The Royal Resistance

Chapter 10 - The name's Holmes. Maria Holmes.

The car pulled up to a stone mansion on a cliff. Crumbling stones broke off the jagged edges as the ocean beat against the rock, pulling it towards the crystal foam. The peaceful countryside circled the residence, fields of green stretching as far as the eye could see. She stepped out of the car and took a deep breath inhaling the familiar sea scent. Salt mixed with the fresh smell of wet earth, like an old friend welcoming her home.

As the others clambered out of the car, the house's wooden door swung open and a middle-aged man wearing a crisp grey suit walked out. His dark hair was combed back, sticking to his head as if it had been under the recent rain whose droplets were still speckled on the green ivy climbing the stone to his side. His lips were pressed into a firm line, indicating that he was there for business, but the twinkle in his eyes suggested a mischievous alter-ego.

He presented himself to Maria and the others as Garbo, the butler of the property and started asking her about the trip and its commodities as they went inside. Maria answered as politely as she could to each question while admiring the wooden furniture and lavish paintings decorating the residence.

"This must have been an awfully big change, jes?" Garbo asked with a thick accent that Maria couldn't quite place.

"Well the trip wasn't quite long and I've had to previously travel for royal duties, so I suppose it wasn't a big change," Maria replied.

"But Lisbon is different from England no? Different people, different culture, different organizations..." he trailed off.

"The culture is quite different but its vibrant and easy to get directions. I believe the war and Lisbon's duty to house the royal families of England due to their Anglo-Portuguese treaty has allowed for a wider range of english-speaking people."

"I agree the culture is quite vibrant and what about the groups of people?"

Maria paused next to a painting of dark heavy clouds rolling onto a sunny beach and looked at the man, "the groups?"

"Jes well the clubs and organizations?"

Maria narrowed her eyes suspiciously wondering whether he was talking about the RAF but her calculating expression was quickly erased as she realised he would already know about them if he was working at an MI5 safe house. "They house English generals at the embassy and other members of the RAF too. I suppose Lisbon is not just the home-away-from-home for Royals but others too."

"The RAF?" Garbo repeated, singling out the word.

"Royal Air Force. Pilots and generals," she replied as she studied the ominous clouds of the painting.

"Oh I have heard they have great strategies for the war, weapons and big plans."

Maria mumbled a half-hearted agreement concentrated on the painting. A couple was strolling through the sand with an umbrella over their heads, unawares of the impending storm. Suddenly, her brain registered Garbo's words and she swiveled to face him. "I suppose all parties involved in the war do," she said cautiously.

"Jes, but the British have an operation to turn the war around right? Something about destruction and deception?"

Maria looked the man up and down, paying attention to all the details. Why would a butler be wearing a suit like that? She saw a gold glint poking out of his jacket. Why would someone with a medal be a butler? Her eyes landed on his beckoning glance and friendly eyes and wondered when butlers had become so forward in their speech? Perhaps it was because he was foreign she reasoned. His happy attitude and genuine interest tempted her to tell him all about everything she knew, to have him be a friend who could listen about the doomsday operation - even if she did not know much about it - and her brother. "Well," she started, "they have an operation-" an image filled her mind. Garbo's mischievous air in the doorway of the house, contrasting his stone features. The glint in his eyes would be one to drive a vibrant man like the one he appeared to be, but that his profession and emotionless façade contradicted. She looked at his eyes again, seeing the friendly invitation being replaced by that of a predator craving the secrets of his prey.