A Secret Affair. Barbara Taylor Bradford

      “He was great, the way he networked. What a wheeler-dealer he was.”

      Bill grinned, remembering his former producer. “He had his act down pat, making his important contacts before the war started. Long before. And the Iraqis loved his schmoozing. He charmed a lot of them well before the conflict began and so they favored him. And we were home free when holy hell finally did break loose.”

      “I’ll never forget the day he told you that our Iraqi minders were letting CNS bring in all that television equipment from Jordan,” Frank said. “Including that satellite phone. I, for one, was flabbergasted.”

      “So was I, Frankie, and where would we have been without it? That phone was our only link to the outside world, and CNS was the only network getting coverage out for the world to hear and see.”

      “It did wonders for CNS, pushed them to the top of the pile in live news coverage in particular. And actually, Billy, we were fortunate to come out of that debacle alive, all things considered, and all those direct hits the hotel took. And there was Elsa, what a terrific little trooper she was…”

      Frank paused as he realized that he had lost Bill’s attention. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      “Nothing.”

      “Something’s wrong. You’re not listening to me. And you have the strangest expression on your face.”

      Bill turned to Frank. “I don’t want you to look now, but it’s that woman over there. At the other side of the bar. Did you see her come in?”

      “How could I fail to miss her? She’s the only other person here except us. So, what about her?”

      “I almost knocked her over earlier today. Collided with her this afternoon as I barreled around the corner, on my way back to the hotel. I chased her hat.”

      “Chased her hat?”

      “Oh never mind, and don’t look at me like that.”

      “Like what?”

      “As if I’m nutty.”

      “Well, you are a bit crazy, Billy, and so am I, thank God. Life’s too damned hard not to be slightly crazy from time to time. How else are we going to deal with all the stress and tension? Anyway, what about this woman?”

      “I was very taken with her this afternoon. I wanted to get to know her better.”

      “I can’t say I blame you. She’s interesting-looking. Is she Italian?”

      “I don’t think so, even though she looks as if she might be. I’m pretty sure she’s an American, certainly she sounds it. Anyway, her hat flew off as we collided, so I ran after it. I also ran after her as she thanked me and walked off. I wanted to invite her to have a drink with me. It’s funny, Frankie, but I didn’t want her to go.”