He moved into a patch of shade, angry at himself. Like some moonstruck midshipman… It was unlikely that they would ever meet again, and it was just as well. He had been mad even to think about it. And it was dangerous.
Bellairs called, “They’re about to leave, I think, sir.”
Adam watched her stepping through the companion hatch; she even did that gracefully, in spite of her gown. For a moment she stood alone by the untended wheel, looking around, at the men working on deck and up in the yards, and then towards the land, veiled in its dusty heat. And then, finally, at him.
Adam crossed the deck and removed his hat. “I hope you are feeling well, m’ lady?”
He saw her eyes flash. Then she said, “Better. Much better. Thank you, Captain.”
He relaxed a little. Either she did not remember, or she wanted only to forget.
She said, “So this is Malta. A place worth fighting and dying for, I’m told.” There was no contempt or sarcasm; if anything, it was resignation.
“Shall you be here long, m’ lady?” A voice seemed to warn him. Stop now.
“Who can tell?” She looked at him directly, her eyes changing again. Like the sea, he thought. “And you, Captain? Some other port, perhaps? Some new adventure?” She tossed her head, impatient with the game. “Some adoring woman?”
Galbraith called, “Sir Lewis insists that our boats will not be required, sir.”
Adam stared at the shore, and saw several boats pulling smartly towards them. Bazeley was obviously a man of influence. Even Vice-Admiral Bethune was apparently eager to make his acquaintance.
Galbraith strode away to rearrange his preparations for the passengers’ departure, and Adam said, almost to himself, “I have learned that gratitude in a woman can be harmful. To her, m’ lady.” He saw the sudden uncertainty on her face. “I had hoped to escort you ashore.” He smiled. “Another time, maybe.”
Bazeley was here now, calling over his shoulder to one man, beckoning impatiently to another.
He said, “We take our leave, Captain. Perhaps one day-” And swung round again. “Be careful with that, you clumsy oaf!”
It was then that she thrust out her hand, and said softly, “Thank you, Captain Bolitho. You will know what for. It is something we will share with no one.”
He kissed her hand, feeling her eyes on him, and imagining that her fingers closed very slightly around his own.
A bosun’s chair was already rigged, and she allowed herself to be settled in it, her gown protected from grease and tar by a canvas apron.
“Hoist away, ’andsomely!”
Every unemployed hand turned to watch as she was hoisted and then guyed out with great care to be lowered into a waiting boat. Bethune had even sent his flag lieutenant to assist.
Bazeley glanced around, patting his pockets as if to be sure he had left nothing personal below.
Adam thought of the mattresses and bedding strewn across the sleeping cabin. Where they had lain together. Where Bazeley had taken and used her like a plaything.
Bazeley said, “Good sailing, Captain.” He glanced briefly at his wife in the boat alongside. “I was told you were reckless.” He held up one hand. “You get results, that’s all important in my view!” Then he laughed, and Adam saw her look up, shading her eyes. “But you know caution when you see it, eh? And that’s no bad thing, either!”
Adam watched the boat bearing off, and said, “I shall be going ashore in one hour, Mr Galbraith.” He sensed the unspoken question, and added flatly, “To see the admiral. Perhaps we may be given something useful to do!”
Galbraith watched him walk to the companion-way before picking up the duty midshipman’s telescope.
Sunlight on her cream-coloured gown, a scarlet ribbon on her wide-brimmed hat which matched the other one in her hair. All compressed into one small, silent picture. There could be nothing between them. How could there be? But today, she had dressed with obvious care, and he had seen her expression when the captain had pressed his lips to her hand.
Wynter had told him what he knew of Sir Lewis Bazeley. A man who had forced himself to the top, offering and no doubt receiving favours on the way. People less accustomed to deception might describe them as bribes, but one thing was certain: he would be a ruthless man to cross. Galbraith had lost his own command because of another’s malignant influence and dislike. Unrivalled was his only chance of obtaining another.
He smiled grimly. And yet, all he could feel for Adam Bolitho was envy.
Below in the great cabin, Adam looked around; the place was suddenly spacious and bare again, the quarter gallery open as if to clear away the last vestige of their presence here. The bedding had vanished, his own cot was in its place. No wonder she had played with him, when all the time…
He saw his boat-cloak hanging from the deckhead, where it was never kept. He took it down and folded the collar. The entire garment had been sponged and cleaned, the stains from that night gone completely. He felt inside the deep pocket, although he did not know why.
It was a small, sealed paper. He carried it to the quarter gallery and opened it.
There was no note. But there was a lock of her hair, tied with a piece of scarlet ribbon.
14. Destiny
VICE-ADMIRAL Sir Graham Bethune pushed some of the unopened despatches to one side and got up from the ornate desk.
“Deal with these, Grimes. My head is too full for much more at present.”
He felt the clerk’s eyes following him to the window, which looked across the small, sun-drenched courtyard.
The day had started badly with the guard-boat’s officer reporting that Unrivalled’s arrival meant more than simply the delivery of despatches or letters-there were visitors to accommodate and entertain. Bethune felt the same resentment returning as he heard a woman’s voice, and saw the gleam of colour from the opposite balcony. His flag lieutenant had insisted that that particular room was the obvious choice for guests who had come with the full blessing of the government and the lords of the Admiralty. He could hear Bazeley’s voice too, loud, demanding, authoritative. Full of himself.
He sighed, and walked back to the desk. There was a letter from his wife as well, asking about the possibility of joining him in Malta, or of his coming back to London. She made it sound like the only civilised place to live.
He glanced at Adam Bolitho’s report. Two more prizes. Surely their lordships would offer him extra ships now. There was proof enough that the activities of the Dey of Algiers and his equally unpredictable ally in Tunis required swifter, sharper measures. He almost smiled. It would also make an impressive spearhead for his return to another post in London.
Bethune enjoyed the company of women, and they his, but he had always been discreet. The prospect of his wife joining him in Malta made him realise just how far they had grown apart since her attempts to humiliate Catherine, perhaps even long before that. Of course, he thought bitterly, there were always the children…
He looked at the other window, thinking of Lieutenant Avery standing beside him, sharing it, remembering it. And now he was dead. The Happy Few were only ghosts, only memories.
Bazeley’s young wife would turn a few heads here when her presence became known. She had probably married the great man for his fortune, which, allegedly, was considerable, but if any of the young bloods from the local garrison got the wrong ideas, they had better watch out. He wondered how Adam had managed to resist her very obvious charm on the passage here from Gibraltar. He was reckless. But he was not a fool.
The flag lieutenant was back. “Captain Bouverie is here, Sir Graham.”
Bethune nodded. It was even harder to recall Onslow as he had been on that last night together, lying on his back, snoring and drunk. But almost human.
“Very well.”
Onslow smiled, as always apologetic. “And Captain Bolitho is due shortly. His boat was reported a few minutes ago.”