“Sure,” said Rick.

“There’ll be so much to do,” Ilsa went on, almost whispering, almost pleading. “His work won’t be finished when the war ends. In a way, it will just be beginning.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s understandable.”

Rick stared into his glass and said nothing.

“What will you do when the war’s over?” she asked him.

Rick looked up at her. “I never make plans that far ahead.”

Ilsa nodded. “Oh, yes. I see.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m thinking about going into politics, myself.”

With a wry grin, Rick said, “You’d be good at it, Louie. Perfect.”

She took another brief sip of champagne, then said, “I’ll have to go now.”

He answered, “Yeah, I figured.”

“He’s my husband, Rick.”

“Right. And a great man. We all know that.”

Ilsa closed her eyes for a moment. “I wanted to see you, Richard,” she said, her tone suddenly different, urgent, the words coming out all in a rush. “I wanted to see that you were all right. That you’d made it through the war all right.”

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice flat and cold and final. He got up from the bench and helped her come out from behind the table.

She hesitated just a fraction of a second, clinging to his arm for a heartbeat. Then she said, “Goodbye, Rick.”

“Goodbye, Ilsa.”

I thought there would be tears in her eyes, but they were dry and unwavering. “I’ll never see you again, will I?”

“It doesn’t look that way.”

“it’s . . . sad.”

He shook his head. “We’ll always have Paris. Most poor chumps don’t even get that much.”

She barely nodded at me, then walked swiftly to the door and was gone.

Rick blew out a gust of air and sat down again.

“Well, that’s over.” He drained his glass and filled it again.

I’m not a sentimentalist, but my heart went out to him. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do.

He smiled at me. “Hey, Louie, why the long face?”

I sighed. “I’ve seen you two leave each other twice now. The first time you left her. This time, though, she definitely left you. And for good.”

“That’s right.” He was still smiling.

“I should think—”

“It’s over, Louie. It was finished a long time ago.”

“Really?”

“That night at the airport I knew it. She was too much of a kid to understand it herself.”

“I know something about women, my friend. She was in love with you.”

“Was,” Rick emphasized. “But what she wanted I couldn’t give her.”

“And what was that?”

Rick’s smile turned just slightly bitter. “What she’s got with Victor. The whole nine yards. Marriage. Kids. A respectable home after the war. I could see it then, that night at the airport. That’s why I gave her the kiss-off. She’s a life sentence. That’s not for me.”

I had thought that I was invulnerable when it came to romance. But Rick’s admission stunned me.

“Then you really did want to get her out of your life?”

He nodded slowly. “That night at the airport. I figured she had Victor and they’d make a life for themselves after this crazy war was over. And that’s what they’ll do.”

“But . . . why did you come here? She expected to find you here. You both knew . . .”

“I told you. I came here to meet a lady.”

“Not Ilsa?”

“Not Ilsa.”

“Then who?”

He glanced at his watch. “Figuring that she’s always at least ten minutes late, she ought to be coming in right about now.”

I turned in my seat and looked toward the door. She came striding through, tall, glamorous, stylishly dressed. I immediately recognized her, although she’d been little more than a lovesick child when I’d known her in Casablanca.

Rick got to his feet again and went to her. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him the way a Frenchwoman should.

Leading her to the table, Rick poured a glass of champagne for her. As they touched glasses, he smiled and said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” Yvonne positively glowed.