“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.
“I have no clue,” I lied.
“He is a rude man,” concluded Marc. “He is certainly no gentleman.”
I had to agree, but the thought saddened me. Ten years ago, Sebastian had been the gentlest of souls. I couldn’t help thinking back to his many acts of kindness towards me. Well, that had been a long time ago: it was obvious that he detested me now.
I decided that I’d done as much as I could: if he didn’t want to talk to me that was his prerogative. I wouldn’t push it. Besides, this wretched training would be over soon, and I hoped to be on my way to Leatherneck within the next two or three days. I’d contacted my editor, and he’d promised to make some calls on my behalf to get things moving.
It seemed my last chance to talk to Sebastian had gone already, because he didn’t return after lunch for the end of the training. No comment was made about his absence, but I got the feeling that the British officers were relieved he’d disappeared.
“So, I hope you found the last two days useful, Ms. Venzi,” said Major Parsons, as I was packing up my bag.
“Most informative,” I said, blandly.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Did you actually learn anything new?”
“I have doubled my vocabulary in Dari and Pashto,” I replied.
He looked puzzled.
“I didn’t know you had spoken any before?” he said.
“I hadn’t.”
He grinned as he caught the gist of my meaning.
“I see! Well, perhaps I can make up for your lack of progress by buying you a drink tonight?”
Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.
“That’s very kind of you, Major, but I have some notes to prepare. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
He took my rejection well, returning my handshake with just the right amount of pressure.
“Good luck out there,” he said seriously. “Keep your head down: I’d hate to hear that anything had happened to you.” He hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps we could meet up – next time you’re in Geneva – or in fact anywhere in Switzerland. I’ll be in this post for the next six months at least.”
“Well, thank you. I don’t have any plans to be in the country again, but I’ll certainly make a note of that.”
At which point he resigned the field, and left with his dignity intact – and my opinion of him rose even higher.
“You are not interested, Lee?” said Marc, a knowing look on his face.
“What’s the point?” I sighed. “I won’t be in Switzerland again for months, if ever.”
“You could just take him for a quick ride – see what his rising trot is like,” Liz smirked.
I rolled my eyes. One-night stands had never been my thing, and what I’d said was true: there was no point in starting such a long-distance relationship. Apart from which, I’d have been a fool to get mixed up with another military man after my disastrous marriage.
We headed to the bar and spent the evening with some of the other journalists, swapping tall tales about some of the locations we’d reported from. Liz’s tales were by far the tallest – although in her case, I was willing to bet they were all true.
Shortly before midnight, I headed back to my hotel, feeling in a much better mood. I still hadn’t heard back from my editor during the day, but I was hopeful I’d be on the move soon.
I threw off my clothes and showered quickly, before checking my emails again. Still no word about my ride to Leatherneck. Annoying – but I wasn’t going to worry just yet.
I programmed my cell to wake me in the morning and turned off the light, hoping against hope that I might actually get some sleep.
I was woken abruptly when someone banged on my bedroom door. I scrunched up my eyes and peered at my phone. Jeez! Two in the morning. Who the hell was knocking on my door at this hour?
Grumpily, I switched on the bedside lamp, squinting against the light, and fumbled for my robe.
“Who is it?”
“Let me in, Caro.”
No one had called me ‘Caro’ in years; in fact, only one person had ever used that version of my name. And I knew his voice – except the tone was off.
Surprise and shock made my heart rate spike suddenly.
“What do you want, Sebastian?” I called through the door.
“Let me in,” he mumbled again. “I need to talk to you.”
Now he wanted to talk?
He banged on the door again. “Caro!”
At this rate he’d been waking up the entire hotel. God, he was irritating. And his sense of timing was lousy.
Reluctantly, but curious nonetheless, I pulled the door open.
Sebastian was leaning against the door frame, deliciously rumpled in old jeans, black T-shirt and a brown leather jacket. Irritating and gorgeous.
“Caro,” he said, a leer on his face.
Oh hell. And also very drunk.
“What do you want, Sebastian?”
He didn’t answer, but pushed past me into my room.
“What are you doing?” I said, my temper rising.
“Catching up with old friends,” he smirked
“How did you find me?”
He grinned and tapped the side of his head with one long finger, “Military intelligence.”
I closed the door, hoping that no one had seen or heard his noisy entrance into my room. But the hotel corridor was silent.
He fumbled out of his jacket and tossed it towards the chair, missing by a mile. I couldn’t help noticing that his T-shirt was snug on his body in a way that brought back too many memories.
He sat down on the bed, and patted the space next to him, suggestively.
“Come and sit with me, Caro,” he slurred.
Oh, I really didn’t think so.
I folded my arms across my chest and stayed standing. His gaze drifted up and down me in a way that heated my whole body. I hadn’t blushed like that in a long time.
“Why are you here, Sebastian? You had your chance to talk to me earlier today, but you preferred to ignore me.”
He blinked up at me, his sea-green eyes puzzled. It was strange seeing him so far from the ocean. Then he smiled again.
“You still have a great ass, Caro.”
Enough was enough.
“Okay, I think you’d better go now. Whatever you have to say to me can wait until you’re sober.”
He just sat there smiling at me. I decided to make the hint more obvious. I walked forward to pull him off the bed, but instead he leaned forwards, wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my chest. This was getting ridiculous: couldn’t the man take ‘no’ for an answer? And I certainly didn’t want to be part of any harem.
“Sebastian, stop that,” I said forcefully. “I want you to go. Now!”
But he increased his grip, and his shoulders started to shake. With something like horror, I realized he was crying.
“Why didn’t you come back?” he sobbed. “I waited and waited for you, like I said I would, but you never came back! Why? Why didn’t you come back? I love you I love you I love you.”
I was stunned. No. This was not what I’d expected at all. And then I wondered if all his apparent dislike, all the rudeness he’
d shown me, was just a wall protecting him from the pain I’d put him through; a rejection that had lasted years. He still loved me?
Oh no.
He couldn’t mean it. No, it was the alcohol talking.
“Sebastian…” I began.
He clutched me tighter and started kissing my chest, pulling open my robe and exposing my breasts. He fastened his mouth over my nipple and began to tug gently with his teeth.
I tried to push him away.
“No!”
But he didn’t stop. He pulled me onto the bed and pushed himself on top of me, kissing my throat and breasts over and over. He was so strong, I couldn’t fight him off; his arms held my wrists and his body was heavy, crushing me into the mattress.
“Get off me!” I yelled at him, dragging my hands free and pushing at his chest with all my strength.
With a long sigh, he rolled onto his back and was still.
I sat up, shocked and afraid. I pulled my robe together and stared at him. He was fast asleep, passed out drunk and snoring softly.
I was shaking from a fear-fueled adrenaline rush.
I shoved him with my hand.
“Sebastian, wake up! Wake up!”
He mumbled something and rolled onto his side.
Shit. Just what I didn’t need.
I wondered what the hell to do. If I phoned for help, everyone would just assume we’d slept together. I didn’t want to ruin my already dented reputation; and if I reported his assault, he’d be arrested and court-martialed, with the distinct possibility that our illicit past would be uncovered.
No matter how far I traveled, no matter how hard I worked, I was never able to outrun my past. The thought made me cold with fury.
In the end, I decided the simplest thing to do was to leave him as he was. He certainly wasn’t going to be making any more passes at me in that condition, and a small but insistent part of me remembered that we’d once been in love.
I wrestled his heavy biker boots off his feet and pulled the duvet over him. I definitely wasn’t going to sleep naked like I usually did, so I hunted down a loose T-shirt, pulled on a pair of panties and crawled back into bed.
It felt so strange to have him lying next to me again after all these years. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sound of his breathing, a flood of memories stirring my brain and warming my flesh.
When my alarm woke me the next morning, for the briefest moment, I couldn’t remember what had happened. I froze when I realized I wasn’t alone in bed, and then it all came back to me: Sebastian banging on my door; his fumbling kisses, his strange admission – drunken Sebastian passing out in my bed.
I felt his body shift on the mattress and he flexed his hips, lightly pushing his very noticeable morning wood into my back. Some things never changed.
Cautiously, I moved away from him and sat up.
A sleepy blue-green eye blinked up at me. He looked puzzled.
“Caro?”
“You’re awake then,” I said, sharply.
He looked embarrassed and confused when he realized where he was.
“Did we…?”
“No, we most definitely did not. You woke me up in the middle of the night by banging on my door, and then passed out on my bed.”
“Oh, right.”
He leaned up on one arm and looked down at the clothes he was still wearing, assessing the truth of my statement. Then he grinned at me.
“Sorry about that. We can make up for it now if you like?”
I couldn’t believe him. Who the hell did he think he was?!
“Astonishing as this may seem, Sebastian,” I said in a cool voice, “your charming offer doesn’t thrill me.”
His smile slipped and for a moment he looked hurt: I remembered that look. Then his arrogant expression was back.
“Whatever.”
He swung his long legs out of the bed and sat up. He didn’t seem to be experiencing any hangover effects whatsoever. God, he was annoying!
“Where are my boots?” he muttered.
“Under the chair,” I said, pointing. “Along with your jacket.”
He stood up and I was a little amused to see he had to rearrange his pants. He picked up his jacket and I realized he was leaving. I was surprised to feel a pang of disappointment.
“Why did you come here last night, Sebastian?”
He frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
He strolled towards the door and glanced over his shoulder once.
“See you around, Caro.”
And then he was gone.
I sat there for several minutes, trying to process what had just happened. He’d always been so easy to read, but now I didn’t have a clue what was going on with him.
I shook my head and made a mental note not to open my door to strange men in the middle of the night, no matter how hot they were or how well they filled a pair of jeans.
After my unusually stimulating wake-up call, the day dragged. My editor had emailed during the night to say that my travel documents had definitely been delayed, but that he was hoping to get hold of someone who could help as soon as possible. The small print was: expect to be stuck in Geneva for at least a few days.
Liz commiserated with me over breakfast.
“Sorry to hear that, Lee. I got my papers couriered over from the Embassy first thing. My flight leaves in a couple of hours. Maybe see you out there.”
“Maybe,” I said wearily. “Look after yourself. Keep your head down and watch your back.”
“You know me, Lee, I wear brass knickers – utterly indestructible.”
We hugged briefly, and she was off again.
I texted Marc to see if he was free: I couldn’t face a day wandering around pointlessly by myself. I much preferred pointless wandering with company. I was relieved when Marc said he’d be happy to meet up. We spent a peaceful day examining a photography exhibition in the Sonia Zannettacci gallery, and strolling along the Quai de Seujet towards the lake.
By early evening, I was starting to feel hungry and Marc offered to keep me company over a plate of pasta in a small, family run bistro that I’d discovered just around the corner from my hotel. I was digging into a very tasty Pizzoccheri, a tagliatelle-type pasta made from buckwheat flour and cooked with asparagus and diced potatoes – a local specialty – when Marc’s phone beeped to tell him he had a message.
“I am afraid, chère Lee, that I will be leaving you alone after this night: my papers and assignment have come through.”
I was pleased for him but a feeling of despondency washed over me. How could the British and French governments expedite visas for their nationals, while my own was so inept?
As we discussed his imminent departure to Fayzabad in the north of Afghanistan, we made vague arrangements to meet up, should we find ourselves within spitting distance.
We’d nearly finished a carafe of house red, when I became aware that someone was hovering over us. To my astonishment, and more than a little dismay, I saw it was Sebastian.
He looked as though he was barely managing to rein in his temper, his eyes blazing.
“We need to talk,” he said from between gritted teeth.
Before I could frame a reply, he grabbed my arm to pull me up.
Marc stood immediately. “Let go of her, m’sieur, or you and I will have a problem.”
Sebastian scowled at him and for a moment I thought I was going to be breaking up a fight, but then he dropped my arm.
I wanted to know what the hell Sebastian was playing at. Whatever his problem, I’d had enough of this game of hide and seek where he was the only one who understood the rules.
“It’s okay, Marc,” I said, quietly.
He raised his eyebrows, stared at Sebastian, then back at me. “Very well, but I will be phoning your mobile in 15 minutes to check on you, chérie.”
I smiled and blew him a kiss.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” snarled Sebastian as I left the bistro wit
h him.
I stared at him in amazement. “A friend! What’s it to you?”
He didn’t answer.
I trailed along beside him as he marched down the street in furious silence. I didn’t know whether to be amused at his petulance, angry at his rudeness, or wary of his apparent temper. All three, probably.
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