The British was an old-fashioned sort of language school. It had that very end of Empire feel. The doors were painted blue and red, and there were framed posters of a Union Jack, maps of the London underground and photos of the Beatles in the classrooms. There was a life size poster of a Guardsman staring at you as you walked in through the door. To Dee, who considered herself an old hand at the school, it seemed, as she stood in the officer’s mess of the Frigate Scirocco, the British had found its own living version of the guardsman.
In contrast to the Italian naval officers, Lawrence Drummond was a strapping fellow; he was a fair haired, broad shouldered chap in his late thirties.
“What do you think?” said Fiona.
“Well,” said Dee, “he certainly cuts a dash next to this little lot.”
“He told me earlier he owns a castle.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere in the Highlands. It’s a ruin.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I doubt it. But I reckon it’ll be fun finding out, don’t you.”
“Ladies,” said Lawrence, returning with their drinks, “just been chatting to the captain.”
“Oh, what he did have to say for himself?”
“I found out he was in the Gulf.”
“In the Gulf?”
“Yes,
“Were you in the Gulf, Lawrence?” said Dee.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I was.”
“Fought with the Kurds,” he said. “Such a splendid lot. Incredibly brave.”
“Incredibly brave,” said Dee. “Don’t tell me you were incredibly brave, too?”
Lawrence threw back his head and laughed aloud.
They said goodbye to the Captain and his officers and Lawrence escorted them, like the dashing Arabian knight he claimed to be, off the ship.
“Is that yours, Lawrence?” said Fiona as she tottered towards the car park.
“Actually, it is…I drove it over from Angleterre.”
“I’ve never been in a jag,” said Fiona. “Come on, Dee. What’s keeping you?”
She turned round to find Dee tugging at one of her heels. “I can’t be bothered with these pumps anymore,” she said.
When she saw the Jaguar, she said:
“Crickey, Lawrence, will you let me drive?”
Lawrence laughed.
“Actually,” he said, “it’s not really worth a bean. I’ve had it about sixteen years. Would you care to hop in?”
Here began a series of episodes that seemed to be inaugurated by Lawrence sweeping them off in his white jag to an amusing world of his own conjuring. They drove down the coast and found a beach bar. Lawrence decided he wanted a swim. He stripped off his clothes and waded out in his boxer shorts. They drove back into town and sat in one of the up all night bars on the seafront singing songs Lawrence said his father sang to him on cold, windy nights beside a blazing fire. Around five o’clock in the morning he took them for champagne breakfast in the Hotel Orient. Lawrence became etched on Dee’s mind, like some preposterous figure of fun, swaying with his cigars and his shots of whisky or grappa in a pair of boxer shorts until the delicious moment when they met the Yorkshire choreographer in the Bohemien who professed to be on a grand tour of the “Bel Paese” in his boyfriend’s yacht. “Why don’t you come with us, darlings? I am sure we can all squeeze in?” If, as it seemed, they would sail down the coast to the tune of some magic nocturne, finally, they returned, like two punch-drunk sailors, to Dee’s flat where Lawrence threw off his clothes, shook briefly and finally collapsed on top of her. “What’s that?”
Dee felt something cold and metallic on her chest.
“Oh, that,” he said. “It is my medallion.” You want me to take it off.
“Where did you get it?”
“One of my chaps gave it to me.”
“One of your chaps? You do make laugh.”
Lawrence sighed breathlessly.
“You don’t believe me, do you, Dee? I can’t help it, though. I find it easy to confide in you.”
“Is that what you’re doing, confiding in me? – Well, when do you plan to spill all the beans?”
“Of course not. If I was to tell you everything, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“How about the truth?”
Lawrence was silent for a while.
“Dee, can I let you into a secret?”
“What?”
“I’ve hocked the jag. Sold it to a student, Avocado Cassa.”
“You mean, Avvocato Cassa.”
“That’s the one, Avocado Cassa.”
“Why did you do that?”
Lawrence sighed.
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say there are people after me.”
Dee laughed. “What? The CIA? The KGB? Mossad?”
“I’m serious,” he said.
“Well,” she said, “let’s pretend we are both serious, shall we.”
She pulled him to her and they started to make love again.
Dee had been teaching out at an engineering company in the industrial estate, so she did not have cause to go into the school until much later.
Fiona was in the staff room.
“You’ve missed all the fun.”
“What’s happened?”
“The petty cash box has been stolen.”
“You’re joking.”
“Teresa was in tears. She thought it was all her fault, when she came in the morning and found the box open in Leo’s office.
“Leo and Virginia are very upset. There’s going to be a meeting tomorrow.”
“Oh, no… how much money was in it?”
“Virginia didn’t say… She’s convinced it’s Lawrence.”
Dee looked shocked.
“Where is Lawrence?”
“No one knows.”
“You’re joking,” said Dee slowly.
“I am not,” said Fiona. “He was supposed to come at three to do a Shenker lesson. Only he didn’t.”
“He didn’t. He said he would.”
Fiona looked at Dee and said:
“Oh, Dee, you didn’t.”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Why should I be? – Share and share alike remember.”
Dee laughed.
“Well, in that case, it’s alright then, isn’t it?”
Dee went over to make herself a cup of tea.
She sat down and turned to Fiona:
“Well, do you reckon it was him, then?”
The incident of the petty cash box was glossed over. The money was never recovered. But no one wanted to blame Teresa. They never saw Lawrence again. If he had done a runner with the money, Dee did not feel very inclined to judge him.
A few days later, Dee was cleaning up in her flat when she found his medallion on the floor under the bed. She put it away in a drawer and forgot all about it until the day she was moving out of the flat and came across it again.
Dee burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” said Guy, who was helping her move boxes.
She told him about Lawrence and showed him the medallion.
“Have you seen anything like it?”
“Well,” he said, “it must be kismet.”
“What’s kismet?
“Your destiny, or fate.”
For a second she thought about Lawrence, and felt a little pang at the memory of his extravagant lies.
She was going to put it in the bin when Guy said:
“Don’t you want it anymore?” “No, you keep it.”