George Washington's Ghost

She had meant to have the big conversation with Henrietta, instead, they had kissed their lips sore and in the darkness of the night they had been far, far too preoccupied with each other’s bodies to worry about the future.

The two women had spoken daily on the telephone when Melody had been in Lisbon and Vila Viçosa with Alonso, they had gossiped away to each other, as usual. Henrietta had been fascinated to learn about Alonso’s business interests and estates, including a large winery in the Algarve, in Portugal. Henrietta had talked a lot about Pedro, and been frankly flummoxed by what little Melody had felt free to confess regarding her meetings with the exiled Spanish Queen.

Melody was still teasing out a rough outline of how, exactly, Alonso and his ‘allies’ had safely extricated the Queen and the two Infantas from the chaos, a parallel adventure which probably made her and Henrietta’s travails pale into insignificance.

It was a bright, warm day, so, Melody suggested they take Pedro for a ramble around the hilltop on which Viano do Castelo perched. Alonso was due that evening; and time was short.

“Things were a lot simpler when we were on the run in Spain,” she decided.

They had been walking for some minutes, not talking.

“Yes,” the younger woman agreed.

“We haven’t really talked… about things.”

“No.”

“But we should, don’t you think?”

Henrietta said nothing for several steps.

“I want to adopt Pedro,” she said, in a voice suggesting she had been a little afraid to say it.

It was Melody’s turn to lose her courage, she said nothing.

“How do you think Alonso will feel about that?” Henrietta asked anxiously.

Melody panicked, forgot everything she had meant to say and said the first thing that came into her head.

“Why wouldn’t Alonso agree? He loves you, after all!”

The women stood, blinking incomprehension at each other.

Pedro broke the trance, tugging at Henrietta’s skirt.

They each took one of his hands, and set off again.

The boy loved this game, the women gently lifting him off the ground so that he could swing, an inch or so off the cobbles, giggling and laughing, kicking his feet.

“No, he doesn’t,” Henrietta objected half-heartedly.

“He fell for you at first sight. Probably at one of those dreadful diplomatic receptions you used to host for your father in Philadelphia,” Melody speculated. “You were always the most, well, only interesting woman in the room and the most beautiful…”

“That’s silly!”

“Okay, who was the first person you went to talk to when all those middle-aged, awful planter types hit on you at official functions at Government House? Who was the man who always made you laugh? Who was the guy who always listened to everything you had to say to him like it was the most fascinating thing in the world?”

“No, that’s impossible. How on earth could you know that stuff?”

“Because that was the sort of stuff, he confessed to the Queen of Spain in the letters he sent her practically every day from Philadelphia!”

Oh, shit, I really, really did not mean to tell Hen that!

Henrietta was momentarily dumbstruck.

“Alonso and the Queen were teenage sweethearts or something,” Melody said in a rush, desperately trying to repair the damage she imagined, in her confusion, she had just caused. “Queen Sophie was telling me about all sorts of things because she’s terrified that Alonso will waste his whole life trying to restore her to the throne. She doesn’t want that; she just wants her daughters to grow up like normal kids. Preferably without anybody trying to murder them all the time.”

“Alonso and Queen Sophie were…”

Henrietta just stopped herself in time, not wanting to go there. Nevertheless, both women were suddenly looking down at Pedro,

“No,” Melody blurted.

“No, of course not,” Henrietta agreed, like her friend suddenly very aware of the boys wide, Hapsburg eyes. “But…”

Pedro tugged at their hands and they walked on, started playing the swinging game anew.

“I know we don’t want to go there,” Henrietta whispered, as if they were not alone on a remote hilltop but in the middle of a crowd, “but Alonso did say Pedro’s mother was a high-born lady…”

“Oh, God,” Melody groaned. “Look, you know Alonso was supposed to have had a fling with Roger Lee’s sister? Shortly after he arrived in Philadelphia?”

“Yes, everybody was scandalised…”

“That was the point. Queen Sophie talked about Alonso being like a monk. Although, the way she said it made it sound more like his ‘monk’ incarnation was more like he was some kind of latter-day Templar. But anyway, that he was a reformed character after Pedro’s birth.”

“Until he met you,” Henrietta said pointedly. “But we’re getting off the point. What is she, the Queen, I mean? Is she Pedro’s mother?”

This time Melody halted abruptly.

Pedro, thinking that this was all part of the game laughed and resumed pulling at the women’s hands.

Melody looked into her lover’s eyes.