brasswork, carpentry, painting and gilding. Moreover, he’d have to be able to follow specifications far more complex than any he’d previously encountered. Rafael would hate to have to leave any job less than perfectly done, but especially this one, his finest ever design. On the other hand, the design itself was done, and what did he care about how itmight look here in England? This was no country for sundials, and there was no one here he wanted to impress. Of course he’d like the queen to have a good dial, but if it did fall short, she’d know no better.
He was still at Whitehall every day for lunch. Turning English, I am , he’d joke bleakly to himself: interested in nothing but eating. The English drank, too, but their thirst for beer went way beyond what could politely be termed an interest. Rafael was eating the fare on offer at the palace only because there was nothing else for him to do, nowhere else to go, and no food affordable or available elsewhere until suppertime. And if there was news of any ship heading home, he wanted to hear it.
While they ate and drank, the English gossiped: so claimed Rafael’s acquaintances. A nation of gossips, the English, with nothing important to say but never shutting up. But what Rafael heard at lunch one day in late September was definitely no mere gossip. This was official, this was news, and, as such, was something for him to take back, that evening, to the house. He hoped no one had already reached Cecily with it; he wanted to make a gift of it for her. Good to be able to offer her something, for once: she, who’d been so generous to him with the fruits of her household labours and so ready with friendship. He suspected – to his shame – that he’d so far been a bit of a misery around the house. Well, this evening, he would step indoors with a genuine smile.
On the palace’s riverside steps, handing over the regulated fare to the boatman, he avoided eye-contact as usual, but he detected less animosity, he was sure, and a boatman – never backwards in coming forwards – was a good indicator of thegeneral mood. The good news was good for everyone, and already, it seemed, the English were softening towards their visitors. He took no chances, though, acting invisible, gaze averted to nowhere in particular and face expressionless – something he’d become good at, as had most of his fellow countrymen. The art was to look blank but with no hint of nonchalance which could be mistaken for the fabled Spanish arrogance, rumour of which had circulated long before any of these Londoners had ever actually seen anyone from Spain, and which was persisting despite their very best efforts.
Rafael’s sole essential expense were these boats, daily, to and from the palace, and on this occasion – as on so many others – he was having to afford it alone. With the likelihood of informal celebrations at the palace, Antonio had decided to stay late. How did he afford it? – complaining long and loud of lack of money but usually finding enough for an evening of beer. Winning it or borrowing it, he must be. He wasn’t getting it from Rafael, although of course he’d asked. But if Rafael himself hadn’t been paid, he couldn’t pay Antonio.
‘There’s the money for materials,’ Antonio had objected.
‘It’s for materials,’ Rafael had insisted.
Antonio laughed. ‘Oh, come on,’ he derided, ‘you know it’s not going to happen.’ And he’d tried again: ‘Lend me some.’
Unlike Antonio, Rafael had been going very carefully with the money he’d brought with him. Everything but boats was having to wait. No repairs to his boots until he was back home. It was the same for all the Spaniards he knew, they were all broke. They could only try to keep up appearances until their departure.
Antonio would need to be in luck with his lenders, today; there’d certainly be some celebrating, tonight. Spanish talk, all this afternoon, had been of the return to Spain, and it
He was still at Whitehall every day for lunch. Turning English, I am , he’d joke bleakly to himself: interested in nothing but eating. The English drank, too, but their thirst for beer went way beyond what could politely be termed an interest. Rafael was eating the fare on offer at the palace only because there was nothing else for him to do, nowhere else to go, and no food affordable or available elsewhere until suppertime. And if there was news of any ship heading home, he wanted to hear it.
While they ate and drank, the English gossiped: so claimed Rafael’s acquaintances. A nation of gossips, the English, with nothing important to say but never shutting up. But what Rafael heard at lunch one day in late September was definitely no mere gossip. This was official, this was news, and, as such, was something for him to take back, that evening, to the house. He hoped no one had already reached Cecily with it; he wanted to make a gift of it for her. Good to be able to offer her something, for once: she, who’d been so generous to him with the fruits of her household labours and so ready with friendship. He suspected – to his shame – that he’d so far been a bit of a misery around the house. Well, this evening, he would step indoors with a genuine smile.
On the palace’s riverside steps, handing over the regulated fare to the boatman, he avoided eye-contact as usual, but he detected less animosity, he was sure, and a boatman – never backwards in coming forwards – was a good indicator of thegeneral mood. The good news was good for everyone, and already, it seemed, the English were softening towards their visitors. He took no chances, though, acting invisible, gaze averted to nowhere in particular and face expressionless – something he’d become good at, as had most of his fellow countrymen. The art was to look blank but with no hint of nonchalance which could be mistaken for the fabled Spanish arrogance, rumour of which had circulated long before any of these Londoners had ever actually seen anyone from Spain, and which was persisting despite their very best efforts.
Rafael’s sole essential expense were these boats, daily, to and from the palace, and on this occasion – as on so many others – he was having to afford it alone. With the likelihood of informal celebrations at the palace, Antonio had decided to stay late. How did he afford it? – complaining long and loud of lack of money but usually finding enough for an evening of beer. Winning it or borrowing it, he must be. He wasn’t getting it from Rafael, although of course he’d asked. But if Rafael himself hadn’t been paid, he couldn’t pay Antonio.
‘There’s the money for materials,’ Antonio had objected.
‘It’s for materials,’ Rafael had insisted.
Antonio laughed. ‘Oh, come on,’ he derided, ‘you know it’s not going to happen.’ And he’d tried again: ‘Lend me some.’
Unlike Antonio, Rafael had been going very carefully with the money he’d brought with him. Everything but boats was having to wait. No repairs to his boots until he was back home. It was the same for all the Spaniards he knew, they were all broke. They could only try to keep up appearances until their departure.
Antonio would need to be in luck with his lenders, today; there’d certainly be some celebrating, tonight. Spanish talk, all this afternoon, had been of the return to Spain, and it
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