Where Love Has Gone by Harold Robbins

like that with a thoughtful expression on her face when her mother brought me over. Mrs. Hayden touched her arm and Nora turned toward us. She raised her face and I saw that she was the girl I’d seen that noon in the factory window.
    I saw her eyes grow large in a curious kind of surprise and I knew that she had recognized me
    too.

    “Nora. This is Major Luke Carey. Major Carey, my daughter Nora.”
    3

    __________________________________________

    Wars are the whetstones that man uses to sharpen his appetites.
    I looked at her and I knew I was gone.
    Some girls are bitches, some are ladies, and once to every man there is one who is both. I knew that as soon as I touched her hand.
    The dark-blue eyes were almost violet, hidden by long heavy lashes, and the thick black hair was pulled up and away from her forehead. Her creamy translucent skin, taut across the high cheekbones, and the slim, small-breasted, almost boyish, figure added up to all the wrong kinds of arithmetic. But it was just right for me.
    This was the deep end. Life and death. Over and out.
    Her mother wandered off somewhere and I was still holding her hand. Her voice was low and had that carefully cultivated affectation that is common to girls who go to the good Eastern schools. “What are you looking at, Major Carey?”
    I let go to her hand quickly. It was like losing touch with a peculiar kind of reality, like beating your head against a wall because it feels so good when you stop. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
    “How did you know where to find me?” “I didn’t. It was just a lucky accident.” “Are you always this lucky?”
    I shook my head. “Not always.”
    I saw her eyes move across the ribbons on my blouse. I knew what she saw. Besides the Purple Heart and Cluster, there was enough color there to brighten up a small Christmas tree.
    “At least you’re alive.”
    I nodded. “I guess I have no complaints. I’ve made it this far.” “You don’t believe you’ll make it all the way?”
    It was more a statement than a question. I laughed. This girl wasn’t one to waste time, she zeroed right in.
    “I’ve been lucky twice,” I said. “There’s no three times lucky.” “Are you afraid of dying?”
    “All the time.”
    She glanced at the ribbons again. “I’m sure they wouldn’t send you back if you told them.” “I guess not,” I said. “But I wouldn’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “I guess I’m more afraid of chickening out than I am of dying.” “That can’t be the only reason.”
    I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She never stopped pressing. “Maybe it isn’t,” I admitted. “Maybe it’s because death is like a woman you’ve been chasing for a long time. You want to find out if it’s as bad or as good as you thought it would be.”
    “Is that all you think about?” she asked. “Death?”
    “For almost two years now I haven’t had much time to think about anything else.” I glanced toward the statue I had noticed as I came in, The Dying Man . I felt her eyes follow mine. “I’m like the man in that statue over there. For every moment that I live.”
    I saw her study the statue for a moment, then she took my hand again. I felt her shiver. “I didn’t mean it to sound so bloody awful.”
    “Don’t apologize,” she said quickly. Her eyes were dark now, almost purple-black, like the heavy wine grapes in the vineyards near Sacramento. “I know exactly what you mean.”
    “I believe you do.” I smiled and then looked away. I had to.
    “You know,” I said, “when I first heard about this shindig, I thought it was going to be pretty dull. Another society girl playing at the arts.” I felt it was safe to turn back to her now. “But I’ve got a hunch you’re pretty good.”
    “She’s better than that, Luke.” The familiar voice came from behind me. “She’s very good.”
    I spun around. It had been more than three years since I’d heard that voice. “Professor