The Spanish Diplomat’s Secret by Nev March EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Nev March
- Language: English
- Genre: International Mystery & Crime
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- Size: 5.6 MB
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ODDBALLS AND TOFFS
SUMMER 1894
DAY ONE: EVENING
I doubled over the ship’s railing and clung for dear life, my head even with
my spattered trousers, tossing up the last of a fine meal. The wind whipped
around, snatching at my clothes. Around me was wet darkness, the splash
and hiss of foam. Waves smashed the hull and sent up a spray that hit my
face. More seasoned travelers were enjoying their meals amidships, but I’d
known I’d never reach the leeward side and taken my chances at the nearest
rail.
The caviar I’d consumed only an hour ago tasted sour coming back up.
The HMS Etruria rolled until I was suspended high above, like a fly
clinging to the top of a Ferris wheel. At the crest it began to dip, nearly
upending me. Our hull dropped back into the ocean with a boom. I heaved,
but my insides had nothing left to give. Waves roiled, too damn close, as the
steamer sliced through vast swells.
Fighting the pull of gravity, I latched on and gasped for breath. Head
throbbing, I turned, but the deck chairs seemed far away. Bollocks. My
clothes sopping with seawater and puke, I took a step, lurched and clung to
the rail, limbs shaking.
“Puis-je vous aider?” asked a deep voice at my shoulder. May I help
you?
A white-haired man caught my arm, his head even with my shoulder. I
jerked—buffeted on all sides, I’d not noticed his approach. I felt oddly
distant, as though gazing at myself from afar and tut-tutting my poor
showing.
“I’m all right,” I choked. He’d spoken French, yet I could not reply in
the same tongue. My French was poor on a good day; at present it was
nonexistent.
“Vous êtes un soldat,” said the man, getting his arm around me. Soldat
—soldier. The wind snatched away the rest of his words, but his intent was
clear: to ferry me to a deck chair. I took a breath, found myself empty for
now, and eased away from the railing on legs of India rubber.
I cursed, as my feet slid—the damned deck seemed soapy, and I’d
swapped army boots for leather this evening. Only the older man’s
steadying grip kept me from slamming onto the boards. He took my weight
with a grunt and staggered. Gasping an apology, I made for the safety of the
chair.
Once I dropped into it, I panted in relief and gazed around the empty
deck. Small electric lanterns glowed every few yards. A jaunty waltz drifted
from the music room at the bow. Diana would be twirling around the
ballroom…I gave thanks that she had not seen me quivering at the railing.
Who was she dancing with? The injustice of it pricked me—why was I
plagued with this blasted seasickness while other blokes could waltz away
the hours?
It scarcely mattered though. Since I didn’t know how, I should not mind
her dancing with other fellows. And yet…
On Diana’s birthday two years ago in Bombay, I’d watched her float
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