1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 274 Sophia's Sketch

Chapter 274 Sophia's Sketch

The following morning, London was still shrouded in thick fog.

In the mansion's drawing room, the fireplace, which had burned all night, had dispelled most of the chill. The lingering aromas of last night's banquet, mingled with the scents of charcoal and beeswax, had not yet completely dissipated. Count Andreas was conversing quietly with several diplomats, their faces still bearing the lingering excitement of the previous night.

A servant carrying a stack of newly delivered newspapers strode in.

Count Andreas immediately beckoned, and a servant placed newspapers on the long table. The crowd gathered around, each picking up a copy, their fingers moving rapidly across the ink-stained paper.

"Found it!" Mr. Cofinas exclaimed in a low voice.

He was holding up a poorly printed, crudely printed tabloid called the London Echo. The front page, with its exaggeratedly comical headline, occupied the most prominent position.

"The gods of the City of London secretly pay homage to the Greek crown prince!"

The article is written in an extremely sentimental tone, using exaggerated and flamboyant language.

"—Last night, while all of London was shrouded in fog and slumber, a secret banquet, powerful enough to shake the world's trade landscape, was being held in a secluded mansion. The Larlis brothers, whose merchant ships held the key to the Indian spice trade;

Vagliano, the bankers of the financial city who could make the market tremble—these giants, who usually only appeared in the most elite clubs, collectively paid the highest tribute to a young crown prince from the East—

Beside the article was an illustration, blurry but still discernible in its outline—a sketch of last night's group photo. Constantine sat in the center, surrounded by smiling wealthy businessmen.

"This—this was done by that photographer last night?" A young attendant asked, his hands trembling as he held the newspaper.

"Well done." Venizelos put down the newspaper he was holding, his voice hoarse. He had picked up The Times.

All eyes turned to him.

Venizelos didn't speak, but simply pushed the newspaper to the center of the table.

Count Andreas picked up his monocle and leaned closer to examine it. In a prominent position on the commentary page was a column by the "Observer," titled "Form and Substance."

The article begins by describing a Russian grand duke who visited London at the same time. His entourage booked the entire Savoy Hotel and held lavish banquets every night, with empty champagne bottles piling up like mountains.

The article then shifts its focus to the newly arrived Greek delegation.

"—In stark contrast was another delegation from the Balkans. They stayed in a simple residence arranged by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, without a guard of honor or a welcoming banquet. Their leader, the young Greek Crown Prince, did not protest the accommodations. He seemed more focused on substantive work than on diplomatic pomp and circumstance. This pragmatic attitude, for a nation that had just proven its courage on the battlefield, perhaps foreshadowed a new and respectable maturity—"

The living room fell silent.

Everyone understood. The British's carefully orchestrated show of force, the initial coldness and disdain, were completely reversed thanks to the combined effect of these two reports.

One of them highlighted the unfathomable wealth behind them.

Another aspect is that their forbearance has been shaped into a pragmatic and mature political demeanor.

Humiliation turned into praise.

Just then, the aide-de-camp Alexandros entered. His steps were steady, and he carried a dark blue diplomatic pouch sealed with sealing wax.

"Your Highness, the latest mailbag from Athens."

He placed the mailbag on the table. Constantine walked over and personally used a knife to cut open the seal. A thick stack of official documents and reports was poured out.

Among those official documents, a pale beige envelope lay quietly.

The envelope wasn't made of official paper; the familiar, delicate handwriting on it, along with a faint scent of roses wafting in the air, caused Constantine to pause for a moment.

He pushed the other documents aside, picked up the envelope, ignored the questioning gazes of the crowd, turned and walked into the study next door, closing the door behind him.

In the study, Constantine opened the envelope.

A small piece of sketch paper floated down from inside and landed in his palm.

The drawing depicts a corner of the gardens of the Athenian royal palace.

The bright sunlight filtered through the olive tree branches, casting dappled shadows on the green grass. A fluffy white kitten curiously stretched out its paws to catch a butterfly perched on a blooming rose.

That's their youngest son Alexander's new pet.

The imagery is simple, with soft lines, yet it is full of tranquility and a warm vitality.

Constantine unfolded the letter.

Sofia's handwriting was as elegant as ever. In the letter, she recounted the children's amusing stories. Her eldest son, George, had won first place again in his riding lesson, and little Alexander, because of the cat, no longer pestered for a flying toy. The newly planted bougainvillea in the garden had already climbed all over the walls, creating a purple waterfall.

They are all trivial family matters, ordinary yet real.

Constantine's gaze moved to the end of the letter.

"I've heard that the fog in London is very thick. But even the thickest fog can't block out the sun over the Aegean Sea."

"My king, please dispel the gloom there and bring us back to your sunshine as soon as possible."

"Your Athena, on Mount Olympus, lights an eternal lamp for you."

Constantine held the small sketch, remaining motionless for a long time.

The pressure of the past few days, the chill of London, and the calculations behind the negotiating table were all melted away at this moment by the warm sunlight on the canvas.

He looked up and glanced at the gray sky outside the window, where leaden clouds hung low.

He looked down again at the carefree kitten chasing butterflies in the painting.

Upon arriving in London, he smiled genuinely for the first time.

He carefully folded the sketch and letter, then placed them close to his body in the inside pocket of his suit.

He stood up.

He pulled the study door open from the inside.