*
And at his flat off Belgrave Square, Raul Montera gripped the telephone tightly, listening with horror to what the Military Attache at the Embassy was saying to him.
'There is a plane for Paris leaving in two hours, Raul. It is essential that you do not miss it. The Air France flight for Buenos Aires leaves at ten-thirty this evening. They need you back there, my friend. You mustn't fail. I'm sending a car round.'
The Malvinas. That's all it could be. So many things fell into place now. Yet there was Gabrielle. What was he going to do about her? My one real chance of happiness in this accursed life, he thought, and the gods decide to screw it up for me.
He packed hurriedly, just one bag with essentials, and the doorbell rang as he was finishing. The chauffeur was waiting on the step as Montera emerged, still wearing his jeans and the old flying jacket.
'Heathrow, my colonel,' the chauffeur said as Montera got into the front seat beside him.
'By way of Kensington Palace Gardens,' Raul Montera said. 'And step on it! We don't have much time.'
* * *
Gabrielle had not changed, was sitting at the mirror in the old robe and about to make herself up, when the doorbell buzzed. She went and lifted the answerphone.
'It's me, Raul. Please hurry.'
She half-opened the door and waited, conscious of a dreadful foreboding, heard the lift door clang outside. He appeared, eyes wild, real pain on his face.
'Two minutes, that's all I've got. I've got a plane to catch to Paris. I've been recalled to Buenos Aires.'
'But why?' she cried.
'Does it matter?' He took her by the arms and kissed her savagely, all his anger and frustration pouring out of him. 'All I've got time for. Isn't life hell?'
He turned and was gone. The lift doors clanged again. She stood there, frozen, then ran into the bedroom and started to dress.
* * *
At Heathrow, Montera was just about to go through into the international departure lounge when she called his name, high and clear. As he turned, she came running through the crowd in a yellow cotton jumpsuit, hair tousled, face pale.
She ran into his arms. He held for a moment, then pushed her away. 'You look wonderful.'
'Nonsense,' she said. 'My hair's a mess, no make-up and wearing the first thing that came to hand.'
'Wonderful,' he said. 'Did I find time to tell you that I've now discovered what joy is? Thank you for that.'
'Raul, I love you. I love you so much.'
He smiled. 'We have a saying. Love is a gift that must be returned fourfold. What a burden you place on me. What a wonderful burden.'
Above their heads the tannoy called his name.
'Will you write?' she demanded.
'It may be difficult. Don't worry, even if there is a gap for a while. There are good reasons. I'll be back, I swear it. That's all that matters.'
She moved with him to the gate, hanging on. He turned for the last time. 'I'll make a bargain with you. No more partings ever again. No more saying goodbye. This is the last time. The only time.'
And then he was gone and she turned her face into a pillar and wept. After a while, she crossed to the telephones and dialled Ferguson's number, reversing the charge.
'He's gone,' she said. 'Just left for Paris to make a connection with Buenos Aires.'
'Rather sudden,' Ferguson said. 'Did he explain?'
'No.'
'You sound upset, Gabrielle.'
She told him what to do then, in French of the kind definitely not taught in any finishing school, sharp, succinct and to the point, slammed down the receiver and walked away.
* * *
When she opened the door of the flat and went in, Villiers appeared from the bedroom.
'Sorry about this,' he said. 'My leave's been cancelled and they want me back at Hereford. I needed a few things.'
He went back into the bedroom and returned to packing the bag which was open on the bed. She followed him through, her rage and frustration focusing on him.
'A few more throats need cutting somewhere, is that it?'
'I suppose so.'
'How was Belfast this time?'
'Pretty
And at his flat off Belgrave Square, Raul Montera gripped the telephone tightly, listening with horror to what the Military Attache at the Embassy was saying to him.
'There is a plane for Paris leaving in two hours, Raul. It is essential that you do not miss it. The Air France flight for Buenos Aires leaves at ten-thirty this evening. They need you back there, my friend. You mustn't fail. I'm sending a car round.'
The Malvinas. That's all it could be. So many things fell into place now. Yet there was Gabrielle. What was he going to do about her? My one real chance of happiness in this accursed life, he thought, and the gods decide to screw it up for me.
He packed hurriedly, just one bag with essentials, and the doorbell rang as he was finishing. The chauffeur was waiting on the step as Montera emerged, still wearing his jeans and the old flying jacket.
'Heathrow, my colonel,' the chauffeur said as Montera got into the front seat beside him.
'By way of Kensington Palace Gardens,' Raul Montera said. 'And step on it! We don't have much time.'
* * *
Gabrielle had not changed, was sitting at the mirror in the old robe and about to make herself up, when the doorbell buzzed. She went and lifted the answerphone.
'It's me, Raul. Please hurry.'
She half-opened the door and waited, conscious of a dreadful foreboding, heard the lift door clang outside. He appeared, eyes wild, real pain on his face.
'Two minutes, that's all I've got. I've got a plane to catch to Paris. I've been recalled to Buenos Aires.'
'But why?' she cried.
'Does it matter?' He took her by the arms and kissed her savagely, all his anger and frustration pouring out of him. 'All I've got time for. Isn't life hell?'
He turned and was gone. The lift doors clanged again. She stood there, frozen, then ran into the bedroom and started to dress.
* * *
At Heathrow, Montera was just about to go through into the international departure lounge when she called his name, high and clear. As he turned, she came running through the crowd in a yellow cotton jumpsuit, hair tousled, face pale.
She ran into his arms. He held for a moment, then pushed her away. 'You look wonderful.'
'Nonsense,' she said. 'My hair's a mess, no make-up and wearing the first thing that came to hand.'
'Wonderful,' he said. 'Did I find time to tell you that I've now discovered what joy is? Thank you for that.'
'Raul, I love you. I love you so much.'
He smiled. 'We have a saying. Love is a gift that must be returned fourfold. What a burden you place on me. What a wonderful burden.'
Above their heads the tannoy called his name.
'Will you write?' she demanded.
'It may be difficult. Don't worry, even if there is a gap for a while. There are good reasons. I'll be back, I swear it. That's all that matters.'
She moved with him to the gate, hanging on. He turned for the last time. 'I'll make a bargain with you. No more partings ever again. No more saying goodbye. This is the last time. The only time.'
And then he was gone and she turned her face into a pillar and wept. After a while, she crossed to the telephones and dialled Ferguson's number, reversing the charge.
'He's gone,' she said. 'Just left for Paris to make a connection with Buenos Aires.'
'Rather sudden,' Ferguson said. 'Did he explain?'
'No.'
'You sound upset, Gabrielle.'
She told him what to do then, in French of the kind definitely not taught in any finishing school, sharp, succinct and to the point, slammed down the receiver and walked away.
* * *
When she opened the door of the flat and went in, Villiers appeared from the bedroom.
'Sorry about this,' he said. 'My leave's been cancelled and they want me back at Hereford. I needed a few things.'
He went back into the bedroom and returned to packing the bag which was open on the bed. She followed him through, her rage and frustration focusing on him.
'A few more throats need cutting somewhere, is that it?'
'I suppose so.'
'How was Belfast this time?'
'Pretty
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