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She responded instantly to the urgency in his voice, sliding out of the door after him, crouching, then starting to move. A bullet took him in the back and she ran for her life down the side of the causeway and plunged into the great banks of reeds. Cazalet, who was in their shelter a little further along the causeway, saw her go.
She forced her way through the water and mud, pushing the reeds aside, ploughing straight out into a dark pool to find two Viet Cong confronting her on the other side, AKs at the ready. Barely fifteen yards away, she could see every feature of these young faces: mere boys, not much more.
They raised their weapons, she braced herself for death, and then there was a terrible cry and Cazalet erupted from the reeds on her left, firing from the hip, blasting both soldiers into the water.
Voices called nearby and he said, ‘No talking.’ He stepped back into the reeds and she followed.
They seemed to move several hundred yards before he said, ‘This will do.’ They were on the edge of the paddy fields, protected by a final curtain of reeds. A small knoll rose above the water. He pulled her down beside him. ‘That’s a lot of blood. Where are you hit?’
‘It’s not mine. I was trying to help the woman sitting next to me.’
‘You’re French.’
‘That’s right. Jacqueline de Brissac,’ she said.
‘Jake Cazalet, and I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you,’ he replied in French.
‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘You didn’t learn that at school.’
‘No, a year in Paris when I was sixteen. My dad was at the embassy.’ He grinned. ‘I learned all my languages that way. He moved around a lot.’
Her face was spotted with mud, hair tangled as she tried to straighten it. ‘I must look a mess,’ she said, and smiled.
Jake Cazalet fell instantly and gloriously in love. What was it the French called it: the thunderclap? It was everything he’d ever heard. What the poets wrote about.
‘Have we had it?’ she said, aware of voices calling nearby.
‘No, the Medevac helicopter I was going to Katum in has gone to call up the cavalry. If we keep our heads down, we stand a good chance.’
‘But that’s strange, I’ve just been to Katum,’ she said.
‘Good God, what for? That really is the war zone.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘I was searching for my husband.’
Cazalet was aware of an unbelievably hollow feeling. He swallowed. ‘Your husband?’
‘Yes. Captain Jean de Brissac of the French Foreign Legion. He was in the Katum area with a United Nations fact-finding mission three months ago. There were twenty of them.’
What a strange sensation. Sorrow, sympathy…was that almost relief? ‘I remember hearing that,’ he said slowly. ‘Weren’t they all…?’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Caught in an attack. The Viet Cong used hand grenades. The bodies were not recognizable, but I found my husband’s bloodstained field jacket, and his papers. There’s no doubt.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘A pilgrimage, if you like. And I had to be sure.’
‘I’m surprised they let you come.’
She gave a small smile. ‘Oh, my family has a great deal of political influence. My husband was Comte de Brissac, a very old military family. Lots of connections in Washington. Lots of connections everywhere.’
‘So you’re a countess?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
He smiled. ‘Well, I don’t mind if you don’t.’
She was about to say something when they heard voices nearby, shouting to each other, and Cazalet called out in Vietnamese.
She was alarmed. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘They’re beating through the reeds. I told them there was no sign of us over here.’
‘Very clever.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank my dad for a year at the embassy in Saigon.’
‘There too?’ she said, smiling despite herself.
‘Yes, there too.’
She shook her head. ‘You are a most unusual man, Lieutenant Cazalet.’ She paused. ‘I suppose, if we get out of this, that I owe you something. Would you have dinner with me?’
Jake grinned. ‘Countess, it would be my pleasure.’
There was the distant thud of rotors rapidly approaching and several Huey Cobra gunships came in, line astern. Cazalet took two recognition flares from his pocket, a red and a green, and fired them up into the sky. The sound of the Viet Cong voices faded as they retreated and Cazalet took her hand.
‘The cavalry arriving in the nick of time, just like the movies. You’ll be OK now.’
Her hand tightened in his as they waded out into the paddy field and one of the gunships landed.
The Excelsior in Saigon was French Colonial from the old days and the restaurant on the first floor was a delight, a haven from the war, white tablecloths, linen napkins, silverware, candles on the tables. Cazalet had waited in the bar, a striking figure in his tropical uniform, the medal ribbons a brave splash of colour. He was excited in a way he hadn’t been for years. There had been women in his life, but never anyone who had moved him enough to contemplate a serious relationship.
When she entered the bar, his heart turned over. She wore a very simple beaded white shift, her hair tied back with a velvet bow, not much makeup, a couple of gold bracelets, a diamond ring next to her wedding ring. Everything was elegance and understatement and the Vietnamese head waiter descended on her at once, speaking fluent French.
‘A great pleasure, Countess.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Lieutenant Cazalet is waiting at the bar. Would you care to sit down straight away?’
She smiled and waved to Jake, who approached. ‘Oh, yes, I think so. We’ll have a bottle of Dom Pérignon. A celebration.’
‘May I ask the occasion, Countess?’
‘Yes, Pierre, we’re celebrating being alive.’
He laughed and led the way to the corner table on the outside veranda, seated them and smiled. ‘The champagne will be here directly.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ she asked Cazalet.
‘Not if I can have one as well.’
As he leaned across to give her a light, he said, ‘You look wonderful.’
She stopped smiling, very serious, then smiled again. ‘And you look very handsome. Tell me about yourself. You are a regular soldier?’
‘No, a volunteer on a two-year hitch.’
‘You mean you chose to come here? But why?’
‘Shame, I think. I avoided the draft because I was at college. Then I went to law school at Harvard. I was working on a doctorate.’ He shrugged. ‘Certain things happened, so I decided to enlist.’
The champagne arrived, and menus. She sat back. ‘What were these things?’
So he told her everything, exactly what had happened in the cafeteria and its consequences. ‘So here I am.’
‘And the boy who lost an arm?’
‘Teddy Grant? He’s fine. Working his way through law school. I saw him when I went home on leave. In fact, he works for my father now during his vacation. He’s bright, Teddy, very bright.’
‘And your father is some sort of diplomat?’
‘In a way. A brilliant lawyer who used to work for the State Department. He’s a senator now.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And what did he think of your enlisting?’
‘Took it on the chin. Told me to come back in one piece and start again. When I was last on leave, he was campaigning. To be honest, it rather suited him to have a son in uniform.’
‘And a hero?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No, but your medals do. But we’re forgetting the champagne.’ She picked up her glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘Like you said, to being alive.’
‘To life, then.’
‘And the pursuit of happiness.’
They clinked glasses. ‘When do you go back?’ he asked.
‘To Paris?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m in no hurry, now. I don’t really know what I’m going to do next.’
‘Now that you’ve laid the ghosts?’
‘Something like that. Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s order.’
Jake Cazalet was deliriously happy, and afterwards, couldn’t even remember what he had had for dinner except that some sort of steak featured. 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 another 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 take a ride round in one of those horse-drawn carriages. Will you come with 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 walls 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 of the carriage. ‘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 towards 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 balcony 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?’
‘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.’
