Read Online Bride of a Bygone War by Preston Fleming - Free Book Online

it’s open. MEA can barely meet its payroll.”
    “Oh, it’s only a ten-week contract. They need an in-flight services trainer for their new class of air hostess trainees. As soon as Walter’s TDY is finished, we’ll go back to Washington and I’ll find a job flying out of Dulles.”
    Lorraine must have seen the cloud of confusion pass across his face. In the moment before she held her hand up to silence him, her green eyes took on an expression that passed quickly from doubt to understanding to resignation.
    “Don’t tell me. I already know what you’re thinking, Guido. You see, the reason Walter didn’t say anything to you about my coming is that he didn’t know about it. I’ve been in London these past four weeks seeing old friends and working out the details of my return. I haven’t breathed a word of it yet to Walter. He has arrived by now, hasn’t he?”
    Prosser felt himself redden. Suddenly beads of perspiration began forming on his upper lip despite the cool offshore breeze. He drew in a deep breath. “Lorraine, I don’t exactly relish being a shit, but I can’t talk to you about what Walt may or may not be doing. If he told you anything, that’s his business. But whatever he said, I can’t confirm or deny it.”
    “That sounds so very official of you, Guido. Certainly you can let Walter know I’m here, can’t you?”
    “If I said I could, I’d be confirming to you that he’s in-country. Didn’t he leave you a forwarding address or give you some kind of contact instructions?”
    Lorraine let out a deep sigh, and within an instant all of her innate charm and buoyancy seemed to escape her. “You know how unreliable Walter can be. Before I left Amman, he said he’d meet me in London on his way back to the States. But after a week I grew tired of waiting.”
    Prosser avoided her gaze. There was something troubling about a woman who felt compelled to follow a man to a country in the midst of a civil war when he hadn’t even given her the courtesy of a forwarding address. “So how long have the two of you been together?” he asked in an effort to break the silence. “You left Saudi Arabia at the end of ’77, wasn’t it?”
    “January 4, 1978, to be precise. I went back to work for British Airways in London in mid-January, and ten weeks later I looked up Walt on my first flight to Amman. When the airline refused to base me in Amman, I quit and got a job flying for Royal Jordanian. Walter and I have been together ever since.”
    Prosser cast a quick glance toward the dining room and its cake with six-pointed stars. “Listen, Lorraine. The party is winding down. Let me take you back to town and we can catch up on what’s been happening. You’re staying in West Beirut, aren’t you?”
    She nodded.
    “Hotel?”
    “The Riviera, on the Corniche.”
    “That’s only a couple of blocks from my apartment. Come on. When we get back, I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll see what we can do about straightening out old Walt.”
    At the mention of Walt’s name, the magical smile lit up Lorraine’s face, and she took Prosser’s arm as he led her toward the door.
     
    * * *
     
    “Do you suppose they intend to carry on like this all night?” Lorraine inquired, turning away from the red glow of tracer fire as Prosser rejoined her on the balcony of his fourth-floor flat and gazed out over the Mediterranean. The din held steady but was not overpowering; rather, it was as if a thunderstorm was passing somewhere offshore.
    He handed her a fresh gin and tonic and settled into the wicker armchair beside her. “The shelling generally tapers off before dawn, around four or five in the morning. But don’t worry. After a few days, you won’t even notice it unless it comes within a couple blocks of you.”
    “Don’t shells ever land in this part of the city?”
    “Not many since I’ve been here. Where you’re sitting right now is quite safe. You see, incoming rounds almost always arrive from the