My breath caught in my throat.
Sebastian: the reason my marriage had ended; the catalyst for my becoming a journalist. The man I’d loved more than any man, before or since. The man I hadn’t seen for ten long years. My beautiful boy, my lover, my friend. The man I thought I’d never see again.
Sebastian.
Yes, it was definitely him. He was slightly taller, his shoulders were a little broader and his face a touch more angular, but otherwise he was unchanged. Except his eyes. Yes, they had changed, their sweetness hardened with the years.
Our affair, if you want to call it that, had begun when he was just 17 and I was already 30. As we were living in California at the time, it had been a criminal act. I’d fallen deeply, hopelessly, ridiculously in love. For his part, he’d been infatuated with an older woman, but his zest for life, his enthusiasm, support and belief in me, had opened my eyes to the dismal state of my marriage.
Our secret was discovered and dismembered in the most painful of ways. In a scene that still haunted my nightmares, I’d been forced to leave or face the cruel wrath of his parents. Even though Sebastian had been only months from his eighteenth birthday, my crime was a felony, and his parents had threatened to have me arrested if I ever contacted their son again. And, with the California’s statute of limitations being three years, I’d been forced to comply.
Since the day I’d walked out of my marriage ten years earlier, I hadn’t seen or heard of Sebastian.
I’d thought of him often, wondering what he’d made of his life, where he’d gone, what he’d become, wishing to believe he was fulfilled and happy. And now, here he was, standing in the same room as me again, dressed in the khaki Service Uniform of the US Marine Corps.
I slumped lower in my chair, glad that my face was partially concealed beneath my scarf. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid I might actually pass out.
Liz nudged me.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded silently. She threw me a puzzled look, but shrugged it off, leaving me to dwell on remembrances of things past.
The door opened again and Major Parsons returned. He waited for the lieutenant to finish his point, throwing an irritated glance at Sebastian, who slouched at the side of the room, a bored expression on his face.
“Thank you, Tom. We’ll take a short break now, ladies and gentleman, and meet back here at 1100 hours. Refreshments will be served in Les Nations lounge. And we’re very glad to have our colonial colleague Chief Hunter to join us. I’m sure his insight will be invaluable.”
I doubted I was the only one who heard the note of sarcasm.
The other journalists stood up to go, following our military escort out of the room, but I was incapable of standing, afraid that my legs would give way.
“Ah, the infamous Chief Hunter,” said Liz, in a stage whisper. “Well, he certainly looks the part. Quite the lady-killer, I hear.”
“Excuse me?” I said, faintly.
“The American… he has something of a reputation. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”
“Why would I?” I managed to choke out. “Heard what?”
She gave a conspiratorial chuckle and leaned towards me. If there’s one thing journalists the world over have in common, they do love to gossip.
“Oh, I came across our Chief Hunter in Paris two years ago, although he was a humble sergeant then. Well, not that humble, you understand! Yes, a rather notorious lothario: it was something of an amour célèbre. They say he was tupping the wife of his CO, although nothing was made public, and it was all hushed up.”