Allday turned and looked up at the quarterdeck. Just a brief glance of recognition, as if he knew what Bolitho was thinking.
Like that dawn when he had gone to the jetty after leaving Catherine.
Allday had been there, had put his fingers to his mouth to give his piercing whistle which dismissed any boatswain's call to shame, to summon a boat.
When he had last seen Catherine he had argued with her, tried to persuade her to move away from London until they could face the storm together. She had been adamant. She intended to see Somervell, to tell him the truth. Our love must triumph.
When Bolitho had voiced his fears for her safety she had given the bubbling, uninhibited laugh he remembered so well. 'There has been no love between us, Richard. Not as you thought it was. I wanted a marriage for security, Lacey needed my strength, my backing.'
It still hurt to hear her use his name.
He could see her now, on that last evening before she had sailed. Those compelling eyes and high cheekbones, her incredible confidence.
He heard Jenour's footsteps on the worn planking. Ready to convey his orders to the other captains.
Bolitho saw a brig riding untidily on the blue water, her yards alive with flags as she conveyed news of the squadron to the Rock fortress. There might even be word from Catherine. He had reread her only letter until he knew each line perfectly.
Such a striking, vibrant woman. Somervell must be mad not to fight for her love.
One night when they had been lying together, watching the moonlight through the shutters, she had told him something of her past. He already knew about her first marriage to an English soldier-of-fortune who had died in a brawl in Spain before the Franco-Spanish Alliance. She had been just a young girl at the time, who had been raised in London, a part you would not dare to believe, dear Richard! She had laughed, and nuzzled his shoulder, but he had heard the sadness too. Before that she had been on the stage. When she was fourteen. A long hard journey to become the wife of the Inspector General. Then there had been Luis Pareja, who had been killed after Bolitho had taken their ship as a prize, then defended it against Barbary pirates.
Pareja had been twice her age, but she had cared for him deeply; for his gentle kindness above all, something which until then had been denied her.
Pareja had provided for her well, although she had had no idea that she owned anything but some jewellery she had been wearing aboard that ship when Bolitho had burst into her life.
Their first confrontation had been one of fire. She had spat out her bitter despair and hate. It was still hard to fathom when all that had changed to an equally fiery love.
He took the telescope again and trained it on the brig.
Catherine had missed the sight she had sworn to witness. Almost the last thing Bolitho had seen when Hyperion left English Harbour had been a line of grisly gibbets, their sun-blackened remains left as a reminder and a warning to other would-be pirates.
He saw Parris standing forward along the starboard gangway, to make sure that when they anchored nobody ashore would find even the smallest fault in the manoeuvre.
Parris had taken a working party ashore at Antigua to move Catherine's trunks aboard the packet-ship.
Catherine had slipped her hand through Bolitho's arm while they had watched the sailors carrying the boxes towards the jetty.
She had said, 'I don't like that man.'
Bolitho had been surprised. 'He's a good officer, brave too. What don't you like about him?'
She had shrugged, eager to change the subject. 'He gives me the shivers.'
Bolitho glanced again at the first lieutenant. How simply he could raise a grin from a seaman, or the obvious awe of a midshipman. Maybe he reminded her of someone in her past? It would be easy to picture Parris as a soldier-of-fortune.
Jenour remarked, 'My first time here, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I've been glad enough to see the Rock once or twice after a rough passage.'
Captain Haven called, 'Stand by to alter course two points to larboard!'
Bolitho watched his shoulders and wondered. Or had Catherine recognised in Parris what Haven obviously believed?
Bolitho took out his watch as the seamen hurried to the braces and halliards.
'General signal. Tack in succession.'
The waiting midshipmen bustled amongst a mass of bunting, while their men bent on each flag with the speed of light.
'All acknowledged, sir!'
Haven glowered. 'About time, dammit!'
Jenour said carefully, 'I was wondering about our orders, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho smiled. 'You are not alone. North to Biscay and the damned blockade of Brest and Lorient. Or join Lord Nelson? The dice can fall either way.'
Bolitho shaded his eyes to watch the other ships shortening sail in preparation for the last leg to the anchorage.
Astern of Obdurate was another veteran, Crusader. Twenty-five years old, and like most third-rates she had tasted the fire of battle many times. Bolitho had seen her at Toulon and in the West Indies, seeking French landings in Ireland, or standing in the blazing line at the Nile. Redoubtable and Capricious completed the squadron, the latter being commanded by Captain William Merrye, whose grandfather had once been an infamous smuggler; or so the story had it. Seventy-fours were the backbone of the fleet, any fleet. Bolitho glanced up at his flag at the fore. It looked right and proper there.
Then the drawn-out ceremony of gun-salutes to the Rock, repeated and acknowledged until the anchorage was partly hidden by smoke, the echoes sighing across to Algeciras like an added insult.
Bolitho saw the guardboat with its huge flag and motionless oars. Marking where they should drop anchor. He thought suddenly of the Spanish boat at La Guaira, smashed apart under the schooner's stem.
'Anchor!'
They must make a fine, if familiar, sight to the people on the shore, Bolitho thought.
Leviathans turning into the gentle wind, with all canvas clewed up but for topsails and jibs.
Tops'l clew lines! Start that man! Lively there!'
'Helm a-lee!'
Bolitho clenched his fists as Parris's arm fell. 'Let go!'
The great anchor threw up a pale waterspout, while high overhead the topsails vanished against their yards as if to a single hand.
Bolitho looked quickly at the other ships, swinging now to their cables, each captain determined to hold a perfect bearing on his vice-admiral.
Boats were already being swayed out, the excitement of seeing the great harbour after weeks at sea contained and suppressed by leather-lunged boatswain's mates and petty officers.
'Gig approaching, sir!'
Bolitho saw the small boat rising and dipping smartly across the slight swell. Their first encounter.
'I shall go aft, Mr Jenour.' He spoke formally in front of Haven. 'As soon as -'
He turned as the quartermaster yelled the age-old challenge.
'Boat ahoy?'
The answer came back from the gig. 'Firefly!'
Jenour said, 'Someone's captain coming to see us already, Sir Richard.' Then he saw Bolitho's eyes, his look of relief and something more.