![]() He sat there longer than he should have, touched that his father had probably hit on the matter: he was lonely.ĭamn this war, he had thought then. He read it once and laughed he read it again and pushed back his chair, thoughtful. ![]() Your dutiful, if disgruntled, son.Ī week later, he had read Da’s reply over breakfast. I know I should appreciate this promotion, he had written, but, Da, I am out of sorts. ![]() While flattering, the promotion had bumped him off a ship of the line and into an office. He had written to his father, describing his restlessness and his dissatisfaction with the perils of promotion. Hugh gazed more thoughtfully into the mirror, not bothered by his reflection-he knew his height, posture, curly brown hair, and nicely chiselled lips met the demands of any recruiting poster-but by the humbling knowledge that his father still knew him best. During one particularly dull budget meeting, he drew a whole file of them down the side of the page. As Colonel Commandant Lord Villiers covered item after item in his stringent style, Hugh had started drawing a little lady peeking around the edge of her bonnet. Maybe early symptoms were the little drawings that deckled Hugh’s memorandum tablet during endless meetings in the conference room at Marine Barracks. ![]() Stonehouse Royal Marine Barracks, Third Division, Plymouth-May 1812īlack leather stock in hand, Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Philippe d’Anvers Junot, Royal Marine, stared into his mirror and decided his father was right: he was lonely. ![]()
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