The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (75 page)

“Remember what I said, Sebastian.”

“I’ll try, baby. And you remember what
I
said, what I’m thinking about when I look at you.”

He rested his lips gently on mine.

“Never take my ring off, Caro,” he whispered.

“Ti amo tanto, Sebastian.”

He smiled softly. “Sempre e per sempre.”

He glanced briefly at Liz, and then quietly left.

Liz closed the door behind him, and looked at me sternly.

“Bloody hell, Lee. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? The priapic bastard has lured you into his lair to be one of his foreign territories. How can you be so damn stupid?”

Her words stung, but, to be fair, I could see exactly how it looked from her point of view.

I had two choices: I could say nothing, and leave her with the view that I’d been naïve and duped by a man who was a Casanova in a US Marine uniform, a total player; or I could tell her the truth.

“It’s not like that, Liz,” I said, rubbing my eyes tiredly.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Lee; you’re lucky I’m the only one who knows what’s going on. Otherwise, you’d be on the first plane home, and Chief Hunter ... well, I don’t know what they’d do to him. Not that he’d care, but it would be your career down the drain. Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not,” I snapped.

“Then would you please tell me what the hell is going on, because I’ve never known you to behave like this—and it’s not like you haven’t had offers. Why him, Lee? Of all people—he’s shagged half the female staff at the UN. Is that what you wanted—just a young stud? What if he tells someone? Bragging about his Kabul conquest?”

She was really building up a head of steam. I had to head her off.

“We’re going to get married, Liz; as soon as his tour is over.”

Silence.

I waited.

More silence.

“Have you lost your mind, Lee!” she bellowed suddenly, making me jump. “Is this some kind of hormonal surge or midlife crisis? You’ve let him shag you a few times and you’re imagining he’ll marry you? You barely know him!”

“I know him better than anyone, Liz. I’ve known him since he was eight years old.”

She gaped at me.

“I think you’d better tell me the whole bloody story, Lee, because otherwise I’ll have to assume that one of us is barking mad, and right now my money is on you.”

I sighed. I’d never told anyone the full story before—not even my closest friends: guilt, sadness, and a wish to move on with my life had kept me silent.

“Fine. Make yourself comfortable, Liz.” I took a deep breath, trying to marshal my thoughts.

“I met my husband, David, when I was 17, and we married a month after my 19th birthday. He was in the Navy, so we moved around. We did a six month stint in San Diego after we’d been married about a year-and-a-half. Sebastian was the son of David’s CO. He was a sweet, lonely child—his parents were just monstrous—and we became friends. That’s all, I swear it. He used to come by after school and we’d talk about books and listen to opera. Then David got posted to Lejeune and that was that. But nine years later, we were back in San Diego again. Sebastian … found me. He was nearly 18 and God, Liz, he was gorgeous even then. At first, I just thought of him as the kid I used to know, but it soon became obvious that he … had other feelings for me.”

Liz was watching me intently, a deep frown of concentration on her face.

“And … one thing led to another. I’d been unhappy in my marriage for a long time. And Sebastian was just so loving. He was sweet and funny—fun to be with. And he encouraged me with my writing: if it hadn’t been for him, I don’t think I’d ever have become a journalist. Well, his parents found out … and because he wasn’t quite 18, it was a felony in California. His parents said
they wouldn’t prosecute me if I left quietly and didn’t come back. The statute of limitations was three years: they threatened me, saying that if we tried to stay in touch, they’d have me arrested. Even if I didn’t do jail time, I’d have had a criminal record. So I stayed away.”

I paused, trying to scrub away the desolate feelings that thinking about those events always wrought in me.

“But Sebastian waited for me: when he was 21 we tried to find each other, but it never happened. I won’t go into the details, but he realized eventually that I wasn’t coming for him … and that’s when all the drinking and womanizing started. I hadn’t seen him for 10 years when we met in Geneva again. He still loves me, Liz. He says he’s always loved me—and I love him: desperately. We’re engaged and we’re going to be married. But no one can know while I’m still out here. No one.”

She looked at me steadily and shook her head slowly, a worried expression etched on her face, her eyes kind and concerned.

“Bloody hell! That’s quite a story.” She shook her head. “You and the beautiful Chief Hunter. I hope you know what you’re doing, Lee, I really do.”

She stood up and paced to the window, then turned to look at me.

“I’ll say one thing: if Shakespeare had known you, he wouldn’t have had to steal all his plot lines, because that’s one hell of a yarn. I hope you’re right about him, because the man you’re describing is not the one I’ve seen in action. Take tonight, for example, that French tart was all over him.”

“I know,” I said, with a small smile. “One of his Parisian conquests. I asked him to tell her to dress more appropriately; indirectly, it was his fault she was dressed like that. Of course, that was after Sebastian and I had sex in one of the hotel’s offices. Over a desk.”

She stared at me, then laughed out loud.

“You are extraordinary, Lee, you really are! I thought I knew you: I mean I knew you were tough, on the quiet, but you must have balls of iron—or tits like Exocet missiles. Fine, if that’s what you want: far be it for me to tell you you’re making a giant, Hoover dam-size mistake.”

She paused.

“Is he as good as they say?”

My jaw dropped and I gaped at her, far, far beyond embarrassed that she’d asked me that question.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she said with a wry smile.

I winked, but didn’t reply.

CHAPTER 14

The journey to Leatherneck was hell.

What would have been a six- or seven-hour journey back home, turned into 15 hours of baking sun, choking dust and gut-churning fear.

The fear was sporadic, triggered every time I saw turbaned men with
AK-47 rifles. I was traveling in a heavily armored car that looked more like a tank than anything else, and I was told it had been designed to withstand roadside bombs, but every time I saw the Afghan forces at checkpoints, a chill went through me. Green-on-blue attacks were escalating to the point where each International Security Assistance Force unit had appointed at least one soldier as a ‘guardian angel’ to act as a lookout—to keep an eye on our Afghan allies.

It had been both unnerving and arousing to see Sebastian armed with his M16 for the first time. He looked so damn hard and kick-ass. I wanted to go and run my teeth down his exposed neck, and then expose a lot more of his body. What the hell was happening to me? I couldn’t stop thinking about sex.

I blamed Sebastian.

The convoy I traveled in was well-armed, but I would be relieved to get off this exposed stretch of road, pockmarked with bomb craters, and with blackened carcasses of burnt-out cars strewn at the side.

It was comforting to know that somewhere in the back of the line of trucks and armored vehicles, Liz was traveling with British forces on their way to Bastion. We’d agreed to try and meet up but, as ever, nothing was guaranteed.

Our destination, 50 miles west of Kandahar, housed 28,000 British troops, several thousand Afghan National Army soldiers at Camp
Shorabak, and 20,000 US Marines. Altogether, the three sections must have covered nearly 4,000 acres. Leatherneck, by itself, was bigger than many small towns, supported by four gyms, a vast dining area that could serve 4,000 people at a time, three chapels and, best of all as far as many of the troops were concerned, calling centers where they could phone and email their families back home.

The housing arrangements were restrictive, so the two- or three-thousand female soldiers and contractors were kept segregated, not that there was much privacy for anyone, should a romance develop. A fact which didn’t go unnoticed by me. In any case, most of the female staff didn’t go outside the wire, unless they were needed on a special assignment to speak to Afghan women.

When we finally crawled into Leatherneck, I was allocated a bunk in a tiny room shared by Private First Class Mary Sullivan from Beckville, Texas, a small town, some 150 miles east of Dallas—or so she told me. She was 24 and duly impressed that I worked as a journalist. She was one of a team of 15 women who worked in the motor pool, repairing damaged vehicles—and she was truly envious when she learned that I’d be traveling into the countryside and beyond the wire fence.

She chattered away about her hometown as I unpacked, shrugging off the sadistic body armor, then she showed me the way to the female shower area. A hot shower: what bliss.

It was less blissful when she insisted on continuing to chat while I washed myself. Despite being surrounded by people 24/7, I got the impression she was lonely. And she called me ‘ma’am’, which made me feel old.

“Do you have a boyfriend, ma’am? I couldn’t help noticing you were wearing a ring on that chain around your neck.”

“Yes, I do. You?”

“Nah, and it’s not so easy to hook up with people here. I only enlisted because I thought I’d meet loads of cute guys, and get a free college education. So, what does your boyfriend do? Is he a reporter, too?”

“No, he’s not. I’ve got friends who are reporters—one of them is over at Bastion right now.”

“Uh-huh. Where’s your boyfriend at?”

She really was tenacious: maybe they taught that in the Marines. Either that or the forces attracted tenacious people.

“I don’t really like to talk about him, Mary. It just makes me sad that we’re not together.”

By this time I was drying myself off, and I could see her eyes widen with interest at my words.

“Oh, my God! You must really love him!”

So not going there.

“You know, I’m surprised, Mary: a nice girl like you—haven’t you seen anyone that you think is cute?”

She twisted her dog tags around her fingers, as she thought about my question.

“Yeah, there’s this one guy…”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Why? If you like him, go talk to him. I don’t know—offer to change his oil.”

She giggled.

“You think I should?”

I shrugged. “It’s up to you, but all I can tell you for sure is that life is short. And wouldn’t you rather know once and for all if he liked you or not? If he does, great; if he doesn’t, it’s his loss and you can stop worrying about him.”

After that bit of advice, which I was so much better at giving than taking, PFC Sullivan escorted me to the briefing room where I was due to meet Grant and the rest of his officers.

But the first person I saw was Sebastian, looking hot, dusty and pissed. Clearly he hadn’t had the luxury of time for a shower and a friendly chat about his love life.

His eyes lit up as he saw me and he started to smile. When he remembered we were trying to be discreet, he dropped his eyes back to the map he was studying.

Luckily, Captain Grant had been focused on the map spread out beneath his hands, so he hadn’t noticed Sebastian’s slip.

I caught the tail end of Grant’s monologue.

“If a guy sticks his head around the corner he could very easily have a gun. If you can’t see his hands, he could have something, a hand grenade, say. Pulling a trigger is easy—we need to bring him in. It’s not about that one person, it’s about the team. I’ll need you to go in first and…”

He became aware of my presence and ground to a halt, looking irritated.

“I can come back,” I offered, calmly.

“No, that’s fine, Ms. Venzi. We’re done here.”

He nodded to Sebastian, who saluted and left the Nissan hut-type room, throwing me a quick smile as he passed.

“We’ll be moving out in the morning, Ms. Venzi,” continued Captain Grant. “It’s going to get a lot less comfortable—and a lot more dangerous. We’ll be heading out to a remote location further north in Helmand. We’ll have BGAN satcomms, but I can’t guarantee you’ll always be able to get your stories out.”

“I understand, Captain.”

He sighed, and I suspected he’d been hoping I’d change my mind.

We ate our long-delayed evening meal with Lieutenant Crawley, the executive officer; four second lieutenants; and Sebastian. How very cozy.

Sebastian spent most of the meal staring at his food, or gazing into the distance. I could tell that he was irritating the hell out of Grant, who was burdened with the lion’s share of trying to make polite conversation with me, although Crawley made a good stab of asking me about my work. My poor fiancé was trying hard to ignore me: he wasn’t very good at it, and it just made me love him a little bit more.

I was well chaperoned, and I knew that there was absolutely zero chance of ‘hooking up’ as Sebastian had eloquently put it and, to tell the truth, I was so tired, I was almost on my knees.

The men stood up as I left our table in the dining area, Sebastian looking at me longingly.

“Sleep well, gentlemen,” I said, quietly.

As they sat down again, at least six of them relieved by my absence, I saw Sebastian glance over and smile again. I ran my finger along the chain around my neck and smiled back. It was enough.

Back at my bunk, PFC Sullivan was waiting for me, practically dancing on the spot with unrestrained energy. I felt every single one of my forty years as I eyed her exuberance wearily.

“I did it: I totally did it! I asked him out and he said ‘yes’!”

We swapped a high five, and she then proceeded to tell me all about Frank, a mechanic in the motor pool. Halfway through her description of his ‘fine ass’, I fell asleep. I had my own memories of a fine ass to dream about.

“Hey, Lee! Wake up!”

“Huh, what?”

Mary was shaking me awake, her little face puckered up with concern.

“Captain Grant is after your ass!”

My ass?

“What? Why?” I stared at my watch. I stared at it again, utterly horrified, and willing the hands to rewind at least an hour.

“I’m sorry,” whimpered Mary, “I thought you were awake; you
said
you were awake an hour ago. He’s really kinda mad at you.”

“Oh, crap!”

She giggled. “At least he can’t give you cleaning duty.”

“Want to bet?” I muttered, hastily pulling on my boots.

Mary helped me carry my gear out to the waiting vehicle, and a very sullen and irritated Captain Grant was waiting for me impatiently.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, “I overslept. It won’t happen again.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to reply. I didn’t blame him. He was responsible for 160 men, and one stupid woman reporter, who was fucking things up on day two of a one month embed. I’d be pissed, as well.

I pulled my body armor over my aching body, swept my hair into a rough ponytail, and slapped on my helmet.

Grant scowled, and did the one thing he could to show his displeasure: he seated me next to Sebastian. I climbed in creakily, annoyed at myself for being so unprofessional, but as soon as I saw Sebastian grinning in my direction, I realized that the gods were on my side for once, and I couldn’t help smiling to myself.

“Good morning, Ms. Venzi,” he purred. “I trust you slept well?”

“Too well, thank you, Chief Hunter,” I politely replied, and saw him smirk at my response.

He looked fresh and delicious; I probably looked like old ham next to him, but I didn’t care. Which was something of a revelation: it didn’t matter what I wore, or how much sleep I’d had or not had, he always looked at me as if his world began and ended with me. How could I not be affected by that? By the certainty of his love?

As we headed north into the dusty, barren landscape, bumping along a broken road, heading up into the foothills, the heat was already building and I was starting to sweat. We’d all be soaked and stinking by the time we stopped for the night—and I already knew that there wouldn’t be any showers.

I squinted into the harsh light, staring at the stark surroundings. Our road followed the side of a riverbed, and for a hundred yards in each direction, a strip of green vegetation broke up the bleakness of the lunar landscape.

Scattered in the scrubby fields, we saw several fortified farms with high walls, built from a mixture of mud and straw so they blended into the very dirt they were made from. Some were gathered into loose hamlets for company and protection, but most seemed to be abandoned. The only signs of life were a few skinny goats. If the owners were around, they were hiding from us.

I was still staring out of the window, when I felt Sebastian’s hand drifting up to rest casually on my thigh. I shifted my daypack slightly, so that his hand was hidden, and slowly lowered mine, allowing our fingers to entwine on my leg.

In the middle of that blighted country, bumping along a dirt road in 90-degree heat, I felt a moment of peace.

Our destination was the town of Now Zad; grim was too kind a word. It might have been prosperous once, with evidence of a market area, but now it looked like it had been blasted by the desert.

Broken shops hung open to the elements, shutters drooping loosely. Only one person seemed to exist in this ghost town—an elderly man selling a few potatoes and eggs from a rug outside an empty building. He waved as we went past and called out something to us. Maybe that was a hopeful sign.

I glanced at Sebastian.

“What did he say?”

I saw Grant’s head incline toward us, also waiting for the answer.

“Nothing I’d like to repeat, ma’am,” he said, running his thumb over the back of my hand.

I nudged my knee against his and held back a grin. Playing footsie with Sebastian and having Grant sitting in front of me, gave me an almost irrepressible urge to laugh. Among other things.

My light heartedness disappeared when I saw the place that was to be our home for the next month.

Our compound had been a police station at some point in its life, but used many times over by ISAF soldiers from both British and US forces. It was basic, to say the least. There was no fresh water, no electricity, and the men were to sleep in the old cells, up to a dozen per room. I was given a space the size of a closet: I could just about stretch out there—it certainly wouldn’t have done for anyone taller than me. I felt lucky to have a room to myself and that level of privacy. No one else did—not even Captain Grant.

I kept out of the Captain’s way while he was organizing the camp. Instead, I tapped out notes on my laptop and blew up my oh-so-comfortable mattress.

PFC Sullivan had given me enough material for my first article, and the dreary town of Now Zad would supply plenty more. Being stationed here was a very different prospect from the relative comfort and safety of Leatherneck. I couldn’t believe that our flimsy-looking mud walls would do much to protect us from an attack where rocket propelled grenades were used.