The President's Daughter (2 page)

She was silent for a moment. “I was searching for my husband.”

Cazalet was aware of an unbelievably hollow feeling. He swallowed. “Your husband?”

“Yes. Captain Jean de Brissac of the French Foreign Legion. He was in the Katum area with a United Nations fact-finding mission three months ago. There were twenty of them.”

What a strange sensation. Sorrow, sympathy. . . was that almost relief? “I remember hearing that,” he said slowly. “Weren’t they all . . . ?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Caught in an attack. The Vietcong used hand grenades. The bodies were not recognizable, but I found my husband’s bloodstained field jacket, and his papers. There’s no doubt.”

“So why are you here?”

“A pilgrimage, if you like. And I had to be sure.”

“I’m surprised they let you come.”

She gave a small smile. “Oh, my family has a great deal of political influence. My husband was Comte de Brissac, a very old military family. Lots of connections in Washington. Lots of connections everywhere.”

“So you’re a countess?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He smiled. “Well, I don’t mind if you don’t.”

She was about to say something when they heard voices nearby, shouting to each other, and Cazalet called out in Vietnamese.

She was alarmed. “Why did you do that?”

“They’re beating through the reeds. I told them there was no sign of us over here.”

“Very clever.”

“Don’t thank me, thank my dad for a year at the Embassy in Saigon.”

“There, too?” she said, smiling despite herself.

“Yes, there, too.”

She shook her head. “You are a most unusual man, Lieutenant Cazalet.” She paused. “I suppose, if we get
out of this, that I owe you something. Would you have dinner with me?”

Jake grinned. “Countess, it would be my pleasure.”

There was the distant thud of rotors rapidly approaching and several Huey Cobra gunships came in, line astern. Cazalet took two recognition flares from his pocket, a red and a green, and fired them up into the sky. The sound of the Vietcong voices faded as they retreated and Cazalet took her hand.

“The cavalry arriving in the nick of time, just like the movies. You’ll be okay now.”

Her hand tightened in his as they waded out into the paddy field and one of the gunships landed.

The Excelsior was French Colonial from the old days and the restaurant on the first floor was a delight, a haven from the war, white tablecloths, linen napkins, silverware, candles on the tables. Cazalet had waited in the bar, a striking figure in his tropical uniform, the medal ribbons a brave splash of color. He was excited in a way he hadn’t been for years. There had been women in his life, but never anyone who had moved him enough to contemplate a serious relationship.

When she entered the bar, his heart turned over. She wore a very simple beaded white shift, her hair tied back with a velvet bow, not much makeup, a couple of gold bracelets, a diamond ring next to her wedding ring. Everything was elegance and understatement, and the Vietnamese head waiter descended on her at once, speaking fluent French.

“A great pleasure, Countess.” He kissed her hand. “Lieutenant Cazalet is waiting at the bar. Would you care to sit down straight away?”

She smiled and waved to Jake, who approached. “Oh,
yes, I think so. We’ll have a bottle of Dom Perignon. A celebration.”

“May I ask the occasion, Countess?”

“Yes, Pierre, we’re celebrating being alive.”

He laughed and led the way to the corner table on the outside veranda, seated them, and smiled. “The champagne will be here directly.”

“Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked Cazalet.

“Only if I can have one as well.”

As he leaned across to give her a light, he said, “You look wonderful.”

She stopped smiling, very serious, then smiled again. “And you look very handsome. Tell me about yourself. You are a regular soldier?”

“No, a volunteer on a two-year hitch.”

“You mean, you chose to come here? But why?”

“Shame, I think. I avoided the draft because I was at college. Then I went to law school at Harvard. I was working on a doctorate.” He shrugged. “Certain things happened, so I decided to enlist.”

The champagne arrived, and menus. She sat back. “What were these things?”

So he told her everything, exactly what had happened in the cafeteria and its consequences. “So here I am.”

“And the boy who lost an arm?”

“Teddy Grant? He’s fine. Working his way through law school. I saw him when I went home on leave. In fact, he works for my father now during his vacation. He’s bright, Teddy, very bright.”

“And your father is some sort of diplomat?”

“In a way. A brilliant lawyer who used to work for the State Department. He’s a Senator now.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And what did he think of your enlisting?”

“Took it on the chin. Told me to come back in one piece and start again. When I was last on leave, he was campaigning. To be honest, it rather suited him to have a son in uniform.”

“And a hero?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but your medals do. But we’re forgetting the champagne.” She picked up her glass. “What shall we drink to?”

“Like you said, to being alive.”

“To life, then.”

“And the pursuit of happiness.”

They clinked glasses. “When do you go back?” he asked.

“To Paris?” She shook her head. “I’m in no hurry now. I don’t really know what I’m going to do next.”

“Now that you’ve laid the ghosts?”

“Something like that. Come on,” she said, “let’s order.”

Jake Cazalet was deliriously happy, and afterwards couldn’t even remember what he had for dinner except that some sort of steak featured in there. A small band started to play, and they moved inside and danced. She was so light in his arms, he was always to remember that, and the smell of her perfume.

And how they talked. He could never recall having such a conversation with anyone in his life. She wanted to know everything. They had a second bottle of champagne, and ice cream and coffee.

He gave her a cigarette and sat back. “We shouldn’t be here. We should be up there in the mud.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Like Jean?”

“I’m sorry.” He was instantly contrite and reached for her hand.

She smiled. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I told you I was through with ghosts, and then. . . . Listen, I’d like to do a ride ’round in one of those horse-drawn carriages. Will you take me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said and pushed his chair back.

The streets of Saigon were as noisy as usual and crowded with cars, scooters and cyclists, people everywhere, girls propping up the wall outside the bars, looking for custom.

“I wonder what they’ll all do when we go?” Cazalet asked.

“They managed after we left, the French,” she said. “Life always goes on in one way or another.”

“You should remember that,” he said and took her hand.

She didn’t resist, simply returned the pressure and peered out. “I love cities, all cities, and particularly at night. Paris, by night, for example, and the feeling of excitement, that anything might happen just up there around the next corner.”

“And usually doesn’t.”

“You are not a true romantic.”

“Teach me, then.” She turned her face toward him in the shadows and he kissed her very gently, an arm sliding around her shoulder.

“Oh, Jake Cazalet, what a lovely man you are,” she said and laid her head against his shoulder.

At the Excelsior, she got the key to her suite from reception, handed it to him without a word, and went up the broad carpeted stairway. She paused at the door of the suite, waiting, and Cazalet unlocked the door and opened it. He stood to one side, then followed her in.

She crossed to the open French window and stood on the terrace looking down at the crowded street. Cazalet slipped his arms around her waist.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “As we were saying, life is for living. Give me a few moments, then come in.”

Afterwards, Cazalet lay propped up against pillows, smoking. It had been the most wonderful experience of his entire life, and now she slept quietly beside him. He checked his watch and sighed. Four o’clock and he was due at base for a briefing at eight.

He eased out of bed gently and started to dress. A muffled voice said, “You’re leaving, Jake?”

“Sure, I’m on duty. Important briefing. Can we meet for lunch?”

“That would be wonderful.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you later, my love,” he said and went out.

The briefing was at general staff level and couldn’t be avoided. His colonel, Arch Prosser, caught him over coffee and said, “General Arlington wants words. You’ve been covering yourself with glory again.”

The general, a small energetic man with white hair, took his hand. “Damn proud of you, Lieutenant Cazalet, and your regiment is proud of you. What you did out there was sterling stuff. You’ll be interested to know that others share my view. It seems I’ve been authorized to promote you to captain.” He raised a hand. “Yes, I know you’re young for the rank, but never mind that. I’ve also put you in for the Distinguished Service Cross.”

“I’m overwhelmed, sir.”

“Don’t be. You deserve it. I had the pleasure of
meeting your father three weeks ago at a White House function. He was in tiptop form.”

“That’s good to know, General.”

“And very proud, and so he should be. A young man of your background could have avoided Vietnam and yet you left Harvard and volunteered. You’re a credit to your country.”

He shook hands vigorously and walked away. Cazalet turned to Colonel Prosser. “Can I get off now?”

“I don’t see why not, Captain.” Prosser grinned. “But you don’t leave this base until you call in at the quartermaster’s and get fitted with proper rank insignia.”

He parked his jeep outside the Excelsior, went in and ran up the stairs, excited as a schoolboy. He knocked on the door of her suite and she opened it, her face wet with tears, and flung her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Jake, thank God you’re here. I was just leaving. I didn’t know if I’d see you.”

“Leaving? But—but what happened?”

“They’ve found Jean. He’s not dead, Jake! A patrol picked him up in the bush, he’s badly wounded; they flew him down this morning. He’s at Mitchell Military Hospital. Will you take me?”

Jake felt the room spinning around him, but he spoke carefully. “Of course I will. I’ve got my jeep outside. Is there anything you need?”

“No, Jake, just get me there.”

Already, she was slipping away from him, like a boat making for different waters and not his.

At the hospital, he peered through the window in the door of the private room and saw the man who was Captain Comte Jean de Brissac lying there, his head heavily
bandaged, Jacqueline at his side with a doctor. They came out together.

Jake said, “How is he?”

It was the doctor who answered. “A bullet creased his skull and he was half-starved when they found him, but he’ll live. You’re both very lucky.”

He walked away, and Jacqueline de Brissac smiled through her tears. “Yes, aren’t we?” Her voice caught. “Oh, God. What do I do?”

He felt incredibly calm, knowing that she needed his strength. The tears were streaming down her face, and he took out his handkerchief and wiped them away gently. “Why, you go to your husband, of course.”

She stood there looking at him, then turned and opened the door into the private room. Cazalet went down the corridor to the main entrance. He stood on the top step and lit a cigarette.

“You know what, Jake, I’m damn proud of you,” he said softly and then he marched very fast toward the car, trying to hold back the tears that were springing to his eyes.

When his time was up, he returned to Harvard and completed his doctorate. He joined his father’s law firm, but politics beckoned inevitably, Congressman first and then he married Alice Beadle when he was thirty-five, a pleasant, decent woman for whom he had a great affection. His father had pushed for it, feeling it was time for children, but there weren’t any. Alice’s health was poor and she developed leukemia, which lasted for years.

Over the years, Jake was aware of Jean de Brissac’s rise to the rank of full general in the French Army. Jacqueline was a memory so distant that what had happened seemed like a dream, and then de Brissac died of
a heart attack. There was an obituary in the
New York Times,
a photo of the general with Jacqueline. On reading it, Cazalet discovered there was only one child, a daughter named Marie. He considered writing but then thought better of it. Jacqueline didn’t need an embarrassing echo of the past. What would be the point?

No, best to leave well enough alone . . .

Once elected Senator and regarded as a coming man, he had to take trips abroad on government business, usually on his own, for Alice simply wasn’t up to it. So it was that in Paris in 1989, on government business, he was once again on his own, except for his faithful aide and private secretary, a one-armed lawyer named Teddy Grant. Amongst other things, there was an invitation to the Presidential Ball. Cazalet was seated at the desk in the sitting room of his suite at the Ritz when Teddy dropped it in front of him.

“You can’t say no, it’s a command performance like the White House or Buckingham Palace, only this is the Élysée Palace.”

“I haven’t the slightest intention of saying no,” Cazalet told him. “And I’d like to point out it says Senator Jacob Cazalet and companion. For tonight, that means you, Teddy, so go find your black tie.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Teddy told him. “Free champagne, strawberries, good-looking women. For you, anyway.”

“Good-looking
French
women, Teddy. But I’m not in the market anymore, remember? Now get out of here.”

The ball was everything one could have hoped for, held in an incredible salon, an orchestra playing at one end. All the world seemed to be there, handsome men, beautiful women, uniforms everywhere, church dignitaries in purple or scarlet cassocks. Teddy had departed to procure
some more champagne, and Cazalet stood alone on the edge of the dance floor.