Carmena and Manuel came to his cabin just before they disembarked. Thanking him for getting them out of Spain, Carmena lost her composure. A flood of tears burst and Manuel took over, asking Wake if they could please continue to use the aliases he had given them. He said yes and wished them luck. Then with hugs and a chorus of hopeless “hasta luego” the three were parted—Wake knowing that he would probably never see the two lovers again.
As he descended the gangway into the throng of people on the dock an hour later, the rain started to pour down even harder. He felt the gloomy weather fill his soul.
“Well, this isn’t starting out very impressively,” Wake said to no one in particular as he felt his uniform soak through.
***
The Marino Hotel was a cheap one by the docks. The consulate used it for naval officers and state department officials in transit, but Wake was the only American there at the time. Vermin could be heard scurrying about all night, a rancid smell permeated the place, the food was atrocious, and the servants were sullen. It reminded Wake of a naval vessel that had been at sea for several months.
A week after checking in with a harried clerk at the consulate, Wake still languished in his musty hotel room. The rain was almost constant, but in between the squalls that swept down from the surrounding mountains he took walks around the harbor, speaking Spanish, for few spoke English, and trying with difficulty to learn the northern Italian dialect. He considered stopping by the French consulate to see if Catherine Faber had returned to her husband in Genoa—she should have been there a month already—but decided that might not be a wise thing to do. He didn’t want to get involved in her marital life and was afraid of what she might do to his.
Desperate for something to do, Wake read a novel he had brought with him, John Esten Cooke’s Her Majesty the Queen, which had become a bestseller the year before. He thought Cooke’s depiction of early colonial Virginia’s countryside appealing and the characters’ complicated inter-twinings rather absorbing. It made for a nice diversion. Wake had never met an author before and wondered how a novelist could put it all together, creating a world within a book. Perhaps I’ll meet one among the cultured elite of Europe on this assignment, he pondered, then speculated about when his assignment would actually begin. He hadn’t heard any word about when the squadron was due to arrive, or even where it would arrive.
His mind was constantly on Linda and the children, wondering what they were doing, where they were going, how they were feeling. He worried that they were slipping away from him, and his worry turned into melancholy. He knew it wasn’t healthy to dwell on such things, but he couldn’t help it. The melancholy grew into a deep depression and he lost his fortitude to do the simplest things. He stopped eating in the dining room or shaving in the morning. The following day he stayed in bed. Then, after three days of mind-numbing lethargy, when he saw the dawn light enter his room he cursed the ceiling and forced himself to get cleaned up and go for a walk.
On the afternoon of the eighth day he received an invitation from the consul general himself, whom he had never met. It was to a diplomatic reception at the British Consulate the following evening. Attire was full dress and Wake, in the absence of any senior American officers, would represent the United States Navy. The invitation was not worded as a request, or he would have ignored it. It was more of a summons, so he felt compelled to go.
He walked to the room’s tiny window and peered out. He needed to take a walk, be outside, see the sky, and think. Think about his life and his career. It was raining heavily, again. He returned to his bed and sat there, staring at the novel, wishing he was anywhere but there.
***
“Lieutenant Peter Wake, United States Navy!” called out the major-domo above the sound of the string quartet’s waltz.
No one in the crowded ballroom obviously noticed his introduction, for which Wake was grateful, and he made his way toward a bar table set up in the far corner. He felt uncomfortable in his heavy dress mess uniform and was already starting to sweat, for even though it was cold outside, the room was jammed with people and stuffy. And he was worried about meeting Catherine Faber, or her husband. A servant was handing him a fluted glass of cold champagne when a tall fair-haired young man in coat and tails approached him, held out his hand, and spoke in the clear voice of a Midwesterner.
“Lieutenant Wake? I am Daniel Davis, chargé d’affairs to Consul General Strom. Thank you for coming. I must sincerely apologize for not getting with you before this evening, I hope your stay in Genoa has been pleasant.”
Wake wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “No, it’s been a bit boring really. Does it always rain constantly like this?”
Davis grinned disarmingly and let out a laugh. “Only in the winter, Lieutenant. And admittedly, this winter has been worse for some reason.”
“Do you have any word on the squadron? When are they returning? Are they going to Villefranche, or where?”
“Yes, well that’s the good news I have for you. We got a telegraph today that they will be here soon. They left Lisbon yesterday. There is some sort of problem with them staying at their normal anchorage at Villefranche—I don’t know for sure what, but I’ve heard various rumors—so their winter station will be here at Genoa.”
Wake quickly worked out the
