The Royal Marriage. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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the vehicle proceeded at a more sober pace up a driveway bordered by a vivid mass of multi-coloured hibiscus and bougainvillaea. To the right more coconut trees framed the cerulean ocean. The driveway, Ricardo noted, was in considerably better repair than the highway.
About a mile and a half farther on a sprawling mansion came into view—a maze of whitewashed walls and low-lying red-tiled roofs emerging from a panoply of lush vegetation. It was strangely harmonious, as though the architect had felt entirely in tune with his surroundings.
‘We here,’ Lando, the driver, proclaimed triumphantly as he stamped on the brakes and the SUV came to a standstill. Ricardo smiled thankfully. He wondered why Gonzalo didn’t have a private airstrip, which would have made life a lot easier; he could certainly afford it.
Then servants appeared, doors opened, and as Ricardo exited the vehicle he saw Gonzalo, a man of medium height, brown and wiry—rather like the SUV’s driver—in a short-sleeved white shirt and beige trousers, his thick white hair swept back, coming down some shallow steps to greet him.
‘My friend,’ he said, with a broad smile of greeting, ‘welcome to my home.’
‘Thank you. I’m happy to be here.’ The two men shook hands warmly.
‘I’m sorry we couldn’t send the plane to pick you up in Recife, but there has been a problem with our radar system and in this back-of-beyond place we have to wait two days for the specialist to arrive. Usually my own team can take care of minor problems, but I’m afraid this time it was too complex. Come in out of the heat,’ Gonzalo insisted.
Ricardo obeyed gladly and stepped inside a huge cool marble hall. ‘It certainly is hot out there,’ he remarked.
‘At least forty degrees today,’ Gonzalo agreed, leading the way into a vast living room decorated with modern white sofas, Persian rugs, exotic plants and tasteful antiques. The panoramic view over the ocean was magnificent.
‘You have a beautiful place here,’ Ricardo said, gazing out, impressed. There was something wild and untamed about the landscape—something he couldn’t define but that he found viscerally disturbing.
The two men sat down on the sofas and two uniformed maids materialised with coffee and fruit juice.
‘This fruit is umbu,’ Gonzalo said as Ricardo tasted the refreshing juice. ‘It is typical of the north-east of the country. We have a great variety of fruit here.’
‘Delicious.’ Ricardo was still wondering what it was that had triggered Gonzalo’s urgent message. He was travelling incognito, having left his usual retinue behind in Maldoravia, and he was enjoying the freedom this allowed him. Right now he was content to bide his time. So, instead of showing overt curiosity as to why Gonzalo had summoned him, he sipped his juice and waited. Three years as ruler of the Principality had taught him patience. He had no doubt that all would be revealed in good time.
Several minutes later Gonzalo was conducting him up a wide marble staircase, past walls covered with bright colourful paintings that Gonzalo explained were from local and other South American artists, to a large suite of rooms. There the maids were already unpacking his belongings.
‘I suggest you take a rest,’ Gonzalo said. ‘When it is cooler we can meet for drinks downstairs and chat.’
‘That sounds perfect,’ Ricardo replied.
A few minutes later he was under the shower, enjoying the rush of ice-cold water. When he got out he sleeked back his dark hair and twisted a bath towel around his waist. He was a tall, well-built man. At thirty-three, several years of working out had left him with a trim, sculpted body. His dark brown eyes surveyed the reflection of his finely chiselled face in the bathroom mirror as he debated whether he needed another shave.
Water still trickled down his tanned back as he moved across the marble floor towards French windows and opened the doors. As he stepped out onto the balcony he was met by a pleasant breeze. The scorching heat of earlier in the day had subsided. Leaning on the balustrade, he looked out towards the rolling sand dunes and the bright blue sea, intrigued. From here, the next port of call, he reflected thoughtfully, was Africa. There was clarity and luminosity now that the heat haze had subsided, leaving the coconut trees and the rich vegetation distinct.
Ricardo stretched. He was about to turn back inside and lie down when a movement in the far distance caught his eyes. Shading them from the setting sun, he watched a straight-backed female figure astride a handsome white horse approaching along the beach at a gentle canter. It made a pleasant picture. As she drew closer he could make out her lithe movements, and her long dark hair flowing wildly in the wind. The woman and the animal blended as though they were one.
Ricardo stood glued to the spot, watching as she reined the horse in, then dismounted easily onto the sand and shook her hair back. The horse stood obediently as she removed her jeans and shirt, revealing long bronzed limbs and a perfectly proportioned body encased in a tiny white bikini. Then, like a top model on a Parisian catwalk, she glided towards the water and entered the spray, dipped under a wave and then emerged. He could hear her laughing and calling to the horse. A smile broke on his lips as the animal trotted into the water and together they frolicked. It was a magical scene, unreal. A beautiful deserted landscape, a girl and a horse so in tune with one another. Like something out of a movie.
He wondered who she was. He knew little about Gonzalo’s family—only that he had been a widower for many years. He had never met any of Gonzalo’s children. Certainly he had never heard his own father mention any.
He stood straighter and observed the girl lead the horse out of the water, back to where she’d left her clothes. Even at this distance it was confirmed to him that her figure was almost perfect, and he experienced a rush of raw sexual attraction. Then, throwing her garments up on the horse, the girl leapt into the saddle.
Ricardo drew in his breath as she galloped off into the rich crimson sunset.
‘You must naturally be wondering why I asked you to come here at a moment’s notice,’ Gonzalo remarked as, later, the two men sat on the lushly decorated veranda, which was furnished with dark rattan chairs upholstered with comfortable white cushions, low coffee tables and tropical plants.
It was pleasantly cool now. A gentle breeze blew in from the sea and a delicate crescent moon shone above them at a right angle. Night had fallen quickly due, Ricardo knew, to the proximity of the Equator. Brightly etched stars dotted the inky sky even though it was still early. He could even distinguish the Southern Cross.
‘I must confess to curiosity,’ he said, taking a sip of whisky, studying his host.
‘Then I shall not beat about the bush,’ Gonzalo replied, with a wise, knowing smile that held a touch of sadness. ‘I am an old man, Ricardo, and unfortunately my health is not in the best of shape.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘So am I. Not for myself, you understand, but for one that I must leave behind when the time comes to pass on.’
‘I wasn’t aware that you were married.’
‘I’m not now. I have been a widower for many years. I had no children from my first marriage. But years ago I had an affair with a young woman—a young English film star whose movie I financed. We were married in secret, as she didn’t want the publicity to affect her career, but she was killed in a plane crash just two months after our daughter was born.’
Ricardo said nothing, merely crossed one leg over his knee and waited. Some favour was about to be asked, he was sure.
‘Last month my doctors in New York told me that I have less than a year to live. It’s cancer, I’m afraid, and it’s terminal. I have only a few months left.’
‘I’m deeply sorry,’ Ricardo said, truly sad for his father’s old friend. ‘What can I do to help?’
Gonzalo took his time, swivelled his glass in his fingers, then looked Ricardo straight in the eye. ‘Marry my daughter.’
‘Excuse