Chapter Thirty-One #2
She learned about how good the coffee was on Swallow , and the letter from a Fast Dispatch Vessel to the Swallow ’s surgeon, announcing he was the father of twin boys, as of six weeks ago.
‘We teased him about that,’ John said, his hand gentle in her hair.
‘The sailing master wanted to know if they were called Pete and Repeat. I like that dress you abandoned a little while ago. You found a Port Mahon dressmaker?’
‘She made Pru two dresses as well, my love. Do you know, Madame Durand has a wonderful egg source. I’ve never seen yolks so yellow.’
‘The yolk’s on you, eh?’
And so on until she slept, content knowing they would do this all over again, until dawn turned them into rational human beings. The war would pick up where it had so mercifully left off. The difference? She knew she wanted more.
‘I treasure this,’ he told her after their second round of love-making, simply because who knew when they would have this chance again?
Still, she could try. ‘Do you have any idea when…’
‘I’ll be back? I never know. Up we get.’
He looked around for his smallclothes. She watched from the bed as he dressed, admiring this captain of hers.
‘Captain Tyler—Dan and I—have been keeping an eye out for each other,’ he told her. ‘I don’t want to be in port long, because La Guerre knows the Hartford is a small ship and as nimble as Swallow , but without the firepower.’
‘I saw that, too,’ she said, remembering that frightening time in Jaunty ’s hold. ‘When La Guerre attacked Jaunty as we were making our way to Admiral Collingwood, the French backed away when Hartford showed up.’
‘Exactly. The bully is less brave when it’s two against one.’
He buttoned his trousers, mind obviously on business of a nautical nature again. ‘The man on the yacht said you can expect someone to fetch Sofia Callona soon. I hope she is not a trial to you.’
‘Under the noble mantle, she’s just a frightened girl,’ she said. ‘We will manage well for a few days.’
‘Good. You know, sometimes I feel sorry for the petty princes, dukes and counts of Italy, with their little city-states and puffed-up importance. Quarrelling, always quarrelling. If they ever unite into one country, I’ll be astounded. Hand me my neckcloth, oh, Port Mahon wench.’
They teased each other as they walked hand in hand to the house, Anna certain that to do anything else might bring tears.
Breakfast was a feast of bacon and eggs, toast and spicier Port Mahon delicacies that made Allan hesitate.
Anna watched Pru eat everything without complaint as she always did, knowing she watched a child used to deprivation and too wise to leave anything uneaten.
Sofia Callona picked at her food, then put down her fork. ‘I am desperate to see my parents,’ she admitted, and bowed her head.
Anna half rose in her chair, but Allan reached Sofia first. Anna watched, her heart full, as the child patted her shoulder. ‘You’ll see them soon,’ he said in his earnest way. ‘There was a time I didn’t think I would see Papa again, and here he is.’
Anna held her breath, hoping Sofia responded kindly to this child who still stayed close to her and spent a lot of time watching the water, waiting and hoping for his father’s return. She let her breath out slowly when Sofia turned sympathetic eyes on him.
‘If you can wait, I can, too.’
Allan nodded, so serious. ‘“Time and tides” is what my papa says. Isn’t that it?’ he asked John.
‘Aye, laddie. Time and tides, Signorina Sofia, and one thing more: we are doing our best to get you to safety.’
‘I thank you,’ Sofia said.
Anna saw the sympathy in his eyes. So much for Royal Navy captains being made of iron. She took Sofia’s hand and gave it a squeeze, touched by answering pressure from a young lady made old too soon, another child of war.
John rose. ‘I must take my leave.’ He turned to Madame Durand, who had brought in more toast. ‘Did Hector arrange for that pony trap?’
‘ Oui, Capitaine ,’ she said. ‘Will you return soon?’
‘I never know, madame , but I do know someone will be here soon for our lovely guest.’ He nodded to Sofia, his eyes kind.
‘Thank you for bringing me here, Captain Beattie,’ Sofia said. ‘I promise to be a good guest.’ Her expression was a curious blend of apology and good will. ‘I probably didn’t need my list of demands.’
‘You shouldn’t need them where you are going,’ he said. ‘I hope you won’t be seasick on the yacht. I didn’t see anything on your list about mal de mer .’ He turned to Anna. ‘Kiss me quick, Mrs Beattie.’
And he was gone again. Madame Durand gave a piece of toast to Allan, and he piled on the marmalade. Sofia took another sip of her tea. Pru left the room, saying something about making her bed. Dame Routine had reasserted herself. Now it was time to miss the Captain all over again.
But there he was at the door. He motioned her outside.
‘Did you forget something?’ she asked.
‘I did indeed. Something I was going to show you.’
He handed her a picture of herself, the drawing done by a child, but the artist had captured her big eyes. She smiled, guessing who had drawn it.
‘Admiral Collingwood told me Allan sketched this when you and I were in Gibraltar,’ he said. ‘He gave Allan a box of coloured chalk he had been saving for his girls.’
‘I had no idea. How kind. You know, Allan is rather talented,’ she replied, touched and delighted at the same time. ‘Thank you.’
He took it back. ‘I want it. I have a place for it on the Swallow .’ He took a deep breath. ‘I have a picture of Cathy.’
‘I know,’ she said quietly.
‘Be patient with me,’ he said, his voice soft, too. He kissed her and closed the door.
Anna returned to the gardener’s shed to gather the sheets and empty the night jar, homely tasks that reordered her world again. She noticed Pru walking up from the steps to their inlet. Pru hurried to her, eyes wide.
‘Where were you?’ Anna asked.
‘I don’t like it when Captain Beattie leaves. I… I wanted to see the Swallow one more time, you know, from our own little inlet.’
Anna held up a finger. ‘I did ask you to tell me before you went down there, do you remember?’
She nodded, her eyes troubled. ‘I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.’ Then Pru came closer and whispered, as if conspirators lurked. ‘There was a flaming torch. What does that mean?’