Two weeks later, Freddy Janos had found himself reporting to a requisitioned estate in Virginia, known as OSS Virginia Station. As far as Freddy Janos was concerned, it was even better than Forts Dix and Knox. Here he was taught really fascinating things, such as how to blow up bridges, and parachute from airplanes, and kill people with your bare hands.
And then, just before he was to go back to Hungary, he broke his goddamned ankle.
“Hey, Freddy!” an officer called in disgust from across the room.
“Jesus Christ!”
It took Freddy Janos just a moment to understand the nature of the complaint.
Lost in thought, wallowing in self-pity over his enforced celibacy, he had without thinking gone from Gershwin to Prokofiev. He listened to what his subconscious had selected for him to play. He smiled. It was the Sonatina in G Minor, Opus 54, Number Two, from “Visions Fugitives.” Very appropriate.
“You just ain’t got no couth, Sanderson,” Freddy called back, and then segued into “I’m Gonna Buy a Paper Doll.”
He smiled at the two women leaning on the piano.
And then he looked beyond them to the bar. Captain the Duchess Stanfield was walking up to it, and she was not alone.
Absolutely gorgeous! God was obviously feeling good when he made that one!
And an officer! No restrictions!
What he would do, Freddy decided, was wait until they got their drinks and sat down someplace. Then he would just wander over and say, “Hi!”
It was too much to hope that they would come by the piano, where he would have a chance to dazzle the absolutely ravishing blonde with some piano pyrotechnics and then smile sadly at her.
But they did just that.
God is on my side! Virtue is its own reward!
“Hello, Freddy,” the Duchess said as she hopped onto the piano itself.
“Hello,” he said.
“Charity, this is Freddy Janos,” the Duchess said.
“Hello,” Charity said, smiling at him, giving him her hand, meeting his eyes.
“I’m overcome,” Freddy said, taking her hand, marveling at the softness of it, the warmth, the utter femininity of it.
“Freddy has a broken ankle,” the Duchess said.
“I’d get my hand back if I were you, but after that you’re fairly safe; he can’t run at all well.”
“How did you break your ankle?” Charity asked, compassion and sympathy i in her eyes and voice. ] And where there is compassion and sympathy, can passion be far behind? i “Small accident, landing by parachute,” Freddy said, with a smile and what he thought was just the right touch of becoming modesty.
“Oh, Jesus!” Charity breathed.
Freddy hadn’t expected quite that reaction and looked at her in surprise.
She wasn’t looking at him, but over his shoulder at the door.
A flyboy had come into the bar. Freddy had seen him before. He was a buddy of Canidy, the headman. It was rumored that he was the son of some big shot in the higher echelons of the OSS. He was also supposed to be an ex-Flying Tiger. He was also pretty goddamned young to be a lieutenant colonel.
He headed straight for the bar, without looking toward the piano.
“Doug!”the absolutely stunning blonde called. Or tried to call. She seemed to be having trouble with her voice.
He didn’t hear her.
“Colonel Douglass!” the Duchess called in her clear, crisp voice.
The flyboy looked for her, found her, and waved casually, dismissing her.
And then did a double take.
Then he walked to the piano, right to the blonde. He didn’t look at anyone else, and he didn’t speak.
He put his hand up, very slowly, very carefully, as if afraid when he made contact that the apparition would disappear, as does a soap bubble when touched, and touched the blonde’s cheek.
“Doug,” the blonde said again, as if she was about to cry.
The flyboy took his fingers from the blonde’s cheek and reached down and caught her hand, and led her wordlessly out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” the Duchess said.
“I saw your eyes light up.”
“One gathers they have met before,” Freddy said.
The Duchess chuckled.
“Did my eyes really light up?” he asked.