cautiously.

  Don’t worry: I won’t bite—you’re not my type.

  “Please don’t be concerned, Captain Grant: this is not my first time being embedded with US troops, and I don’t expect any level of comfort beyond that of the average private. I will try to impact on your command as little as possible. I would suggest we meet soon to discuss protocols for the next month. I’m not here to do a hatchet job, Captain.”

  “Then you’ll let me read what you write before it’s filed?”

  “That’s one of the protocols we can discuss, but no: my editor is the only person who sees my work prior to publication.”

  It was important to explain up front how I worked. I didn’t particularly want to do that over the dinner table, but as he’d asked, I’d give him the courtesy of a clear and concise answer.

  A reluctant smile crept across his face.

  “Something to discuss, ma’am.”

  “Certainly there will be many things to discuss, Captain,” I said, politely. “I have agreed to the rules of being embedded with your unit, but beyond that, my authorial independence will not be something we discuss.”

  He raised his eyebrows but wisely didn’t pursue the point.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Sebastian enter the room and move toward a group of Afghan men dressed in the traditional salwar kameez, worn with the oval qaraqul hats. He exchanged some pleasantries, then went to search for his place card. He looked puzzled because it wasn’t in the general area that he’d expected. When he saw the Green Bitch, comprehension washed over him and he looked pissed.

  I couldn’t help feeling a mean little frisson of self-righteousness.

  Your problem, Hunter.

  He seated himself politely next to the French woman, who looked like she wanted to perform a lap dance before the antipasti.

  At first, he seemed to shrug off her advances, but then I saw her lay a discreet hand on his thigh and my blood boiled.

  “Lee! Are you stalking me, woman?”

  Liz’s dulcet tones turned heads and I couldn’t help smiling, more than a little grateful for her timely interruption of my silent fuming.

  She was wearing an ankle-length dress in navy blue, so voluminous, that she looked like a ship in full sail.

  “Hi, Liz. Thanks for the room-share. Let me introduce you to Captain Ryan Grant; Captain, Elizabeth Ashton—she’s a correspondent for The Times of London.”

  They shook hands, each weighing up the other.

  “Have you seen that miserable bastard Hunter is here?” Liz said to me, as soon as the brief pleasantries were over. “Up to his old tricks with the French floozie.”

  I winced, and saw Captain Grant frown.

  “Yes, there are a few familiar faces, Liz. Stroud and Van Marten are here.”

  “Really? I must go and chew on their earflaps for a minute, Lee. I’ll see you later. Captain,” and she hurried off.

  “A colleague of yours, ma’am?”

  “Yes, and a friend.”

  I could see that Captain Grant was beginning to be grateful that it was me and not Liz who was going to be embedded with him. But then his eyes flickered back to Sebastian, who was staring coldly at his dinner companion. When she laid a proprietary hand on his arm and leaned across to touch one of his medals, Captain Grant’s eyes narrowed.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he muttered.

  He stood up abruptly and walked toward them. Sebastian rose to his feet and saluted sharply. It was clear the Captain was asking about the seating arrangements, and Sebastian was trying to point out he’d just followed the place card’s instructions.

  I watched as Captain Grant took him to one side and seemed to be giving him a dressing down. Sebastian stood to attention, and I could see that he was gazing about three inches above the Captain’s left shoulder.

  After that, Sebastian left the room, leaving the disappointed woman by herself, and Captain Grant returned to my side.

  “Is there a problem, Captain?” I asked, casually.

  “No, ma’am, just my interpreter; he’d been seated at the wrong table.”

  “Your interpreter,” I said, feeling a cool shiver travel down my spine.

  “Yes, newly assigned to my command.”

  Oh crap.

  “I gather you know him, ma’am?” he said, looking at me astutely.

  “We’ve met,” I said, maintaining a casual smile. “Chief Hunter was the languages expert when I had my hostile environment briefing in Geneva. He lectured on useful phrases in Pashto, Dari and Arabic if I remember correctly.”

  Captain Grant nodded, accepting my words at face value, and we talked about the forthcoming deployment to Leatherneck and beyond.

  I didn’t see Sebastian again during the meal, and the Green Bitch had an empty space next to her for the entire time. I also noted that someone must have spoken to her, because she wore a
black pashmina that covered up her cleavage and shoulders for the rest of the evening.

  It was fascinating to see who had been invited to the dinner and who had not. There were a number of UN officials that I recognized, as well as British, German, and American officers. Among the Afghan men—and there were no women—I sensed there was something more going on than a simple meet and greet. I kept track of the comings and goings, who was talking to whom. There was definitely a cool excitement in the air.

  The evening ended without any more tangible developments occurring. Captain Grant nodded politely and said he’d send a driver to my hotel at 5 am the following morning. We’d be loading up and heading out to Camp Leatherneck, 350 miles away along the notorious Kabul–Kandahar Highway.

  Two decades of war and neglect had left the road connecting Afghanistan’s two main cities in disrepair. The US had funded the rebuilding of three-quarters of the road, with Japan chipping in another chunk of cash. It was currently in slightly better repair, but it had become a favorite target of the Taliban—and not a journey to be undertaken lightly, even by the mighty US armed forces. Certainly not by a woman-journalist from Long Beach.

  I waited in the lobby for Liz, and when she finally emerged, she was fizzing with excitement. She eyed our driver, the same bulky Sergeant Benson who’d dropped me off at the start of the evening, before allowing him to escort us to our car. She grabbed my elbow and began whispering at top speed.

  “I picked up some very interesting snippets, Lee. Something is definitely in the air.”

  “Yes, I thought so, too. Azimi was talking to Chalabi, and you don’t often see Sunnis and Shiites being that friendly.”

  Liz raised her eyebrows. “Interesting! Well, I’d say, looking at the bigwigs there tonight, it’s a US op. Could be going down from Leatherneck, Lee. Keep your ear to the ground for me, will you?”

  “You think I’d hand you a scoop?” I said, teasing her.

  “No, of course not, but I’m sure you won’t leave your old mucker out in the cold, either.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “Huh, bloody colonials,” she snorted.