27
Palestine 1947
The Lieutenant lingered over a cup of tea and freshly baked Danish pastry. He took a large bite then held it aloft as if it was an object to be admired.
“Your handiwork, Gold?”
I smiled. “I wish I could take the credit but at the moment, I’m just scrubbing out the pans.”
He took another bite, chewing carefully. Two of his men hovered near the doorway. Clearly, they had become restless. “All right, you two, I’m coming,” the Englishman said acidly, glaring at them. He sighed, then reluctantly stood up and bowed in Irit’s direction.
“Thank you for the very tasty lunch. You lot certainly do wonders growing fresh produce in this barren landscape. Not to mention the baked goods.” He polished off the remainder of the Danish.
“We do our best, Lieutenant,” Irit replied.
Th
