Where You Belong. Barbara Taylor Bradford

land around here. But I think it’s okay, certainly Ajet doesn’t appear to be worried. So go for a walk if you want.’

      Slipping his arm around my waist, he brought me closer to him, held me in a loving embrace. Against my hair he murmured, ‘I’d like to get back to Belgrade tonight, Vee. There’s something about your room at the hotel that I find most appealing.’

      ‘It’s because I’m in it,’ I answered, laughing, and I kissed his cheek. ‘At least, that better be the reason.’

      ‘You know it is.’ Holding me away from him, he smiled, his black eyes dancing, and then almost immediately his expression turned serious. ‘When you get down there keep your eyes peeled and stay on the perimeters of the village. That way you can get back here quickly, should it be necessary.’

      I leaned into him. ‘Don’t worry so much, I’ll be fine. By the way, I haven’t told you today that I love you, have I? But I do.’

      ‘I love you too, Val.’

      Ajet came back carrying the cardboard box. After placing it on the rocks, he opened it with a bit of a flourish, and began to hand out the bottles of water, offered us the wrapped sandwiches from the hotel in Peć He went on fussing around us and behaving as though he were serving us at a grand banquet, and Tony and Jake exchanged amused, knowing looks and laughed.

      I had been loading my camera, and I looked from one to the other and asked, ‘Am I missing something? What’s the joke?’

      ‘No joke,’ Tony said, and blew me a kiss.

      II

      I focused my Leica 35-mm on the ragtag collection of children ahead of me, a short way down the road. There were about five of them in all, sitting together against a ruined wall. As I peered through the lens, I took in their pallor, their haunted expressions, and the fear clouding their innocent young eyes.

      A heartbreaking little band, I thought, so forlorn on this bright sunny day. A day for playing. Not a day for war. I repressed a sigh and began taking pictures.

      And then the sound of gunfire was breaking the quietness of the afternoon, and I instantly abandoned the shots of the children.

      A flurry of unexpected activity had begun to erupt all around me…exploding bombs, mortar fire, the rumble of tanks in the distance. Closer by, I heard terrified screams, the sound of running feet, people scattering, seeking safety. And then more screams filled the air, along with the staccato rat-a-tat of machine guns, and guns not so far away at that.

      All of my senses were alerted to danger, and my chest tightened, and I sucked in my breath sharply when I saw Tony rushing out of the copse just behind me. I had left him there only a few minutes ago, sitting on the rocks with Jake, eating a sandwich.

      Now he was sprinting towards the line of fire.

      I raced after him in his wake. And dimly, in the distance, I heard Jake behind us, shouting, ‘Val! Val! Don’t follow him, for God’s sake. It’s too dangerous.’

      I paid no attention.

      Tony was our leader, and as always he was hell-bent on getting the best pictures, whatever war we were covering and no matter what the cost. Taking risks meant nothing to him. He seemed to thrive on danger, as well I knew. Tony was consistently in harm’s way, and so were we because of him, although, as he frequently reminded us, we did have a choice of whether or not to follow him into the fray.

      Once again, Jake’s voice carried to me above the noise of exploding shells and deafening artillery. ‘VAL! STOP! Don’t follow Tony.’

      I did not stop. Nor did I look back. I was hard on Tony’s heels, my camera held tightly in my hands, my mind, my entire being, concentrated on one thing: doing my job as professionally as possible and getting the best pictures for the photo agency I worked for.

      Leaping forward, Jake now streaked after me and Tony. I realized his warnings of a moment ago had been pushed to one side, indeed probably forgotten altogether. What he always wanted was to reach me, grab hold of me, and pull me out of danger.

      Kalashnikovs were spraying bullets from all sides and the shelling was rapidly growing heavier; the summer air was thick with smoke and dust, the smell of cordite mingling with that of blood. And the stench of death was suddenly all pervasive, numbing, and I wished we had never come here.

      We had arrived late that morning to take a few simple photographs of the Kosovo Liberation Army’s leaders; now, unexpectedly, we found ourselves in the midst of this violent battle between the K.L.A. and Serbian troops. I couldn’t help wondering if this was a deadly ambush, a trap we had walked into with our eyes wide open. And where was Ajet? I hoped the young Kosovar had been smart enough to stay in the copse, and that hopefully he had driven the jeep into the trees for safety.

      I knew that Serbian troops had been moving south for days, keeping up the deadliest fighting along the way, brutally driving the Kosovars out of their villages and towns. Thousands of terrified civilians were already on the move, a steady stream of humanity being cruelly driven from their homes and homeland, seeking safety across the borders in Albania and Macedonia.

      Unexpectedly, a small boy appeared as if from nowhere, and began to totter forward on his thin little legs, heading directly into the line of fire, oblivious to the fighting and the mêlée spinning around him. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, and reacted instantly. Veering to my right, I sped over to the child and threw myself on top of him, all of my instincts compelling me to protect him no matter what.

      Bombs continued to explode, and pieces of shrapnel were swirling like deadly snowflakes, although they were much more lethal. I covered the child with my body, put my arms around him, and held him tightly. He was shaking, and this did not surprise me one bit. I detested the sound of the guns and bombs myself; they were discordant and frightening, and most especially to a small child.

      After a moment, I lifted my head and glanced up.

      The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, without cloud, and the sun was shining brilliantly. Summer, I thought; I ought to be on vacation with Tony, not spreadeagled on the ground with my face pressed into the dirt in some obscure village in the Balkans.

      Small, rubbery legs and arms began to wriggle, eel-like, under me, and I finally rolled off the child, jumped up and pulled him to his feet.

      He gazed up at me soulfully with a faint, perplexed smile; I smiled back and gave him a little push towards a young woman who was rushing towards us, calling out something I did not understand. With a nod to me and the words, ‘Thank you,’ spoken in carefully pronounced but accented English, the young woman grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him away. It was obvious that she was scolding him as the two of them moved away from the shelling and went behind one of the houses on the side of the road.

      I was glad to see the child taken to safety; at least I hoped he was safe. Many of the nearby houses and shops had been bombed, had crumbled into heaps of stones and bricks and there were fires flaring everywhere.

      Wondering where Tony and Jake were, I glanced around, suddenly saw their backs disappearing down a narrow side street. Immediately I jogged after them, trying to catch up, not wanting to be left behind.

      The shelling had now reached a climax and I knew Tony and Jake were heading right into the maelstrom, their cameras poised. I followed them into the fray, but for once, much to my surprise and consternation, I realized I did so against my better judgement. I had to admit to myself that for the first time in my association with Tony and Jake I had certain misgivings about following Tony’s lead. A curious sense of foreboding swept over me and this feeling was so unfamiliar, so unprecedented I was startled, and I stopped in my tracks, discovered that for a splitsecond I was unable to move forward. I was rooted to the spot.

      Then the moment I’d had nightmares about, had forever dreaded, was suddenly and frighteningly upon me. Tony was going down, his camera flying out of his hands as he was struck by a stream of bullets. He was thrown backwards