Noelle could barely hear him. It was as though he were speaking from the bottom of the
sea. He was obviously having difficulty hearing her. “Speak up, please,” he said. By now,
Noelle’s nerves were so frayed that she could hardly control her voice.
“I’m calling”—she did not even know his rank. Lieutenant? Captain? Major? “I’m
calling Larry Douglas. This is his fiancee.”
“I can’t hear you, miss. Can you speak louder, please?”
On the edge of panic Noelle screamed out the words again, sure that the man at the
other end of the phone was trying to conceal from her that Larry was dead. For a
miraculous instant the line cleared, and she heard the voice saying as though he were in
the next room, “Lieutenant Larry Douglas?”
“Yes,” she said, holding on tightly to her emotions.
“Just a moment, please.”
Noelle waited for what seemed an eternity and then the voice came back on the line
and said, “Lieutenant Douglas is on weekend leave. If it’s urgent, he can be reached at the
Hotel Savoy ballroom in London, General Davis’ party.” And the line went dead.
When the maid came in to clean the room the next morning, she found Noelle on the
floor, semiconscious. The maid stared at her a moment, tempted to mind her own business
and leave. Why did these things always have to happen in her rooms? She went over and
touched Noelle’s forehead. It was burning hot. Grumbling, the maid waddled down the
hall and asked the porter to send up the manager.