Jake Cazalet was deliriously happy, and afterwards couldn’t even remember what he had for dinner except that some sort of steak featured in there. A small band started to play, and they moved inside and danced. She was so light in his arms, he was always to remember that, and the smell of her perfume.
And how they talked. He could never recall having such a conversation with anyone in his life. She wanted to know everything. They had a second bottle of champagne, and ice cream and coffee.
He gave her a cigarette and sat back. “We shouldn’t be here. We should be up there in the mud.”
A shadow crossed her face. “Like Jean?”
“I’m sorry.” He was instantly contrite and reached for her hand.
She smiled. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I told you I was through with ghosts, and then. . . . Listen, I’d like to do a ride ’round in one of those horse-drawn carriages. Will you take me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said and pushed his chair back.
The streets of Saigon were as noisy as usual and crowded with cars, scooters and cyclists, people everywhere, girls propping up the wall outside the bars, looking for custom.
“I wonder what they’ll all do when we go?” Cazalet asked.
“They managed after we left, the French,” she said. “Life always goes on in one way or another.”
“You should remember that,” he said and took her hand.
She didn’t resist, simply returned the pressure and peered out. “I love cities, all cities, and particularly at night. Paris, by night, for example, and the feeling of excitement, that anything might happen just up there around the next corner.”
“And usually doesn’t.”
“You are not a true romantic.”
“Teach me, then.” She turned her face toward him in the shadows and he kissed her very gently, an arm sliding around her shoulder.
“Oh, Jake Cazalet, what a lovely man you are,” she said and laid her head against his shoulder.
At the Excelsior, she got the key to her suite from reception, handed it to him without a word, and went up the broad carpeted stairway. She paused at the door of the suite, waiting, and Cazalet unlocked the door and opened it. He stood to one side, then followed her in.
She crossed to the open French window and stood on the terrace looking down at the crowded street. Cazalet slipped his arms around her waist.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “As we were saying, life is for living. Give me a few moments, then come in.”
Afterwards, Cazalet lay propped up against pillows, smoking. It had been the most wonderful experience of his entire life, and now she slept quietly beside him. He checked his watch and sighed. Four o’clock and he was due at base for a briefing at eight.
He eased out of bed gently and started to dress. A muffled voice said, “You’re leaving, Jake?”
“Sure, I’m on duty. Important briefing. Can we meet for lunch?”
“That would be wonderful.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you later, my love,” he said and went out.
The 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.”