His eyes went to his wife. “And with my personal life also, Peter. The past is, as you say in English, long gone.”
Wake was happy for them, but there was certainly more to the story and he wanted to hear about it. “Congratulations to you both. Tell me—”
Rork interrupted with a harrumph and inclined his head toward the entry again. The major-domo was banging his staff again as Wake muttered, “All right, Rork, one minute. I was just—”
“Sir, look at the doorway. Now.”
Wake was suddenly aware that the ballroom had gone quiet. No music, no chatter, even the clattering of champagne glasses had stopped. A huge grin was spreading across Rork’s face but his eyes were misty. Wake glanced around. He saw Bishop Ferro there in the corner, waving to him, grinning like a maniac. Everyone in the room was grinning.
At him . . .
“Madame Linda Wake, l’ épouse de Lieutenant Peter Wake, de la Marine Americaine,” the major-domo boomed out, then repeated it in English.
Wake wasn’t listening anymore, for there was his Linda, more beautiful than he had ever seen her, like a queen in a gown of navy blue, with sapphires set in gold across her chest, on the arm of a French naval officer. The crowded drew apart, opening a path for him as Wake, eyes filling, covered the sixty feet in a trance, his mouth opening but no words emerging. It wasn’t a dream. It was really Linda.
Just as he reached her, a deafening crescendo of applause rose. The two of them held a kiss, folding into each other, caressing each other’s face, crying in disbelief and joy.
“How did you . . . ?” he choked but couldn’t finish. It had been so long, so very long. Linda anxiously touched his chest.
“We’ll talk later, Peter. There’s a lot to tell you. But first let me tell you I love you. I always have and I always will.”
The applause was fading. Someone was approaching them. Wake didn’t care.
“I love you, too, Linda. I was so scared that—”
“Don’t be scared. We’re good, dear. We’re very good.”
It was quiet again in the ballroom. Several people were next to him, but Wake only saw Linda.
“The children? Oh, God, our children?”
“They’re fine. I brought them with me. You’ll see them tonight. Later.”
“No, we’ll leave now. I want to see them.”
Linda gently caressed his cheek. “No, not now, dear. There is something we need to do here first. The admiral will explain.”
Wake turned to see Admiral Case standing with the French admiral. Rork came forward and hugged Linda, the two sharing a conspiratorial wink. Wake suddenly realized it was all planned. Everyone knew. Case was beaming at him. The crowd was pointing and smiling. Catherine and Henri’s faces crinkled in delight.
Admiral Geaugeard walked to the center of the ballroom and held up his hands. He spoke in French, then translated his words into English. “My dear friends, distinguished guests, colleagues, welcome to this honored occasion. It would appear that our guest of honor has been deceived completely—though benevolently, I can assure him. I now call upon Rear Admiral Case of the United States Navy to introduce our guest of honor.”
As the applause began again, Wake felt his knees go wobbly. He looked around him. Linda was shining with admiration. Rork was laughing. Case was calling him forward. The Royal Navy contingent, spurred on by none other than Wake’s friend Jackie Fisher who had arrived unnoticed, was cheering. The American officers were whooping and hollering. Wake walked unsteadily forward toward the French admiral.
Case bowed. “Admiral Geaugeard, we of the American Navy are honored to be here, guests of the Republic of France, humbled by our magnificent surroundings, and enchanted by your hospitality. And now, may I present Lieutenant Commander Peter Wake, of the United States Navy!”
Pandemonium broke out one more time. Wake stood there, confused over Case’s mistake on his rank, until he saw Linda walking forward with new epaulets. They were promoting him? He didn’t know why. This was a promotion party? A surprise promotion party put on by the French? That wasn’t logical.
But it was true. He was promoted. After all those years. Case, assisted by Rork, undid the pin clasps of his decade-old epaulets, tarnished from salt air and rough wear, and removed them from his shoulders. Linda handed the admiral the new ones with the golden oak leaf in the center. A moment later they were secured—Wake could have sworn they were heavier than a lieutenant’s—and Linda reached up and kissed him.
But he still wondered why all this was taking place at the French consulate? Nothing was making sense. Admiral Case whispered for Wake to close his mouth and stand up straight—he wasn’t a junior officer anymore. Geaugeard spread his arms and called for silence.
“And now that Lieutenant Commander Wake is properly attired, we may proceed with the most important—” he bowed toward the Americans, “from the French point of view—aspect of our gathering here this evening. Lieutenant Commander Peter Wake, please step forward.”
A nudge from Admiral Case got him started, and Wake stepped two paces into the center of the room. Admiral Geaugeard’s tone deepened.
“Innocent citizens of the Republic of France, Christian missionaries who had ventured forth into the wilderness to bring healing medicine and knowledge to the world, recently found themselves victims of terror by merciless brigands in the wastelands of northern Africa. . . .”
As the admiral went on images appeared in Wake’s mind—that initial audience with Sultan Hassan, the whirling dance of Sokhoor in the firelight on the mountain, trudging across that empty shimmering desert, the eyes of that cobra during its dance of death, the suffocating heat of the slave
