One day in April, Larry telephoned Catherine from the Base and asked her to meet him downtown for dinner at the Willard Hotel to celebrate.
“ Celebrate what?” Catherine asked.
“ I’ ll tell you tonight,” Larry replied. There was a note of high excitement in his voice.
When Catherine hung up, she was filled with a dread premonition. She tried to think of all the possible reasons that Larry would have to celebrate, but it always came back to the same thing and she did not think she would have the strength to face it.
At five o’ clock that afternoon Catherine was fully dressed, sitting on her bed staring into the dressing-room mirror.
I must be wrong, she thought. Maybe he’ s been promoted. That’ s what we’ re celebrating. Or he’ s had some good news about the war. Catherine told herself this but she did not believe it. She studied herself in the mirror, trying to be objective. While she would not give Ingrid Bergman any sleepless nights, she was, she decided dispassionately, attractive. Her figure was good, full of provocative curves. You’ re intelligent, cheerful, courteous, kind and a sex pot, she told herself. Why would any normal red-blooded male be dying to leave you so that he could go off to war and try to get himself killed?
At seven o’ clock Catherine walked into the dining room of the Willard Hotel. Larry had not arrived yet, and the maître d’ escorted her to a table. She said no she would not have a drink, then nervously changed her mind and ordered a martini.
When the waiter brought it and Catherine started to pick it up, she found that her hands were shaking. She looked up and saw Larry moving toward her. He threaded his way between the tables, acknowledging greetings along the way. He carried with him that incredible vitality, that aura that made every eye turn in his direction. Catherine watched him, remembering the day he had come to her table at the MGM commissary in Hollywood. She realized how little she had known him then, and she wondered how well she knew him now. He reached the table and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“ Sorry I’ m late, Cathy,” he apologized.“ The Base has been a madhouse all day.” He sat down, greeted the captain by name and ordered a martini. If he noticed that Catherine was drinking, he made no comment.
Catherine’ s mind was screaming out: Tell me your surprise. Tell me what we’ re celebrating. But she said nothing. There was an old Hungarian proverb:“ Only a fool rushes bad news.” She took another sip of her martini. Well maybe it wasn’ t an old Hungarian proverb. Maybe it was a new Catherine Douglas proverb designed to be worn over thin skins for protection. Maybe the martini was making her a little drunk. If her premonition was right, before this night was over she was going to get very drunk. But looking at Larry now, his face filled with love, Catherine knew that she had to be wrong. Larry could not bear to leave her any more than she could bear to leave him. She had been building up a nightmare out of whole cloth. From the happy expression on his face she knew that he had some really good news to tell her.