Roger bowed, shook his head, then smiled. 'No, Senhor. You are mistaken. But I understand the reason for your error. It has happened to me many times before. You have taken me for my French cousin. My name is Roger Brook; and I am an Englishman.'
Lisala and the Senhora Christina were now also staring at Roger. With a little gasp, Lisala exclaimed, 'But this is incredible! The likeness! We are recently arrived from Isfahan and . . . and came to know Colonel Breuc well there. You might be his twin.'
'True, Senhorita, people have often said that.' Roger laughed. 'Our fathers were twins, and my cousin and I were born within a month of each other; he at Strasbourg and myself in England. Our fathers were so devoted that they even decided to have us christened by the same first name. But may I know whom I have the honour of addressing?'
'I am the Marquis dc Pombal, and this is my daughter,' said Lisala's father.
'De Pombal,' repeated Roger with a bow. 'A famous name. I am honoured indeed. My only regret is that I should have come to Lisbon in such unhappy times. Since you are acquainted with my cousin, it may be that you will consider that sufficient introduction and permit me to call upon you. I am attached to the staff of Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, and find life with the Fleet exceeding dull.'
'Why, yes.' The Marquis smiled. 'By all means do so. I shall be happy to receive you.'
Turning, they left the church together, followed by Lisala's old duenna. Roger escorted the party to their coach and, with many bows, watched them drive off.
When they had disappeared, he drew a long breath and took stock of the situation. His ruse had worked. He felt confident that his plausible story, backed by his slightly tinted hair and now flowing side-whiskers, had fooled the Marquis and Senhora de Jahlo. But he was not so certain about Lisala. The great thing was that contact had been established. It was now up to him to consolidate his position.
On the following afternoon he paid his call. The Marquis was out but, after waiting some while in a pillared, marble hall, he was shown through into a spacious drawing room, with wide windows leading out on to a stone terrace, beyond which there was a lovely garden.
At one end of the room, Lisala and her aunt were seated on a sofa. Roger very nearly made the blunder of bowing first to the Senhora de Arahna; but realised in time that he was not supposed to know her. Lisala curtsied in response to the graceful 'leg' he made, then presented him to her aunt, who had been told of the meeting in church. She received him pleasantly and invited him to sit down.
To begin with they talked of Roger's remarkable resemblance to his French cousin. He then enquired about their journey from Isfahan. They had suffered severely from the intense heat while sailing round Arabia and up the Red Sea and, on one occasion, after passing the Straits of Gibraltar, had been terrified that their ship would go down in a violent storm. In other respects, the voyage had been monotonous, but uneventful.
Roger's first objective was to convey to Lisala that he was in fact her lover. As a means of doing so, he questioned them about Persia, then said, 'I have never been there, but have heard much about its marvels from a friend of mine who has travelled widely in the East. One of the greatest wonders that he told me of was about a mosque a few miles outside Isfahan, with minarets that shake.'
His remark could convey nothing special to the Senhora de Arahna; but it was immediately after visiting the mosque that he and Lisala had gone up the hill, at the top of which there was a Zoroastrian Fire Temple and, in a cave beneath it, enjoyed their first passionate embraces.
As he spoke, he was looking straight at her. She smiled and replied with a little laugh, 'Indeed, that is so. Your cousin took me to see that mosque and afterwards up a hill with many caves, some of which were inhabited by hermits.'
He felt certain then that she had received his message. But the next fence he had to take was the much suffer one of arranging a rendezvous with her. For the purpose he had brought with him a small, three-cornered billet-doux, which said: I shall come in over the garden wall tonight at midnight, and will hoot like an owl. Meet me there if you possibly can. I adore you.
However, to get it to her was another matter. He had hoped that refreshments would be sent for, and that he might manage to pass it to her under cover while offering her a plate of cakes. But when wine and cakes were brought in they were handed round by a footman who remained in attendance; so Roger was deprived of the opportunity he had hoped for.
For a while they talked of the terrible dilemma with which the Prince Regent had been faced: either to remain in Portugal and probably be deposed by the French, or accept the protection of the English and go to Brazil. Then Roger felt that without appearing ill bred and so jeopardising his prospects of being received there again, he dared not much exceed the regulation twenty minutes for a first call. A prey to acute frustration, he stood up to take his leave. To have palmed the billet-doux into Lisala's hand as he kissed it could not possibly be done without her aunt seeing the manoeuvre; so he did not attempt it.
A moment later, inspiration came to him. Glancing out of the tall window, he said, 'What a lovely garden you have. And that pavilion over there; how enchanting and romantic. I'd vow that if one were there at midnight, one would see the ghosts of past lovers reuniting.'
It could hardly fail to be a bullseye shot. He and Lisala were past lovers and surely Mr. Roger Brook was the ghost of Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc?
Seven hours later, wearing a long, dark cloak, his white cravat and the greater part of his face hidden by a silk scarf, Roger approached the garden wall. He had reconnoitred it again after leaving the mansion that afternoon and had found a place where, by climbing on to the roof of a shack, he could easily reach its top. On the opposite side there was a large nispero tree. Launching himself forward, he grasped the nearest branch, hauled himself along it and scrambled to the ground.
Cautiously he made his way forward until, from behind a screen of flowering shrubs, he could see the house. A light showed only in one upper window. Treading very carefully, he advanced to the back of the pavilion, then made his way round it to a verandah that faced the house and overlooked a lily pool. As he stepped on the verandah, a board creaked. There came the soft rustle of silk garments and a quick, light step. A figure emerged from the shadowed porch. Next moment he had Lisala in his arms.
He had come prepared to give her an immediate explanation of his change of nationality. But when, after their first long kiss, he began, 'I must tell you ...', she whispered breathlessly, 'Later; later,' and, clutching his hand, drew him inside the pavilion.
There was only a sliver of moon, but it gave enough light for him dimly to make out that the central room was furnished with cane easy chairs and a long settee. On the latter, in preparation for his coming, she had piled all the cushions from the chairs. As they embraced again, her hands ran eagerly over him; then she threw herself down on her back on the cushions. She had on only a long, fur robe and beneath it a nightdress. Panting with desire, she threw wide the robe and pulled the nightdress up above her waist. By then Roger, no whit less eager, had undone his breeches and thrust them down. As he bent above her, she clasped her arms round his neck and drew him on to her. They came together with the same delirious, blind abandon that had overwhelmed them that first time in the cave.
When it was over, they remained locked together and lay, panting heavily, for several minutes; then Lisala pushed Roger from her, sat up, drew her robe about her and said, 'Oh God, how I have longed for you these past two months; and how happy I am that you should have followed me to Lisbon. But now tell me. Explain to me this extraordinary mystery of your having transformed yourself into an Englishman.'