No More Lonely Nights (3 page)

“Have your children been to Egypt yet?” Dominique asked. She didn’t want to come right out and ask about his wife. Not a second time.

“Last year. They were fascinated, but quite put out that I couldn’t spend more time with them. Unfortunately, our governments were in the midst of negotiating the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty.” Egypt had been a British protectorate since the turn of the century, but the treaty provided for the gradual evacuation of British troops from the country. Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser wanted the evacuation to be immediate rather than gradual; the British wanted a longer transition. However, both sides had agreed that the British would be granted permission to use their Ismailia base on the Suez Canal in times of war.

“Not
our
governments. I hold a French passport,” Dominique reminded him.

“Yes, of course.” Hampton looked back down at the last page of her file. “You’ve a strong French accent, but it appears that your English is quite perfect.”

Dominique’s eyes met his steadily. “I hope the accent is not a problem?”

Hampton looked disconcerted. “Certainly not! Charming, in fact,” he said hastily.

She tilted her chin up and nodded approvingly, as though she couldn’t possibly have conceived of a different answer. British and American men often commented on the allure of her accent, and she had dated her fair share of both nationalities.

Hampton cleared his throat and pointed at the papers in front of him. “I see your home is in Garden City. Lovely place. Why do you want to work here?”

Dominique dimpled mischievously, her irrepressible frankness rising to the surface even in a job interview. “To escape my mother!”

Hampton laughed at the unexpectedly honest answer, and Dominique laughed with him. He was handsome when he relaxed, she noted. And he seemed nice, despite the constraint of his demeanor. She liked him, she decided.

Hampton leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his desk. For the first time, he concentrated his gaze on Dominique. “How does your mother feel about your working here?”

She met his eyes with a defiant expression. “She is not particularly pleased.”

Hampton raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need any trouble with the European community. The British already had their hands full with Egyptian unrest.

Dominique sensed his misgivings, but offered no further explanation. She knew she was well qualified for the job and was certain he would give her a chance. And, if he didn’t, it wasn’t a serious matter. She could always go back home, dreary though the prospect was.

Hampton looked back down at her application and studied it for a moment. “Avallon… Avallon…” he murmured. Then his head snapped up, a light of recognition in his eyes. “Avallon—as in Avallon Cotton?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. I thought you knew.” Dominique was a little surprised. Her surname was usually recognized at once by Europeans in Egypt.

Hampton, as flustered as his British self-possession would allow, automatically stood in a gesture of respect. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t at once recognize…”

Dominique remained seated. She looked up at him, amused. “It doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with my qualifications for the job.”

“Quite”—Hampton faltered, as though thrown off balance by her carefree attitude—“but surely you understand that it may be a bit awkward to have you as a subordinate.”

Dominique’s eyes danced. “And surely there are members of the British aristocracy who work under you.”

Hampton smiled with her, then nodded in acknowledgment and sat down again. “You’re an able debater, Miss Avallon, and you make a good point. On the other hand,
you
are a civilian, not a junior officer. I’m not sure it would work—” He cut himself short as he gave Dominique a speculative look.

Her smile disappeared and her expression became earnest. “I’d like the job and… I think I can help.” Her eyes went to the pile of papers in Hampton’s “in” box.

Hampton grimaced at the overflowing stack. With a sigh, he turned back to Dominique. He looked thoughtfully at her, then once more at the piles on his desk. “Well… you’re certainly capable of dealing with the backlog here. And there’s no real reason not to at least try…” He clapped his hands palm down on the desk in a decisive gesture. “Let’s give it a go, shall we?”

Dominique removed her white gloves and put them in her pocket-book. She removed her navy blue and white straw hat and looked questioningly at Hampton. “Where should I begin?”

The group captain looked at her with a startled expression. “Now? Don’t you need to get settled or… fill out some forms?…”

Dominique laughed merrily. His confusion was endearing. “Please! I’ve spent all morning filling out forms. Besides”—she gestured at his desk—“you have enough work to last me at least a few minutes.”

Hampton chuckled, then cut short the sound by clearing his throat. “Your desk is just outside. I believe you’ll find supplies in it.” He was all business now. He paused. “By the way, do you take dictation?”

“Not shorthand, but I can type as fast as you can speak.”

“Hmmm… perhaps we can use that table for the typewriter.” He gestured at a small table against the wall with an empty vase on it. “We’ll put you in here for the morning. I’m sure you can understand that I don’t fancy pacing up and down in the hall outside as I dictate to you. There’s not much privacy there, I’m afraid.” Secretaries along the corridor sat in built-in alcoves directly outside their superiors’ offices. The alcoves, while providing some sound insulation, had no doors, so anyone in the hall could see into them.

“Of course,” Dominique said in a tone as crisp as his. “I’ll get the chair.” She put down her hat and purse and stood.

Hampton sprang to his feet. “Here, let me help you.”

Dominique picked up the ringing telephone on her desk. “Group Captain Hampton’s office.”

“Bonjour, c’est moi,”
Paulette was whispering—she had a job in the typing pool, and her conversations could be overheard—but her excitement came through anyhow.

“Hello!” Dominique replied in French. “Ready to go to lunch?”

“Sure. But it’ll just be me. Jean has another date with her captain.”

“Good for her!” Dominique laughed.

“Anyhow, I’m not calling about lunch. I’ve found a wonderful way to celebrate the end of your first week working for the Royal Air Force.”

“What’s that?”

“How about a date for dinner and dancing tomorrow night at the French officers’ club?” Paulette giggled. The French officers’ club, which was in Ismailia, was far more popular than the British officers’ club, which was on the base, twenty minutes from town.

Dominique’s eyes sparkled at the prospect. It would be the first date of her life that didn’t have an eleven o’clock curfew. “Who are they?”

“Two very handsome British lieutenants.” Paulette sighed. “I’m not sure which one I like best.”

“They’re not married?” Men far from home frequently lied about that, Dominique had discovered.

“They’re only twenty-four and they’re not wearing rings. But, of course, I didn’t ask them!”

“Why not?”

“Dominique! Come on. It’s just dinner and dancing. Anyhow, who cares? There aren’t many British wives on the base, you know.”

“So what?” Dominique shot back. “That doesn’t mean the husbands should cheat.”

“You’re such a prude! Everyone here dates whomever they want and you’re the only one I’ve
ever
heard object to it.”

Dominique knew this was true. For as long as there had been European military in Egypt, there had been local liaisons. Those in charge cast a blind eye on the behavior of men far from home.

As though Paulette could read Dominique’s thoughts, she said, “You know, their situation here is tense. President Nasser is on the radio every day telling the Arabs to rise up and murder the foreign imperialists. They’re being forced to give up everything they’ve worked for here over the past century. There are constant run-ins with the Egyptian police. Who can blame them for trying to find someone to make their time here a little easier? And a lot of it is innocent. They just want to look across the dinner table and see a pretty face. What’s wrong with that?”

Dominique tried to see it from her friend’s point of view. It was true that the base was cloaked in an air of taut expectancy. Tension crackled in the dispatches Dominique’s boss received from the Home Office. Egypt’s President Nasser alarmed London. He was trying to extend his power in the Middle East beyond his own country. He was meddling in the affairs of Jordan and the Sudan, areas traditionally in the British domain. Although the British had agreed the previous year to phase out their military presence in the Suez Canal, it was an agreement that left the British military uneasy. They were trying to maintain a fine balance between cooperation and capitulation, and the strain was apparent in the hostility of the Egyptians, the self-righteousness of the British.

“I understand about the stress as well as anyone,” Dominique said softly, “but that has nothing to do with what’s right for me. I don’t want anyone else’s husband.”

“Well, then, I’ll give you my friend’s phone number and you can ask for his life story,” Paulette retorted. “I’m not going to,” she said with finality.

Dominique couldn’t help but laugh at the conviction in Paulette’s tone.

Paulette seemed to sense her weakening. “Come on, Dominique. Please! They’re absolutely dreamy. And I’m almost positive they’re not married.”

Dominique was tempted. They were young, she reasoned, so they probably weren’t married. And it
was
only dinner. “Well…” Dominique drew out her answer to tease Paulette. “… All right.” Dominique smiled. In reality, she looked forward to the evening. Her first date as a free woman!

“Wonderful! They said they’d pick us up at the apartment at seven-thirty.”

“You already told them they could? Without asking me?” Dominique’s stern voice belied the happy little flutter inside her. “They’ll think you’re desperate.”

“No. They’re the ones who are desperate. Do you know how many men there are on this base for every woman?”

“No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me. Only save it for lunch. I have to go.”

The sound of violins floated on the night air as Dominique and her three companions emerged from their car in front of the French officers’ club. Dominique’s step quickened with pleasurable anticipation as she took the arm of Lieutenant Edward Wentworth-James. She was pleased with her blind date. In his uniform, he looked like an idealized version of a British officer: tall, blond, and blue-eyed. Paulette’s date, Harry Spencer, could have been Wentworth-James’ brother, so closely did they resemble each other; only Harry’s hair was light brown rather than blond and he was slightly taller than his friend.

Wentworth-James smiled down at Dominique and led her through the marble-pillared lobby into a courtyard. As they waited at the entrance for the maitre d’, Dominique gazed in appreciation around the lush garden. The whole place twinkled. Votives flickered on each white-clothed table, scattering stars of light on the fine crystal and china. Date palms rustled in the breeze and cast dancing shadows on the painted tiles below. Dominique turned her head as a table of revelers nearest the entrance burst into laughter. They all looked so glamorous. The men in their uniforms, the women in their wide, rustling gowns of taffeta, tulle, and lace. Dominique felt giddy with the loveliness of the evening.

As Dominique and Paulette preceded their escorts through the courtyard, heads turned, for they made a striking pair. Paulette was a gamine brunette with twinkling blue eyes and a wide, resplendent smile. That was her face. Her figure was that of a ballerina, with a swanlike neck and long, slender limbs to match. She wasn’t curvaceous, but her strapless blue gown with its wide petticoats made the most of what she had. Dominique wore pure white, setting off her golden skin and hair to advantage. Her gown was a Grecian-style one-shouldered chiffon that flowed behind her with every step. Her only jewelry, a coiled diamond snake with emerald eyes and a ruby tongue, which she wore on her upper arm.

Dominique tried to retain a look of practiced composure as they were led to a table near the edge of the parquet dance floor, but she had to restrain herself from humming along with the sixteen-piece orchestra playing “Stardust”. Since her debut at age eighteen, Dominique had been permitted to date, but there had always been Solange in the background, measuring each prospect as a potential husband, stationing Nanny by the door to ensure that the curfew was honored, insisting on the presence of at least one other couple so that her daughter should never be alone with her date. Now, for the first time, Dominique felt like a sophisticated woman instead of a sheltered girl. Grown up… finally!

As the foursome arrived at their table and were seated, Dominique gave Paulette a subtle nod of approval.

“Well, it was jolly of you ladies to join us,” said Dominique’s date, as he unfolded the white damask napkin and placed it on his lap. “Shall we order champagne to mark the occasion?” Edward asked with a wide smile.

The women agreed, and soon the group was conversing easily. When the champagne arrived, they clinked their glasses together in a toast to new friends, then set about studying their menus.

“I say, Dominique.” Paulette’s date, Harry, closed his menu and laid it on the table. “I understand you’re secretary to Group Captain Hampton.”

“Yes, I’ve been working for him for a week,” Dominique replied, enthusiasm apparent in her tone.

Edward looked up from his menu with interest. “He’s top flight. A hero in the war, you know. A fighter pilot,” he said with admiration. “He set the record for downed Luftwaffe. Then went to the Pacific theater. I don’t think the kamikaze had anything on him! That’s why he’s already a group captain—and only thirty-three years old!”

So he’s even younger than he looks, Dominique mused.

“Nothing of the braggart about him, though, for all his decorations,” Harry remarked.

“Too bad they’ve moved him from flying to policy,” Edward said. “But I suppose he’s needed for that, given the situation.” His face turned grim.