He answered the doorbell himself, an experience that reminded him of the old days with his mother in Folkestone. Tonio had grown a beard and moustache, no doubt to hide the scars of the beating he had been given by Micky's thugs eleven years earlier; but Hugh instantly recognized the carrot-colored hair and reckless grin. It was snowing, and there was a dusting of white on Tonio's hat and the shoulders of his coat.
Hugh took his old friend into the kitchen and gave him tea. "How did you find me?" he asked.
"It wasn't easy," Tonio replied. "There was no one at your old house and the bank was closed. But I went to Whitehaven House and saw your aunt Augusta. She hasn't changed. She didn't know your address, but she remembered Chingford. The way she said the name, it sounded like a prison camp, like Van Diemen's Land."
Hugh nodded. "It's not so bad. The boys are fine. Nora finds it hard."
"Augusta hasn't moved house."
"No. She's more to blame than anyone else for the mess we're in. Yet she of all of them is the one who refuses to accept reality. She'll find out that there are worse places than Chingford."
"Cordova, for instance," said Tonio.
"How is it?"
"My brother was killed in the fighting."
"I'm sorry."
"The war has reached a stalemate. Everything depends on the British government now. The side that wins recognition will be able to get credit, resupply its army, and overrun the opposition. That's why I'm here."
"Have you been sent by President Garcia?"
"Better than that. I am now officially the Cordovan Minister in London. Miranda has been dismissed."
"Splendid!" Hugh was pleased that at last Micky had been sacked. It had irked him to see a man who had stolen two million pounds from him walking around London, going to clubs and theatres and dinner parties as if nothing had happened.
Tonio added: "I brought letters of accreditation with me and lodged them at the Foreign Office yesterday."
"And you're hoping to persuade the prime minister to support your side."
"Yes."
Hugh looked at him quizzically. "How?"
"Garcia is the president--Britain ought to support the legitimate government."
That was a bit feeble, Hugh thought. "We haven't so far."
"I shall just tell the prime minister that you should."
"Lord Salisbury is busy trying to keep the lid on a boiling cauldron in Ireland--he's got no time for a distant South American civil war." Hugh did not mean to sound negative, but an idea was forming in his mind.
