Battle Cry - Leon Uris [168]
She lifted her glass to his. “To that hardhearted brute with a heart of pure gold,” she toasted.
“Here’s to the next man that—here’s a go.” They clinked glasses. Huxley lit a cigarette. “I suppose,” he said softly, “they hate me sometimes, Pat. Sometimes I hate myself.”
“It isn’t too hard when they can see their skipper at the head of the column. I know what you are striving for and it is right. They must be fit or they’ll die.”
Huxley blew a stream of smoke. “I’m sorry to get so intimate. I find myself babbling like a schoolboy. I certainly don’t know why. I’ve hardly met you, and yet I feel perfectly at ease. I generally don’t make a habit of this type of thing, Pat.”
“I understand,” she said. “Even a colonel has to get things off his chest once in a while. I suppose you get very homesick, don’t you? Poor dear. It must be wretched not to be able to sit about as the men do and weep your woes. Keeping up a big front and all that.” She spoke as though he were a small lost boy. He opened his wallet and handed it to her. She studied the picture of Jean Huxley.
“She has a wonderful face,” Pat said. “I know how you must miss her.”
“You are a wise and clever girl, Pat. Do you mind if I say something?”
“Please do.”
“Don’t be offended. It’s strange, but when I walked into this room I singled you out immediately, almost as if I had no choice. I wanted very much to be able to dance with you. It has been a long time since I’ve spoken to someone as I have tonight to you and I am grateful. In many ways, you remind me of my wife.”
She smiled warmly at the lonesome man. “It was very nice of you to say that, Colonel Huxley.”
He took her hand between his and squeezed it gently. “I sincerely hope you solve your problem, Pat.”
“Thank you very much,” she whispered.
Huxley looked about the room and winked. “I’d better take you back to your table. The last time I tangled with a Swede I came out a sad second best.”
The alarm went off. Andy lifted himself from the bed, turned on the lamp and dressed. He went to the bathroom and doused his face with cold water and combed his hair and squared away his uniform. He entered the living room. Pat was up and waiting for him. He kissed her.
“Everything is set for Easter. Three days at the farm. I can hardly wait, Pat. I’ll see you Wednesday, honey.”
“Andy,” she said dryly.
“What, honey?”
She paced nervously before him, then took a cigarette from the box on the coffee table. He lit it for her. “Sit down a minute. I’d like to speak to you.”
“I’ll miss the last train.”
“I set the clock up a half hour.” She turned away and puffed quickly on her cigarette, sending a cloud of smoke over the room. She spun and faced him and drew a deep breath. The small lines in her forehead were wrinkled in thought. She tugged at the hair on her shoulder in a nervous gesture. “We aren’t going to the farm.”
“Why? You got to work or something? Won’t they give you time off?”
“You don’t understand. I’m calling it off between us.”
He looked puzzled. “Come again. I don’t think I understand you.”
“It is over,” she said in short measured breaths.
Andy was thunderstruck. He arose. His face was pale and his eyes bore a dazed expression. “What the hell you talking about?”
“I don’t want a scene, Andy, please.”
“Pat, are you nuts? What have I done?”
After the initial shock she caught her bearings. The pounding inside her slowed. “I know what you must think of me. I can’t help that. It’s too late. But I’m just not cut out for this sort of thing. I was horribly mistaken to think I could live like this. Whatever you think, you are right…it doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t, now.”
The big Swede put his hand on his forehead and tried to clear his brain. “I don’t think nothing like that,” he stammered. He lifted his face. His eyes were hurt. “I can’t think nothing like that about you. I’m crazy about you….”
“Please, Andy,” she whispered, “I’m not asking for a showdown. I’m not trying to force anything from you.”
“Chrisake,” he cried. “You think I can stay in this country and know you’re here and