Victoria at the Falklands



  Victoria at the Falklands

  by Jack Tollers

  Copyright 2012 Jack Tollers

  Table of contents

  Dux femina facti

  Love at first sight

  At the Elizalde’s

  Friends

  Stormy weather

  Duc in altum

  Brave new world

  Street Serenade

  Messy Stuff

  A grief observed

  Lunch at the Courts

  Breaking the engagement

  To extinguish a fire

  Hell of a hole

  Heard it on the grapevine

  A necessary trip

  Jimmy and Victoria

  Peter’s fight

  A vision

  Emmaus

  De descriptione temporum

  Dux femina facti

  ‘No, I mean... you can't be serious; I mean, how can you possibly belie—’ She anxiously twisted the telephone cord one way and another.

  ‘It isn't a question of, uh, believing or not, it's a question—’

  ‘...and there's absolutely no proof at all, I mean, there's no proof at all, is there?’

  ‘No proof? I ask you. I mean, what better proof than—’

  ‘I mean, I talked to him only yesterday... surely you’ve got it wrong?’

  Jimmy heard the rising tones of a soft question travelling down the line.

  ‘Listen, Victoria, be reasonable. Nobody’s going to make up a story like that, it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘But it just doesn't make sense, Peter always—’

  ‘...won't officially tell us about this until the report goes through all the red tape, but, listen—’

  ‘And anyway I don't want to believe it, that's all, I don't care if it's true or not, but—’

  She was suddenly aware of a rush of tears that blurred the room and she impatiently brushed them away. She renewed her twisting of the telephone cord.

  ‘Well, all right Victoria, what's the use? Grow up, will you? I mean, what's the use of talking to you if you don't even want to listen... I don't even know why I'm bothering to tell you all this, what the hell.’

  There was a long pause on the line, until Jimmy began to think that he had lost her.

  ‘Victoria, you there?’

  ‘Yes, I'm here. All right, sorry, I’m just being stupid. Please tell me. But first, let me light a cigarette, will you?’

  She feebly rummaged through her handbag until she found a pack and its lighter, and slowly walked up to a little table by the window from where she retrieved an ashtray. With a sigh, she sat down on her bed and blindly took the handset. ‘Very well. Fire away.’

  ‘Well, listen,’ he sighed before launching his report, ‘I've heard it straight from old Suter who managed to speak with Puerto Argentino this morning. Apparently he heard it from Captain Vásquez who was deployed only a couple of miles from Mount Darwin; I mean, he was there when the British managed to storm through the line of defence where Peter was stationed with only a couple of soldiers and no support. I mean, no artiller—’

  He distinctly heard a broken sound and paused for a while. After a short pause, Victoria's husky voice was on the line once again. She was speaking so softly that he had to press the tube against his ear.

  ‘All right. I think I've heard enough for the moment. Thank you for telling me first, Jimmy. But right now—’

  ‘...perfectly all right, old girl... I mean, I can unders—’

  ‘...end this conversation for the time being.’

  ‘...call me, uh? I'll be waiting to hear from you anytime.’

  Victoria sat on her bed and looked vacantly through the window, through the trees, through the grey skies, through long memories that flashed by. She could picture Peter at the Falklands, fighting gallantly against the cold, his own fears, and the British. Yes, she could see him, all right, fighting for her too—just as he had promised.

  It would take a long time before Victoria returned from the Falklands.

  And in a sense, she never did.