“ Yes. I lived in the Middle East for a few years and learned Arabic.”“ And the Italian?”“ I went with an Italian actress for a while.” Her face flushed.“ I’ m sorry. I didn’ t mean to pry.”
Fraser looked at her, his eyes filled with amusement, and Catherine felt like a schoolgirl. She was not sure whether she hated William Fraser or loved him. Of one thing she was sure. He was the nicest man she had ever known.
Dinner was superb. All the dishes were French with divine sauces. The dessert was Cherries Jubilee. No wonder Fraser worked out at the club three mornings a week.
“ How is it?” Fraser asked her.“ It’ s not like the food in the commissary,” she said and smiled. Fraser laughed.“ I must eat in the commissary one day.”“ I wouldn’ t if I were you.” He looked at her.“ Food that bad?”“ It’ s not the food. It’ s the girls. They’ d mob you.”“ What makes you think so?”“ They talk about you all the time.”“ You mean they ask questions about me?”“ I’ ll say,”‘ she grinned.
“ I imagine when they’ re through, they must feel frustrated by the lack of information.”
She shook her head.“ Wrong. I make up all kinds of stories about you.” Fraser was leaning back in his chair, relaxing over a brandy.“ What kind of stories?”“ Are you sure you want to hear?”“ Positive.”“ Well, I tell them that you’ re an ogre and that you scream at me all day long.” He grinned.“ Not all day long.”
“ I tell them that you’ re a nut about hunting and that you carry a loaded rifle around the office while you dictate and I’ m constantly afraid that it’ ll go off and kill me.”
“ That must hold their interest.”“ They’ re having a fine time trying to figure out the real you.”“ Have you figured out the real me?” Fraser’ s tone had become serious. She looked into his bright blue eyes for a moment, then turned away.“ I think so,” she