At dinner, Wake was seated at the table with the governor and admiral, with Catherine beside him. Her brother- and sister-in-law were to her other side, Monsieur Faber occasionally studying the American next to his brother’s wife. Wake became engaged in conversations with every man present, mainly about political situations in the United States and in Europe, but he couldn’t help now and then stealing a glance at Catherine next to him.
The French naval officers wanted to know about his wartime blockade assignments, and an artillery colonel was eager to hear how Yankee ships had defeated the Confederate forts. They asked his assessment of the Spanish navy, which he politely dodged, changing the subject instead to steam machinery. When Wake was able to speak with her, he saw that Catherine had the disconcerting habit of looking directly into his eyes. Her smile melted him inside.
He also saw that Audrey, seated at another table, was watching him with a look of concern. Wake knew he was on the verge of trouble, but he couldn’t stop glancing at Catherine. Worse, he did not want to stop.
After dinner, the third locale of the all-night gala was the theater—a block’s stroll down the street in the moonlight. The mass of gaily tipsy people arrived at the theater and noisily filed inside for a performance by the local symphony. Catherine and Wake were still together, arm in arm, an hour later while Paul Mas introduced Wake to various dignitaries and artists during the intermission, lastly bringing him to a large-framed man with darting eyes named François Lessere. He was patron of the theater and owner of the most well-known plantation and rum distillery on the island.
“Bienvenue á Martinique, Lieutenant. I trust that you are having a good time?” said Lessere perfunctorily while staring Catherine’s bosom with undisguised lust.
“Yes. I have found most of the people of Martinique to be as enchanting as the scenery,” said Wake, angry at the man’s indecent leering.
“Yes, our scenery is very beautiful.” Lessere’s gaze shifted to Wake. “But only most of the people, Lieutenant? We pride ourselves on the beauty of our women and on the strength and honor of our men. You evidently have met some who did not measure up? They were probably not from here. Probably foreigners.”
“I’ve met only one man who acted less than honorably, Lessere. And yes, he is from here,” Wake replied evenly, deliberately omitting Monsieur.
Lessere leveled his gaze and cocked his head. “I hope then that you do not underestimate that man as an enemy, Lieutenant. You Americans are unfortunately known for that.”
Wake smiled. “Yes, well, so were the Mexicans until eighteen-sixty-two—on Cinco de Mayo if my memory serves well, when they proved themselves superior to some Europeans who had occupied their country. You know, Lessere, we Americans greatly admired their ability in that particular war.” He turned to Catherine as Lessere’s face darkened. “Would you like to get some fresh air, Madame Faber? It’s a bit musty in here suddenly. Smells badly.”
As they walked out to the balcony she squeezed his arm. “Perhaps you are not as naïf as I first thought, Peter Wake. Lessere is a pig whose only protection is his money. You understood that immediately, did you not?”
“Catherine, Americans may be naïve but we aren’t stupid. A pig acts the same in any culture, my dear.”
“Just remember, Peter, that some pigs have tusks. Lessere is one of them.”
***
During the fourth reception Wake danced with her three times, when the local dandies weren’t trying to get her attention and cutting in on him. They finally sat at a table, where their talk centered on his wife and children. He spoke of how he and Linda had met and eventually married during the war years, but he avoided the current crisis in his marriage. Catherine listened closely, expressing empathy for a woman whose husband was gone from her so much. She added that someday she would like to meet the lady who had captured his heart so many years earlier.
She did not speak of her husband, his work, or her new home in Genoa, explaining that those were boring subjects and she wanted to know more about him. She seemed to be genuinely interested—not in the war stories most women asked him to tell, but about his personal opinions and hopes and regrets. Wake knew he was talking more than usual, having never drunk that much wine and cognac before. He also knew he should stop drinking as well as stop talking, but just couldn’t bring himself to end the euphoria. It was such a wonderful feeling to have a beautiful woman to look at, to care about what he had to say, to softly touch his arm. He missed feminine company far more than he had realized during the incessant work aboard ship.
The designated clock for the countdown to midnight was the governor’s pocket watch, and while he loudly led the guests in calling out the descending time, stewards snuffed out the candles. At the moment of midnight the last of the candles was extinguished and the hall became completely dark. Everyone embraced the nearest person of the opposite gender as they shouted, “Bonne année and bonne santé.”
In the cloaking darkness Wake held Catherine initially at a polite distance, until she pressed nearer, placing her hip against his. Then he surrendered to the effect of the wine and the moment and his loneliness—pulling her close and savoring the caress of her soft warm body, her head against his shoulder.
“Thank you for being so kind and gentle tonight, Peter. I had forgotten how wonderful it feels when a man can be that way,” she whispered in his ear as her fingers went around his waist. “I can feel sadness in you, Peter. Sadness that you have not spoken of but is hurting you inside. I hope
