The room was being reilluminated by the stewards as he tried to reply, his words jumbling together in his lightheadedness. “Catherine, I don’t know what to say or do right now, except that I don’t want to let you go.”
She made no reply, but she gently pushed herself away. As the revelers returned to their tables she said, loud enough for others to hear, “Lieutenant, you have acquitted the United States Navy as a gallant gentleman very well tonight. It is obvious how your navy has the reputation it enjoys. I thank you so much for taking time to dine and converse with me this evening. It has been very enjoyable and I wish you good fortune.”
Wake was taken aback at the change of manner, then noticed that Catherine’s in-laws, and Lessere, were watching them intently from the corner.
“It was delightful for me as well, Madame Faber,” he answered with a slight bow.
“Perhaps we shall meet again, Lieutenant. I shall hope to introduce you to my husband if you ever get to Genoa. And now I must leave and go home with my brother-in-law and his wife.” She gave him a parting neutral smile, but added a quiet aside before she turned away. “Au revoir, Peter.” Then she walked toward her in-laws as calmly as if they were all in church.
Wake stood watching them leave as he pondered what he was sure had been a fleeting personal message in her eyes when she uttered her last words.
Audrey appeared at his side, startling him as she nodded toward the Fabers. “You have no experience with French women, do you, Lieutenant?”
“Experience? Well, no, of course not. I don’t have . . . experience . . . with any, ah. . . You see, Audrey . . .” he stammered without finding the right words.
“Madame Faber did not say goodbye to you, Lieutenant. She said until we meet again.”
Wake felt a flush of warmth on his cheeks. He worried that he had made a fool of himself and that Audrey, and probably everyone else, had seen him. “Yes, well, of course that is totally impossible, Audrey. I leave tomorrow and she is going to Italy soon. Besides, she is a charming lady but married. And I am very married. I can’t imagine she meant it that way and am absolutely sure she didn’t mean anything improper at all.”
Audrey’s expression indicated that she wasn’t impressed by his remonstrations.
“St. Pierre has a way of enchanting people. The Creole people say it is the aura of Montagne Pelée that makes us do things we normally would not do, especially on a night such as tonight, with the moon and the wine and the music. It gives you thoughts that make you nervous. You appear nervous, Lieutenant,” she said ruefully. “I think you have come under that enchantment.”
“Audrey, that’s ridiculous. Really now. . . .”
She looked at him and shook her head slowly. “I don’t think it matters at this point who is married, Lieutenant Wake. At this point it only matters what Catherine Faber wants. And, as they say in France, we have only to wait, for time will tell what life will bring.”
Audrey waved to her father, then turned to Wake before walking away.
“Bonne chance, Lieutenant.”
He was standing there, attempting to understand what had happened when young Ensign Davies came up to him and draped an arm around one shoulder, breath reeking as he displayed a lopsided grin and slurred, “Helllloo there, shur . . . Looie-tenant friggin’ Wake! One hellova party, shur. Thansh sho mush for ashing me to come. These frog-eatin’ Frenchies may be panshies in a war, but by God the bashtards do know how to throw a great friggin’ party, don’t they, shur?”
Wake took Davies’ arm off his shoulder and leaned close to the ensign’s ear, growling, “Mr. Davies, you have five seconds to get yourself together before I determine punishment for conduct unbecoming an officer, insubordination, and public drunkenness.”
Terror instantly filled Davies’ eyes as he realized what he had just done and said. He quickly stood at attention. “Very shorry, shur! I’ll get Mr. Partington ready to get under way for the hotel, shur.”
“Do that right now, Mr. Davies, and get out of my sight.”
The ensign’s conduct angered Wake, but what really scared him was his own behavior with Catherine. It was as if something had taken over his mind and body. He had come close—very close—to crossing the line with her. He realized that perhaps Audrey was right about falling under the spell of the island. Suddenly the enchantment Wake had known ever since arriving at St. Pierre was replaced by a wary dread of meeting Catherine Faber again.
And he had the dismaying feeling that he would—and the even more dismaying feeling that he fervently hoped so.
8
To Windward
January 1874
Breakfast at the hotel dining room on the first morning of 1874 started out as a subdued affair of stifled groans and silent munching of toast. The Americans were the first to arrive, the local guests taking the morning slowly. Davies was in very bad shape and Partington nearly so, each worried about appearing weak in front of his superior and struggling not to show his hangover. Even Wake was feeling worse for wear until he ate the first croissant of his life, allowing the delicate taste to improve his outlook.
Audrey and her father arrived to keep them company, explaining with hilarity the political and social backgrounds of the more notable guests the night before. Both studiously avoided speaking about the Fabers, and Wake wondered why but didn’t ask. After worrying about it all night he’d decided that the previous evening with Catherine Faber was a minor moment in his life. He had only been a little lonely, no one was hurt, and he didn’t violate his marital vows, he told himself. Wake vowed that that kind of episode would never be repeated, even in the unlikely event the two did meet again.
When the Americans stood to
