After Variam departed, Wake went to the window. Leaning out he saw clear aqua-jade water 250 feet straight down, the walls of the castle blending into the cliff face, the whole covered with tangles of vines and bushes. He realized that the passenger steamer had passed within a thousand feet of the castle upon entering Porto Fino but the foliage had obscured it. Beyond the cliff his panorama spread out for miles, from the mountains of the distant Italian mainland across the Golfo de Tigullio, around to the vast shimmering Mediterranean. He took in the smell of flowers, the gentle sound of distant stringed music, the whispering of the waves and wind through the trees, and the view. That view. The stuff of tales. It was breathtaking.
Allen broke the silence. “Quite the billet, eh? I dare say that no other lieutenant in your navy has been a guest here. Maybe not the admiral himself. I’ve been here only once so far, and only during the day.”
“Pete, this is unbelievable. Beautiful.”
“Just wait, my friend. You haven’t seen the best yet.”
***
Allen had left hours before and Wake lay on his bed, the hall door closed for privacy, letting the sea breeze coming through the window wash over him. In his peculiar fashion, he analyzed events of the previous three months, calculating the problems he faced, the decisions he had made, and the consequences that would come.
The March air was cool but not nearly as frigid as when he had arrived in Italy six weeks earlier. Six weeks, he thought. Six weeks in a hotel room waiting for . . . what? A squadron that kept getting delayed? A nebulous job he wasn’t prepared for? His marriage to completely fall apart? In his letters back to Linda, the products of many drafts, Wake had tried to be understanding and hopeful of the future. Positive and loving, but firm on one point—he was not leaving the navy. And what would be the result of that decision?
Now, in the most luxurious and tranquil place he had ever visited, he was scared down to his gut, sure that his life would soon descend into the desolate existence he had seen in other officers when their marriages ended. Why didn’t she understand? She always had before. But her letters were clear. Forbearance of his career had taken its toll and her empathy was at an end. Over. Am I prepared to lose her?—he asked himself grimly, with the sad thought that maybe he already had, years before.
Sounds of people again drifted into the room from along the passageway. Wake made out Variam explaining something, then a British reply and someone speaking in a guttural tone—he guessed it was German. Guests had been arriving all day and at one point he had heard French, making him wonder if the Fabers were invited. And that, against his best judgment and willpower, had set his heart to racing. Would he see those mesmerizing eyes, hear that lilting voice, feel the gentle caress of her hand as they melded together and swayed to a romantic song in the night air?
His nerves, keyed up by a hectic day of exertion and uncertainty, finally gave out and Wake closed his eyes, shutting out the world. To his semiconscious embarrassment, Catherine glided into view in his mind, standing there, beautiful, her eyes saying without words what he wanted to hear, beckoning to come closer. Wake felt the tension slowly leave him, and then he abandoned himself into the realm of his dream—discipline and judgment gone. And unlamented.
23
A Vision in Green
Wake’s ears filled with the sounds of the party the moment he opened the door to his room and stepped into the passageway. Mandolins with a lively beat pleasantly set the mood. Laughter and clinking glasses provided a background as French, Italian, German, and English floated up from the first floor, gaining intensity as he descended the stairs to the main foyer. There Variam stood, booming out the announcement of each guest, his words echoing along the high vaulted ceiling, the pause afterward heightening its profundity.
“Lieutenant Peter . . . Wake, . . . of the United . . . States . . . Navy. . . .”
Rigged out once again in his formal dress uniform, Wake felt awkward among the elite mingling around him, but followed the almost imperceptible nod of the major-domo and marched along the main hall toward the double doors at the end that opened onto the patio. As he passed through the massive oak doors something about them struck a chord with him, a familiarity that surprised him, but that he couldn’t place. At any rate, he had no time to evaluate for immediately he was in front of Consul Brown, who was greeting each guest as they emerged onto the graveled patio surrounded by a waist-high parapet and decorated with cedar and pine trees growing up out of the pebbles.
“My dear Lieutenant Wake! How positively wonderful that you’ve come to share this weekend with us here. I hope your stay at the castle will be an oasis of calm in this turbulent world.” Brown theatrically cocked an eyebrow. “Enjoy yourself this evening. All work and no play make for a very grumpy gentleman in anyone’s navy.”
“Thank you, sir. The invitation was very kind of you. And your home here is . . . well, sir, it is magnificent. Something out of a fairy tale.”
“Yes, it is. It is indeed. Originally, in Roman times, this was a small outpost, a lookout, but the castle as you see it now was built in the middle fifteen-hundreds by the Genovese republic to protect their coastal trade. Took twenty-three years to complete. By the late seventeen-hundreds the French, English, Austrians, Sardinians, and Venetians had all fought over it and owned it at one point or
