Brave Hearts by Carolyn Hart

“I’ve got to get back to the embassy. You’ll see to everything, won’t you? The packing won’t be much.”
    The door slammed behind him. Catharine stood in the middle of the room where he’d left her. She still wore her hat and gloves. Slowly, she reached up, took off her hat, then slipped off her gloves.
    Tomorrow.
    Jack wouldn’t be back until next week. She’d thought they’d be together on Wednesday. Her mind fumbled with thoughts; there was so much to see to, but none of it touched the core of pain within her.
    She would never see Jack again. Never.
    She moved then, one slow, painful step at a time, to the upright desk in the corner of the room. She sat down on a hard straight chair, pulled out a drawer, and lifted out note paper. She picked up a pen and stared down at the empty sheet.
    â€œDear Jack,” she wrote.
    Tears filmed her eyes so that she could scarcely see. Scratchily, unevenly, she began to write.

Ann’s lips pressed together in disapproval. She stood with her arms akimbo and watched Peggy try to wedge a pair of shoes in one side of her bulging suitcase. Finally, Ann couldn’t stand it any longer.
    â€œPeggy, don’t be a damned fool.”
    Peggy looked up at her roommate, then shook her head and pushed harder on the shoes. When they were jammed in, she smiled brightly at Ann.
    â€œPeggy, you listen to me.”
    Peggy pushed down the lid on the suitcase. “I don’t know how I’m going to shut this.”
    Ann marched across the room and stood beside her friend and the suitcase. “Peggy,” she pleaded, “he’s just using you, can’t you see that?”
    Peggy stiffened and turned away.
    Ann felt a mixture of helplessness and anger. Her pleasant face settled into unaccustomed lines of determination. “Look, I know it’s not any of my business, and maybe you didn’t realize I knew, but, my God, anybody with half an eye would know. You light up when he comes into the room. You light up like a damned Christmas tree.” She shook her head and wondered how in the world a girl as nice as Peggy could fall for a prick like Spencer Cavanaugh. “Peggy, you’re too nice to get involved with a married man. A very married man.”
    Ann hated the look of pain in Peggy’s eyes and the look, too, of shame and misery, but she was determined to speak out.
    â€œHoney”—Ann’s voice was soft now and cajoling—”tell him you won’t go. He can’t make you go.”
    â€œHe doesn’t make me do anything,” Peggy replied. “I know what you think, Ann. You think I’m cheap.”
    â€œNo, no, no,” Ann objected furiously. “I don’t think anything of the sort. You’re not cheap. That’s what makes me so mad. If he were involved with Louise or Candy, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but why does he have to pick on you? You’re just a kid and he’s not, by a long shot.”
    â€œIt isn’t like that,” Peggy said quietly. “It isn’t like that at all. Spencer’s not just fooling around. He really cares for me, Ann. I know he does.”
    Ann bit her lip. Damn Spencer Cavanaugh, the good-looking, slimy, selfish, self-absorbed prig. Ann gritted her teeth, then said reasonably, “If he cares, why doesn’t he divorce his wife?”
    Peggy’s blue eyes widened. “He can’t do that. He just can’t. It could ruin his career.”
    â€œSo?”
    Peggy looked utterly shocked. “You don’t understand, Ann. Spencer’s very important—his new post is so important we can’t even talk about it.” Her voice dropped. “It’s just really, really secret and special. He’s so excited, and he’ll be wonderful. I know he will.”
    Ann sighed, but she didn’t give up. “That nice boy in the code room, Tom Biggers—he wants to go out with