“I’m glad. There was an air raid last night, you know. Célia and I went to a concert and the bombing started halfway through. We had a ghastly time in the basement, they hit the street right next to us, and when we came out there was my papa’s car without a mark on it.”

“My God!” Sébastien cried. “No wonder it all got too much for you in there.” He jerked his head toward the hotel. “You must be exhausted. Oh, you poor girls!”

That was the way to do it. Skip the things that really give you pain, and make a ripping yarn out of the rest. My eyes were so dry I thought I’d never cry again. I regarded Sébastien, his crinkled-up eyelids, his carelessly knotted tie, the unlit cigarette between his tanned fingers. I’d never met a man—even when expressing genuine dismay, because I could see he was properly shocked—more aware of his own good looks.

“Yes. Us poor girls. But we bounce back.”

“I’ll say you do.” He was shaking his head. “The Haddad sisters. You’ve got a reputation, you know.”

I sat up straight. “Sébastien, you know we live like absolute nuns. I never go anywhere without Célia.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I refer to your exceptional qualities. There’s Célia, who could be on the cover of Vogue, and you? From what I’ve heard, you’re a racing driver in the making.”

“Oh, how absurd.”

“Far from absurd,” Sébastien insisted. “You did Alexandria to Marsa Matrouh in . . . how long was it? Nicky Barba told me. He thought he was in for a leisurely drive and a picnic. Ha!”

“That was two years ago. I’ve matured. I’m much more sedate now.”

He was looking straight at me, the amber in his eyes glinting. He was making his eyes glint on purpose. What sort of imbecile would you have to be, to fall for that? I began to smile. “Come now, Sébastien. Enough languishing. They’ll be wondering where on earth I am.”

Obediently he rose to his feet. I waited while he lit his cigarette at last and we strolled back in the direction of the hotel.

“Have you ever driven a lorry?” he asked me, as we reached the steps.

I turned in surprise. “When would I ever get the chance?”

“You know I spend my whole time carting goods around to the soldiers and airmen. Eggs, shoes, mattresses, whatever they want.” He threw his cigarette down and ground it under his heel. He didn’t smoke them, I realized, as much as hold them, so that people would look at his beautiful hands. “You could come with me one time. It’s a Bedford, somewhat cannibalized. Think what fun it would be.”

I could tell his English was far worse than mine. Just the way he said, Bedforr.