I sighed and smiled at her. “Maybe my Dari pronunciation is lacking.”
I’d been more than a little impressed to find that at some point over the last ten years, Sebastian had become fluent in Dari, a dialect of Afghan Persian, as well as Pashto and Arabic.
He was teaching us how to introduce ourselves and give our name, job title and nationality in the languages we’d need, as well as a useful passage from the Koran for emergencies.
I remembered how quickly his Italian had improved when we’d first started dating. Ugh, ‘dating’: that seemed such a deeply inadequate word for our tumultuous and passionate affair.
“Perhaps Ms. Venzi can answer that question.”
Sebastian’s voice cut through my bedraggled thoughts.
“Excuse me? Um, what was the question?” I stammered.
He didn’t even bother to answer, but looked away, an expression of disdain on his face.
“Oh, dear! He’ll have you staying behind after class,” chuckled Liz.
Then he told us that a typical answer to a question an Afghan couldn’t answer would be for them to say, ‘because the sea is green and the sky is blue’.
“Tell them that and they’ll think you’re clever,” he said, gazing condescendingly at me.
I felt flustered and annoyed: no matter what had happened ten years ago, there was no need for him to be so unpleasant. I decided I’d have it out with him at the first opportunity.
Sebastian’s habit was to be the first out of the door as soon as a break was announced, dodging ancillary questions from any of the other journalists: either that or to dodge me. After the morning coffee break, I’d taken a seat near the exit so he wouldn’t be able to continue avoiding me as we all left for lunch. And I made sure I paid attention during the rest of the language section so he’d have no reason to pick on me again.
Sure enough, as soon as Major Parsons called a break, Sebastian headed for the door.
“May I have a word, please, Chief Hunter?” I said, as he shot past me.
He almost skidded to a halt, but before he turned to look at me, an expression that I couldn’t catch flitted across his face.
“I’m rather busy, Ms. Venzi,” he snapped.
“Too busy to say ‘hello’?” I shot back.
He stared at me for a long second.
“Yes, I’m too busy for that,” he replied, then stormed out of the door.
Well, fuck you, too!
Unfortunately, I could see that our little tête-a-tête had been far from inconspicuous.
“Bloody hell, Venzi! What did you do to the poor bastard? He looks as pleased to see you as a fart in a teacup.”
I shook my head in frustration.
“I have no clue,” I lied.
“He is a rude man,” concluded Marc. “He is certainly no gentleman.”
I had to agree, but the thought saddened me. Ten years ago, Sebastian had been the gentlest of souls. I couldn’t help thinking back to his many acts of kindness towards me. Well, that had been a long time ago: it was obvious that he detested me now.
I decided that I’d done as much as I could: if he didn’t want to talk to me that was his prerogative. I wouldn’t push it. Besides, this wretched training would be over soon, and I hoped to be on my way to Leatherneck within the next two or three days. I’d contacted my editor, and he’d promised to make some calls on my behalf to get things moving.
It seemed my last chance to talk to Sebastian had gone already, because he didn’t return after lunch for the end of the training. No comment was made about his absence, but I got the feeling that the British officers were relieved he’d disappeared.
“So, I hope you found the last two days useful, Ms. Venzi,” said Major Parsons, as I was packing up my bag.
“Most informative,” I said, blandly.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Did you actually learn anything new?”
“I have doubled my vocabulary in Dari and Pashto,” I replied.
He looked puzzled.
“I didn’t know you had spoken any before?” he said.
“I hadn’t.”