Adam nodded, and looked at the midshipman. “Listen and learn, Mr Deighton. Your choice, remember?”
The midshipman removed his hat as Adam reached for the hand ropes. They heard the twitter of calls and the bark of commands, then he asked quietly, “You were there too, weren’t you? When my father…”
Jago answered sharply, “Aye, sir. A lot of us was there that day. Now take the tiller an’ cast off the gig, can you manage that?”
The youth dropped his lashes. It was as if Jago had told him what he had not dared to ask.
Above their heads, as the gig cast off to make way for another visitor, Adam replaced his hat and shook the hand of Frobisher’s captain, a lantern-jawed Scot named Duncan Ogilvie. He was well over six feet tall, and it was hard to imagine him living comfortably in any ship smaller than this.
“You must allow the admiral a few minutes to bid farewell to an early visitor.” He gestured vaguely with his head. “Commodore from the Dutch frigate yonder.”
Adam had watched her anchor and had felt the old uneasiness at the sight of her flag amongst the squadron’s ships. The flag of a once respected enemy, but an enemy for all that. It would take even stronger determination when the French ships began to appear. He turned to say something, but the other captain was already greeting a new arrival, and his eyes were moving swiftly beyond him to yet another boat heading for the chains.
Adam had been a flag captain twice, with his uncle and with Valentine Keen. It was never an easy appointment. To be Rhodes ’ flag captain would be impossible.
A harassed lieutenant eventually found him and escorted him aft to the great cabin. Even with all the screens removed and furniture kept to a minimum, the whole of the admiral’s quarters was packed with uniforms, red and scarlet, and the blue and white of sea officers. And women. Bare shoulders, bold glances from the younger ones, something like disdain from the not so young.
The lieutenant called out Adam’s name and ship, and a marine orderly appeared as if by magic with a tray of glasses.
“Better take the red wine, sir. T’ other’s not much good.” Then, as an afterthought, he murmured, “Corporal Figg, sir. Me brother’s one o’ your Royals!” He hurried away, wine slopping unheeded over his sleeve.
Adam smiled. The family again.
“Ah, there you are, Bolitho!” It sounded like at last. Rhodes waited for him to push through the crowd, his head bowed between the deck beams. He was almost as tall as his flag captain.
Rhodes said loudly, “I don’t suppose you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Captain Bolitho? Commands one of my frigates.”
And there she was, smiling a little as she stepped from behind the admiral’s considerable bulk. She was all in blue, her hair piled above her ears, the luminous skin of throat and shoulders as he remembered.
She said, “On the contrary, Lord Rhodes, we know one another quite well,” and offered her hand deliberately, unaware or indifferent to the eyes upon them.
An officer was speaking urgently to the admiral, and Rhodes had turned away, obviously angered by the interruption.
As Adam raised the hand to his lips, she added softly, “I should have said, very well.”
They stood by the stern windows, watching their reflections in the thickened glass. They did not touch, but Adam could feel her as if she was pressed against him.
She said, “We shall be leaving Malta very soon.” She turned as if to follow another reflection, but the figure melted away and was lost in the throng.
Then she moved slightly, with one hand raised. “Look at me.”
Adam saw the little silver sword at her breast. There were so many things he wanted to say, needed to ask, but he could sense the urgency, the hopeless finality. Of a dream.
She said, “You look wonderful.” Her free hand moved and withdrew. As if she had been about to touch him, had forgotten where they were. “The bruise? Is it gone?”
Their eyes met, and he felt the irresistible thrill of danger as she murmured, “My mother said when I was a child and I hurt myself, I’ll kiss it better, Rozanne.” She looked away. “It was so beautiful, all of it.” Her lip quivered. “I shall not spoil it now.”
“You couldn’t spoil anything…” He lingered over the name. “Rozanne.”
He heard Rhodes ’ voice again, and Bazeley’s, and their laughter. She raised her chin, and said steadily, “You see, Captain, I love you!”
Bazeley said loudly, “Here she is!” and, as they turned, “Captain Bolitho. More adventures, I hear!” He took his wife’s arm. “That’s a sailor’s life! Not for me, I’m afraid. I like to build things, not knock ’em down.”
Rhodes ’ eyes were on Bazeley’s hand around her bare arm. “Sometimes we have to do one before we can afford the other, Sir Lewis!”
Bazeley grinned broadly. “There, what did I tell you?” He made a show of dragging out his watch. “I must make our excuses, m’ lord. I have to see some people.” He looked at Adam. “I wish you well.” He did not offer his hand, or remove it from her arm.
A lieutenant was waiting anxiously. “I have summoned your boat, Sir Lewis.”
Bazeley nodded, dismissing him. “Given the backing of Parliament, we shall see Malta turned into a fortress. It makes me feel humble to be offered the task, huge though it is!”
They moved away into the crowd, but when Bazeley paused to speak with a senior army officer and clasp him ostentatiously around the shoulders, Rozanne turned and looked directly at Adam.
No words. Just the hand on the little silver sword, pressed against her breast. Nothing more was needed.
Rhodes was saying thickly, “If he’s humble, then I’m the bloody Iron Duke!”
Adam realised that Captain Forbes had joined him, and was holding two glasses, one of which he offered.
Forbes said, “Quite a gathering,” and sighed. “And ours is a private ship again, for better or worse.” Then he murmured, “I heard before you joined the squadron that you were not afraid to take a risk, if you considered it justified.” His eyes shifted to the admiral. “Now, I understand.”
When Adam looked again, she had gone.
Catherine Somervell turned away from the low stone wall and watched the coachman and groom adjusting the harness, and quieting the two horses which had just been led from the stables. A smart carriage, but it was strange not to see the familiar crest on its door. This one was Roxby’s. She smiled sadly, reminiscently.
The King of Cornwall, as he had been known, affectionately for the most part, although not, perhaps, to those who had appeared before him in his capacity as magistrate.
She saw Roxby’s widow, Nancy, giving a parcel to the coachman and emphasising something with a gesture. Food for the journey. Like Grace Ferguson at the old Bolitho house, Nancy always seemed to think she was not getting enough to eat.
She turned her back on the drive and the house and gazed at the nearest hillside. Smooth and green, and yet the sea lay just beyond it. Lying in wait…
She had stayed for a single night here with Richard’s youngest sister. Now she would return to Plymouth, where Sillitoe was waiting. She had had mixed emotions about meeting Valentine
Keen again, but she need not have worried; he and his wife had made her more than welcome, and Sillitoe also. There had been no questions or hints, not even the revival of old memories. Keen would never change, and his second marriage was obviously a success. Gilia was exactly what he needed, and Catherine knew simply by talking to her that Keen was still unaware of Adam’s love for Zenoria.
Coming back to the old house below Pendennis Castle had been very hard for her. So many familiar faces, obviously delighted to see her again: Bryan and Grace, Young Matthew, so many of them. And one other. Daniel Yovell, Richard’s secretary, had moved back into his little cottage and Bryan Ferguson had signed him on as his deputy, with obvious relief. One of the little crew, as Richard used to call them. There had been no time to visit Fallowfield, and she still did not know if she was relieved or saddened by it. Seeing Allday again so soon might have been more than she could bear. With Keen and the others it was difficult enough; she thought Allday would have broken down her last defences.