“Thank you, sir,” said Wake. “Just some preliminary information that Mr. Davis here was kind enough to share with me. I found it interesting that you’re a sailor. What exact type of ship is Black Tulip, sir? Someday I’d like to see her.”
Brown exploded with mirth. “Lieutenant, you shall! I’m having a simple little weekend affair at my castle at Porto Fino and you can see her in all her glory there. Can you come for overnight on a weekend?” With a mock serious scowl Brown lowered his voice, sounding like a vicar preaching. “This is where you say yes, young man.”
Brown seemed sincerely friendly and Wake had never seen, much less been in, a real castle. “Ah, well, yes, sir. It would be a tremendous honor to visit your castle. Thank you very much for the invitation.”
“Excellent decision, Lieutenant. It will be in a week.” He gestured toward Strom. “My friend Beauregard and his lovely lady will be there, along with some other diplomats, a couple of our own naval staff officers and a few other charmers that always seem to appear. An interesting and diverse assembly, I think.”
Brown’s face beamed. “And now, Beauregard, I must pay my respects to his eminence the cardinal over there—after all, it is a saint’s day!”
As Brown conversed with the red-capped Catholic cardinal of Genoa, Wake asked, “Sir, did I say something wrong about the Black Tulip to Consul General Brown?”
Strom shook his head while grinning at Wake’s discomfort. “No, Wake. Nothing’s wrong. Just that there’s a bit of good humor in what you said and you’ll find out why when you arrive at the castle. Davis here will assist on your travel arrangements.” Strom looked over Wake’s shoulder. “Oh, I see we have the good fortune to have the first lady of the consulate among us tonight.”
Wake turned and felt his legs weaken. Not four feet away was Catherine, stunningly beautiful in that same green gown from St. Pierre, and looking directly into his eyes.
21
Soldier of Fortune
Even while his heart melted at the vision of her gentle smile, soft hair, and sad eyes—as if the intervening months had not happened and they were both still at Martinique—Wake realized that his appearance must be anything but attractive. He felt worn out, while she looked young and fresh and feminine.
“Madame Faber,” offered Strom. “May I present Lieutenant Peter Wake of the United States Navy? Lieutenant Wake represents our navy here in the Mediterranean at the moment. Lieutenant, this charming lady is Madame Catherine Faber de Champlain, wife of the consul general of the Republic of France, a man whom you’ve already had the honor of meeting.”
Wake stood spellbound as she stepped forward with her hand extended. He took it in both of his and kissed it, fighting the desperate urge to pull her into his arms.
“Enchanté, Madame Faber,” he said, ignoring the shocked faces of Strom and Davis, who immediately deduced their shy naval officer already knew the lady.
“Merci, Lieutenant—” Catherine’s eyes darted suddenly and Wake belatedly registered that her husband had rejoined the group and was watching him. Feeling his cheeks heat up, he tried to think of something to say, but his mind went blank.
Faber slid an arm around his wife and gestured toward the dance floor. “Voulez-vous danser, ma chérie?” Without waiting for her, he headed to the center of the room where couples swirled to a Chopin waltz.
“Excusez-moi,” she said with a little curtsy to them all, before following Faber.
There was a moment of silence among the three Americans, broken by Strom. “It appears you have met the lady, Lieutenant. But I thought you said you’ve never been to the Med prior to this?”
“I haven’t been across the Atlantic before this, sir. I met the lady at Martinique in December. She is a delightful person.”
Strom was worried by Wake’s reaction when he saw the Frenchman’s wife. “I know she is delightful, Lieutenant. I also know she is married—to a high-ranking French diplomat. Kindly remember that. Your behavior will reflect upon our national character.”
When he heard Strom’s words, Wake’s headache hammered his temples and before he knew it he retorted, “Consul General—I am married also, and you, sir, are on the edge of insulting my honor and that of the lady in question . . .”
“You dare to chastise me?” Strom seethed, his bulk leaning forward so others couldn’t hear. “Let’s get something straight here, Wake. I don’t give one iota of a damn about your honor. It doesn’t impress anybody around here. You’re just another underling here, another minion who does servants’ work for a joke of a navy. So don’t you ever dare to get high and mighty with me, you little pipsqueak. I’ve killed bigger, badder, and brighter men than you in war, boy.”
Wake got ready for the blow he was sure would come as Davis stepped between them, laughing loudly as if one of them had told a joke, then whispering, “Gentlemen, please. Nothing untoward has happened, so let us not make a scene. I think some cool champagne would do us all some good. Please, gentlemen.”
Strom glared at Davis, then relaxed and laughed as he punched Wake hard on the arm. “Say, that was a good one, Lieutenant,” he bellowed. “You had me going there for a moment!”
The hit looked playful but Wake’s bone ached. He felt Davis step on his shoe, took the hint and swallowed his pride, muttering loudly, “Yes, sir. My humor is sometimes misunderstood. Dry, I’ve been told. I’m glad you appreciated it.” Then, quieter, “I apologize for any misunderstanding, sir. The lady and I are brief acquaintances. I didn’t mean for it to appear like anything more.”
Strom paused, then said, “Perhaps I jumped the gun a bit myself, Lieutenant. Got nervous. Lesson learned for us both. This is a dangerous continent in more ways than one. Just beware of the women here, Lieutenant. Be very wary of them. They start wars more often than you know.”
“Very good, gentlemen,”
