No words had been spoken; there was nothing that needed to be said.
For the rest of that night, we slept, woke briefly, made love and slept again, until dawn turned the sky gold and purple, with flames of orange reflected in the sea. We had spoken quietly, describing our love, and expressing our need for each other with our bodies.
We slept late, and Sebastian insisted on ordering a decadent breakfast of a dozen fresh fruits, a range of olive breads and light pastries, freshly squeezed orange juice with Sorrento lemons, and a large pot of coffee.
We sat on the balcony in our bathrobes to enjoy the feast, but our carefree happiness had slipped away with the night. Today we had to return to Geneva. And this time tomorrow, Sebastian would be headed out to one of the most dangerous countries on earth. I would follow when I could.
I sighed, staring out at the sea, and Sebastian held my hand, lifting it to his lips at intervals.
“As much as I hate to say it, tesoro, but I think we should get going. We’ve got a hell of a long drive ahead of us, or rather you have, and you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He smiled at the memory. “Yeah, but it was worth it. Anyway, don’t worry, Caro, we’re not taking the bike; we’re flying back from Naples. Our flight is at 4 pm; we’ve plenty of time.”
“Flying? But what about your bike?”
“Sold it, baby. I can’t take it with me, and they won’t send me back to Geneva after this tour.”
I was astonished. “When did you organize all this?”
“When we were in Salerno; I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t: it’s your bike, but I wish you’d told me – it would have been one less thing to worry about.”
He smiled at me. “Sorry, baby. I guess I’m just used to doing stuff on my own.”
I frowned. “Yes. Me, too. I suppose we’ll just have to practice the whole sharing and communicating thing. I’ll write to you every day, tesoro.”
“Really?” he said, looking both pleased and surprised. “That would be cool. I never get mail. Well, Shirley always sends me a birthday card, but that’s about it. Ches is shit at staying in touch. So am I.”
“Well, I will expect an effort from you, Sebastian. Will you be able to email me?”
He pulled a face. “Maybe, I’m not sure. For a few days, but then… I’ll be out of range. Caro, don’t worry if you don’t hear from me regularly.” He paused, watching my expression. “The places they send me, I can be away from the main Base for days, sometimes weeks, in shithole little villages, trying to persuade the locals to work with us. Nonmilitary comms is limited. Your letters will catch up with me – eventually, but emails – probably not that often.”
“I understand,” I said, a chill creeping across my heart. “But in an emergency, what’s the procedure for contacting you?”
I could see he was toying with an answer.
“I’ll give you a number you can call but only in a real, fucking emergency, Caro: I’m not supposed to give it out.”
“Okay,” I said softly, then steeled my nerve to ask my next question. “If… if anything happens that I need to know about, how will anyone know to contact me?”
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Same as you, Caro. We have to do a call-list – the Emergency Contact Form – of who to contact. I’ve been wondering how, I mean, I can’t put you down as ‘Lee Venzi’ or even ‘Caro Venzi’ because they’ll recognize the name, they’ll start in asking questions, and you could be in deep shit.”
“What about Carolina Hunter?” I suggested, looking across at him. “They’ll just assume I’m a cousin or something; in fact, why don’t you do that? Put me down as a relative.”
I could tell by the look on his face that he’d been hoping I’d make that suggestion.
He smiled. “Yeah, that would work.”