Cleopatra�s Perfume (46 page)

When America entered the war after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Chuck’s unit of American RAF fliers was incorporated into the U.S. Army Air Force. In 1944, he was shot down when enemy flak knocked out one of his engines, ruptured the gas tanks and destroyed the radio, but his luck held out and he landed the plane and saved his crew. They were captured and sent to a POW camp. Chuck tried to escape so many times, they moved him to a German prison camp known as Colditz Castle. Again, he tried to escape, but he was recaptured. Before the war ended with the American forces advancing toward the east, he was moved to southern Germany, but this time he
did
escape. Eyewitness reports said he was killed, but I want to believe he had enough of Cleopatra’s perfume left to save him. Each day I pray for word of his whereabouts.

I have news, dear reader, wonderful news.
Chuck is alive.
He spent the past few months trapped behind the Russian lines, trying to get back to the American forces. He’s on his way to Coventry…I can’t contain my excitement. The rebuilding is nearly finished. With Mrs. Wills’s invaluable assistance, I have been renovating the hideaway, especially since it received more damage in the Easter-week raid of April 1941 before I left for Berlin. She’s in London this week, ordering the new wall coverings for the playroom (she keeps her eyes downcast every time she goes in there. I merely smile.), but she’s returning in a few days. I can’t wait for her to meet Chuck. That reminds me. She said something very interesting to me before she left, expressing her personal opinion. Most unusual for her, if you remember. Tugging on her sensible suit jacket, pushing back a stray wisp of soft gray hair that dared to invade her wrinkle-free forehead, she said that from his letters and what I’ve told her about Chuck, she’s certain his lordship would approve of him. Then she cleared her throat and left the room.

Dear God, he’s here. Pressing my nose against the window, I see him coming up the stepping-stones, yellow daisies swaying between the round granite pieces, lingering from a late summer to greet him. I can’t continue writing, I must put down my pen and run downstairs to meet him, hold him, kiss him, melt into his arms. Spiciness wafts around me, my senses alive with my tale of wonder now ended.

Inhale the scent of Cleopatra’s perfume with me, dear reader, as I begin a new life, a new diary.

CLEOPATRA’S PERFUME

ISBN: 978-1-4268-3096-9

Copyright © 2009 by Jina Bacarr.

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