The Governor’s Chief of Staff remembered his whisky, drank deep.
“I think Cuthbert Collingwood is more your man if your taste is for ‘battlefleet diplomacy’, Philip,” he smiled grimly.
“Well, hopefully, this chap in Texas will turn out to be a man with real mettle, Henry!”
“The King!” Henry Rawlinson proposed, finishing his drink.
Chapter 32
Sunday 7th May
Viano do Castelo, Portugal
Alonso Pérez de Guzmán felt like a complete cad, that most contemptible of double-dealing excuses for manhood. In fact, he was beginning to view himself as no better than the despicable breed of men he had always despised. To arrive at Viano do Castelo and to be welcomed like a prince by his mistress and the woman he adored; but to whom he had never dared to confess as much, and to be reunited, anew with the son he had thought he had lost forever a little over four years ago, in a funny sort of way, actually contrived to make him feel even worse.
And then he had artlessly compounded his misdeeds.
He had been morose, absurdly sorry for himself as Melody and Henrietta had sat him down to enjoy afternoon tea with them, and his son had gambolled around their feet without a care in the world, safe from all evil with his two beautiful ‘Mamas’.
He had not actually been rude, not gratuitously; simply a little distant, reserved, untalkative, overly polite and correct, almost formal in his introspection and brooding, hoping above hope that the two incomparable ladies in his life would assume he was just weary from his travels.
Coincidentally, those travels also, were a thing coming to an end now he had got a fresh grip upon his estates and holdings in Portugal – now his country of exile – and his Queen had summarily, almost but not quite cruelly, for he perfectly understood the reasons why and that her motivation was not, and had never been, ignoble, dismissed him from her service. He had, and he had not, expected that; just not believed it was going to happen until it did. That Sophie, whom he had known, seemingly forever, had reluctantly balked at the cost of fighting on, to her and more so to her many loyal supporters, had come as no real surprise. But to be exiled from her circle, well, that had been… a shock.
It ought not to have been, of course. He had known the woman who was to become his Queen from earliest childhood; possibly, no man in Spain knew, or even began to understand the bewitching enigma which was the once, and possibly, future Queen Consort of the Spanish Emperor, as intimately as he.
As any true, devoted courtier must, he had accepted his fate, knowing that to do otherwise would be to cause his Queen even greater distress.
So, here he was, the disinherited – in the lands of Spain at least – 18th Duke of Medina Sidonia, feeling sorry for himself, having made his excuses and retired to his rooms where he had dismissed his footman, and ordered that he not be disturbed.
He had lain these last forty minutes or so in a slowly cooling bath, alone in the steam with his thoughts.
At some stage he had opened up the hot water faucet to warm the water, almost to overflowing and sunk back into the warmth up to his chin. Later, he must have dozed off because whoever was at the bathroom door had had to knock twice, and then thrice.
“I don’t want to be disturbed!” He protested irritably, albeit without genuine angst. No man with any self-respect raised his voice or belittled a subordinate, an arms man or anybody else in his service. That was a lesson his father had, when he was young, beaten into him; probably the best thing the old monster had ever done for him…
There was another knock.
“Yes, what is it?”
The door opened a crack.
“May I come in?”
Henrietta?
What was she doing here?
The door opened and closed quickly and in a moment Henrietta De L’Isle was standing with her back pressed against it. She was still dressed in the cream blouse and pleated peach-coloured skirt she had worn earlier.
Alonso, naked and desperately covering up his submerged manhood with both hands, inadvertently splashed and caused a minor flood around the overlarge bath tub.
“Henrietta,” he muttered, like an idiot, obviously.
“Yes,” the woman agreed, shifting uncomfortably on her feet and trying very hard – and failing – to stare at the man in the bath. In the steamy humidity of the room short strands of her boyishly cropped auburn hair stood on end. The fog rising off the waters could not begin to hide her flushing embarrassment.
“I acted like a fool before,” Alonso said, not knowing what else to say.
“No, you didn’t,” the newcomer objected. “This is all very awkward, and it must be horribly, well, strange for you… But Melody is right, we can’t go on like this and besides, we, Melody and I, had a long chat about things yesterday.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” Henrietta agreed. “And there’s Pedro to be considered…”
Talking had enabled her to slough off a little of her initial discomfort; now, she looked around for the stool that was always somewhere in the mansion’s bathrooms, and finding it, drew it close to the tub and sat down. Primly, she clamped her knees together and folded her hands in her lap before again, attempting to focus on Alonso’s face, rather than his leanly muscled torso and manhood, presently concealed beneath the water and his hands.
“Melody has decided to carry on being a spook,” Henrietta continued. “Only, this time, officially. She loved being a detective. But she knows she can’t go back to that, any more than you or I can go back to our old lives. And, as I said, now there’s Pedro to think about. I’d want to adopt him even if he wasn’t your son. As he is, your son, I mean, that makes it even better. Perfect, in fact. As if it was meant to be…”
Alonso was speechless.
Henrietta frowned.
“I suppose if I was Melody, we’d be having this conversation in the bath,” she added, clearly on the cusp of losing her courage.
Suddenly, she was looking to the man for a sign, a moral prop, something that told her she was not making a complete fool of herself, or that she was not about to be utterly humiliated.
Alonso vented a bewildered laugh.
Henrietta began to rise from the stool, near to flight.
He touched her arm with the tips of the fingers of his left hand.
“Don’t go. Please stay.”
Henrietta shivered.
Betwixt and between she was momentarily at a loss.
She squeezed her eyes shut, berated herself for her uncharacteristic timidity.