LITMIR.BIZ

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just returned from a trip? And especially under the circumstances.

      ‘It’s not raining,’ I murmured.

      ‘No, it’s not,’ he answered, turning to look at me. ‘The storm seems to have blown away before it got started.’

      I nodded and headed for the kitchen to open a bottle of his favourite Pouilly-Fuissé.

      Jake followed me.

      ‘I’ll do that,’ he said when I took the bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. He opened a drawer where he knew I kept the bar utensils and found a corkscrew. While he deftly pulled the cork, I took two wine glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter next to him, and a second later he was pouring wine for us.

      He handed me a glass, and I said, ‘I’ve got good news, Jake. Mike heard from Ajet’s brother. Qemal told him Ajet is safe and well in Macedonia.’

      ‘Hey, that’s great!’ he exclaimed, and clinked his glass to mine. ‘Here’s to Ajet. Thank God he made it okay.’

      I nodded. ‘To Ajet.’

      We took our drinks into the living room, where Jake lowered himself into a chair near the fireplace and I sat down in the corner of the sofa, as I always did.

      ‘What’s the full story?’ Jake asked, peering across at me over the rim of his glass.

      ‘Apparently Ajet went searching for us that day, when the shelling started, but before he found us he was shot,’ I explained. ‘He was badly wounded, but fortunately he was found by some local people.’

      I went on to tell Jake how Ajet had been passed on to Kosovar soldiers, taken to a hospital in Albania and then moved to Macedonia. I finally finished, ‘If you remember, I wrote down my agency number for him. And once he was well enough he asked Qemal to call Gemstar.’

      ‘It’s a relief to know he’s all right. Ajet was straight with us, and wanted to help any way he could. He’s a good kid.’

      I settled back, studying Jake, thinking how well he looked after a week’s rest in the south. He’d asked me to go with him to St-Jean-Cap Ferrat, but I’d declined, and I suddenly wondered if that might have been a mistake on my part. A vacation would have obviously done me good. His few days in the sun had given him a golden tan, turned his streaky hair more blond than ever, and he was in glowing health. Tonight he was wearing a blue cotton shirt with his grey sports jacket and slacks, and his eyes looked more vividly blue than ever.

      ‘You’re staring at me,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’ That was Jake, who was always questioning me about everything in my life. It had been that way since we’d first met in Beirut.

      ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I replied at last. ‘It’s just that you look in such great shape, I think I ought to have accepted your invitation.’

      ‘Yes, you should have,’ he quickly replied. He spoke softly enough, but I detected a certain undertone of vehemence in his voice. He took a long swallow of white wine and then sat nursing his drink, staring down into the glass, his face thoughtful.

      When he looked up at me, he said, ‘You needed a holiday, and even though you think you look great, you don’t really. The make up doesn’t deceive me. And you’ve lost weight.’

      So much for my efforts with the cosmetic pots, I thought, and said, ‘Black makes me look thin.’

      ‘It’s me you’re talking to,’ he answered. ‘I know you better than everyone, even better than you know yourself.’ He put the glass down on the coffee table and seemed about to get up, but suddenly leaned back against the linen cushions and closed his eyes.

      After a couple of minutes, I ventured, ‘Are you feeling all right, Jake?’

      Opening his eyes, he said, ‘Yep. But I’m worried about you, Val.’

      ‘Oh please don’t,’ I cried. ‘I’m fine. I haven’t lost a pound,’ I lied. ‘Nothing. Nada. Zilch.’

      He shook his head. ‘Has Mike said anything about your going back to work?’

      ‘He said I was welcome back any time I felt like coming in, but to take my time, that it was my call.’

      ‘The sooner you get back to the agency the better, in my opinion. You need to be busy, occupied, Val, not walking around the streets of Paris every day, and sitting here alone in the apartment afterwards. I know you’re suffering. I am too. Tony was my best buddy, but life is for the living. We’ve got to go on, that’s what he would want.’

      ‘I’m trying hard, I really am, Jake. And the walking helps. I’m not sure why, but it does.’

      ‘You’re less alone when you’re out there in the streets. They make you feel more alive because they’re full of life, people, traffic, noise, activity. The streets are the world. Did I ever tell you about John Steinbeck and what he did when he heard that Robert Capa had been killed in Indochina?’

      I frowned. I wasn’t certain whether he’d told me or not, and yet at the back of my mind I thought that perhaps he had. Or was it Tony who had told me? Certainly we all revered Capa, the greatest war photographer who had ever lived. I said, ‘I’m not sure, you might have. But tell me again.’

      ‘Capa was killed in 1954, on May 25th actually, as I’m sure you recall. And of course within hours news of his death spread around the world. Steinbeck, who was a good friend of Capa’s, was in Paris when he heard. He was so shaken up he went out and walked the streets for fourteen hours straight. I guess he just couldn’t believe it. And he couldn’t sit still. He had to be on the move. And you’re doing something very similar, but you’re doing it every day, Val.’

      ‘No, I’m not, I don’t walk the streets for fourteen hours!’

      Jake sighed and said nothing, just gave me one of those penetrating looks of his that always made me re-examine everything I said to him. I shrugged, and finally admitted, ‘Okay, you’re right, I guess I am doing the same thing. And you did tell me the story. It was on one of those days when you were cross with Tony because you thought he was too reckless. You were comparing him to Capa.’

      ‘No, I wasn’t.’ Jake sat up straighter and gave me a hard stare. ‘Capa wasn’t reckless in the way that Tony was. Those who knew Capa always said he was very cautious. Don’t forget, he was an expert when it came to taking calculated risks. When he went to Indochina, it was his fifth war, and only a photojournalist of his great experience would know how to properly calculate when something was truly dangerous or not. From what I know about him, he measured the risks, especially when he had to walk across exposed areas, and he was always cautious, did not take risks unnecessarily. But if he saw the possibility of a great photograph and there was a calculated risk, then he took the risk. Tony just rushed in without –’ He cut himself off, and took a swallow of his wine, obviously feeling disloyal.

      ‘Without thinking,’ I finished for him, stood up and headed towards the kitchen.

      ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘To get the bottle of wine,’ I answered. When I came back, I filled his goblet, and then mine, and put the bottle down on the glass coffee table. ‘What about the memorial service?’ I said, getting right to the heart of the matter. ‘Do you know when it is?’

      ‘Next week. On Tuesday.’

      ‘I see. Where’s it being held?’

      ‘At the Brompton Oratory at eleven o’clock.’

      I was silent, looked down at the drink in my hands.

      Jake said, ‘I’ve booked us in at the Milestone in Kensington. I know you like that hotel.’

      I nodded. He had surprised me with the information about the memorial. Events seemed to be moving more quickly than I’d anticipated, and I wasn’t prepared at all.

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