The blood was beating in his ears after his exertions, and he strained to hear the man approaching. When he did, he sneaked a quick look. The man was no more than twenty yards away and approaching at a brisk rate down the pathway. Josef’s fingers tightened around the pistol. Go for the side of the head and hit him again if he tries to get up….
His muscles were tensed, poised to spring into action. If they hadn’t been, he might have reacted to the sound more quickly. It came from behind him, and by the time he had registered it, by the time he had turned, it was too late.
His last impression before his world went black was of a tall figure looming over him. His last thought was of the air-raid shelter and the young woman whose name he now knew.
“Anyone for seconds?” asked Rosamund.
“That’s a question I haven’t heard in a while,” said Max.
Lionel gave a hearty laugh. “Too right, old man.”
“A bit more of Hardy, if there’s any going,” said Freddie.
“Freddie!” chided Mitzi.
“Well, he’s more tender than Laurel.”
“Stop it!”
“She,” corrected Rosamund. “Hardy was a girl.”
“Really? How can you tell?” asked Lionel.
Mitzi rolled her eyes. “The plumage, for one.”
“And Hardy always peed sitting down.”
This earned Max a big laugh around the table. Lionel even slapped his thigh. Mitzi took the opportunity to fire Max a look that only he could interpret. It said, I know what you’re doing, and I don’t care.
But she did care, which was why he intended to carry on doing it.
“Shouldn’t we hold the rest back for the others?” he suggested.
“They don’t deserve it,” said Rosamund.
Elliott had failed to show, and Hugh was supposed to have been back from Rabat almost two hours before, having scooped up Ralph in Mdina en route.
“I’m sure it’s not their fault they’re late.”
“Oh, it’s never Hugh’s fault.”
This was uncharacteristic of Rosamund, who generally liked to present a united front. Realizing her transgression, she tried to make light of it.
“I keep a list of Hugh’s excuses. He must too, because he’s never used the same one twice.”
His excuse, when he showed up a short while later with Ralph, was difficult to fault. He’d spent the afternoon touring gun emplacements ahead of the big day, geeing up his men. The whole thing had overrun because of the afternoon raids.
“You could have phoned.”
“I tried, my darling. The lines were down.”
“Not when I called HQ and they told me they had no idea where you were.”
“That’s as it should be. We’d all be in terrible trouble if HQ actually knew what was going on.”
The laughter put an end to the matter, and attention shifted back to the guests of honor. Freddie proposed a toast to Lionel and Mitzi, following it up with a small speech he’d prepared. It was a touching tribute, heavy on the humor, which brought some tears from Mitzi. Even Lionel’s eyes misted over a little.
His response to Freddie’s kind words was a predictable mix of awkward affability and pomposity: friendships smelted in the furnace of battle … memories to last a lifetime … the eternal struggle of good versus evil … not “goodbye” so much as “au revoir.” He made no mention of Mitzi and the fact that she had chosen to stay at his side throughout it all, whereas most of the wives had long since bolted for home. Max knew that he should keep his mouth shut, that to speak would only draw attention to Lionel’s oversight, but when the smattering of applause had died down, he raised his glass.
“To Mitzi and all her good work at the Standing Committee of Adjustment.”
Mitzi tilted her head at him in gratitude.
“Hear, hear,” said Rosamund emphatically. “If it wasn’t for women like you, women like me wouldn’t get to sit around all day playing gin rummy and moaning about the scarcity of zip fasteners.”
The final toast of the evening was to Ralph, and in many ways it was the most poignant. None of them around the table was facing a trial like his, and they all knew it was one he might not survive. The next morning, when the replacement Spitfires flew in, he would be waiting at Ta’ Qali, ready to take to the air in one of the new machines. No one doubted that the ensuing air battle would be the fiercest yet, and Ralph was going to be in the thick of it.
“Are you sure you remember how to fly the bloody things?” asked Freddie.
“Stick, rudder pedals, firing button—how hard can it be?” scoffed Max.
Lionel gave a loud snort. “Well, I must say, that’s pretty rich coming from you, old man.”
“He was joking,” Mitzi sighed.
“Oh.”
When they all moved outside for coffee, Max and Freddie snatched a moment alone on the back terrace. It was the first chance they’d had to talk in private, and Max filled him in on Busuttil’s discoveries, including the name he’d turned up.
“Ken?”
“I checked with Tommy Ravilious at the sub base. Nothing.”
“An assumed name?”
“Maybe. Busuttil’s chasing it down.”
“I hope so. Mitzi says the Upstanding’s due to leave on Sunday.”
“I thought it was Monday.”
“It’s been brought forward a day. They want her gone before things really heat up around here.”
“Christ.”
Only one more day for Busuttil to crack it. He wasn’t going to appreciate this new development when Max saw him later.
Freddie wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help. He had just been assigned to the naval hospital at Bighi, on the Grand Harbour side of Valetta, but was more than happy to shirk his duties if the situation called for it.
“You can’t do that.”
“It’s not like I’m stuck out at Mtarfa anymore. I’m right here on the doorstep and ready to do whatever—hang the consequences.”
“I’ll mention it to Busuttil, see what he says.”
Freddie glanced toward the house. Lionel was still seated at the dining table, pontificating to Hugh and Ralph about something or other.
“Have you ever wondered if it’s him?”
“Lionel? For all of five seconds. Why?”
“I hadn’t noticed before tonight…. He’s left-handed.”
As if on cue, Lionel raised his wineglass to his lips with his left hand.
Max didn’t have a chance to respond.
“What are you two looking so furtive about?”
The voice came from high above them. It was Mitzi, peering down from the crow’s nest, barely discernible in the darkness.
“What are you doing up there?” called Freddie.
“Having a last look.”
“Don’t pretend you’ll miss it.”
“Oh, but I shall.”
“And us?”
“I’ve already packed some extra hankies.”
“You’ll latch on to another pair of handsome, witty young men within a week of landing in Alexandria.”
“Is that what I did: latch on to you?”
“Brazenly. It was almost embarrassing, wasn’t it, Max?”
“Absolutely. I still shudder when I think about it.”
Freddie laughed. Mitzi didn’t.
Max was still thinking about Lionel.
IT WAS PERFECT, MAYBE MORE PERFECT THAN IT HAD EVER been in the past.
Preparations had been made, contingencies planned for, but it wasn’t the logistics that accounted for his deep sense of satisfaction. That came from the beauty of the stratagem, its plain and simple trigonometry.