The man did not reply at once, but there was no doubt in his eyes, no lack of understanding.
Then he said, 'American. Yes. I understand.'
Bolitho cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice steady. 'I wish to see M'sieu Gorse.'
Again the unwavering stare. But no cry of alarm, no rush of feet from this man's assistants.
He replied eventually, 'I am not certain that I can arrange it. '
Allday stepped forward, his face bleak. 'If the cap'n says he wants to see him, that's it, matey! We ain't come all this way with a goddamn letter just to be kept waiting!'
The man gave a tight smile. 'I 'ave to be careful.' He looked meaningly at the harbour. 'so do you.'
He closed the ledger and beckoned them to some narrow stone steps.
Bolitho looked at Allday. 'stay here with Larssen.' His mouth was completely dry, and the roof of it was burning like hot sand. He shook his head with sudden impatience. 'No arguments! If things go wrong now, one will have as much of a chance as three!' He tried to smile, to reassure him. 'I' 11 call soon enough if need be.'
He turned his back and followed the man up the steps. 'Through a door and into a long room, one side of which was open to the harbour and the spread of ships and buildings which shimmered in the sunlight like a great tapestry.
'Ah, Capitaine!' A white figure moved from the balcony. 'I 'alf expected it would be you.'
Yves Gorse was short and rotund. He had a thick black beard, as if to compensate for his complete blandess, and small, delicate hands which were never still.
Bolitho eyed him calmly. 'I would have been here sooner, but I ran foul of a British frigate. Had to throw my papers overboard, but managed to shake the bastard off in a storm.' 'I see.' Gorse pointed one delicate hand to a chair. 'Please be seated. You look unwell, Capitaine?'
'I’m well enough. '
'Per'aps.' Gorse walked to the window and stared down at the water. 'And you are called?'
'Pascoe. It's a Cornish name.'
'I am aware of that, Captaine,' He turned with remarkable lightness. 'But I am not aware of any Captaine Pascoe?'
Bolitho shrugged. 'In this game we must learn to trust each other, surely?'
'Game?' Gorse moved around the room. 'It was never that Although your country is still too young to appreciate the dangers. '
Bolitho retorted angrily, 'Have you forgotten about our Revolution? I seem to recall it came a goodly few years before yours!'
'Touche!' Gorse smiled, showing small but perfect teeth.
'I meant no offence. Now this letter. May I 'aye it?'
Bolitho pulled it from his pocket 'You see, M'sieu, I trust you.'
Gorse opened the letter and held it in a patch of sunlight.
Bolitho tried not to watch him, to search for some sign that Gorse had noticed how the letter had been re- sealed. Gorse, however, seemed satisfied: No, relieved was more the word for it.
He said, 'Good. Now per'aps you will take some wine.
Better than the muck you will be carrying toer, where are you bound?'
Bolitho clenched his fingers in his pockets to control his limbs. They felt as if they were shaking so badly that Gorse must surely have noticed. This was the moment. If he tried to fence with Gorse, or attempted to trick him further, the man would know immediately. Gorse was a trusted enemy agent. His outward cover of wine merchant and chandler would have been built up carefully over many years. Which meant he would have no wish to return to France, a country very different from the one he must have left a long while ago. Many of his fellow merchants had breathed their last while staring down into a bloodied basket and waiting for the blade to drop.
Malta stood like an awkward sentinel in the gateway between the western and eastern Mediterranean. His work in gathering intelligence for France would stand him in good stead, especially when that fleet sailed from Toulon, as sail it must.
He replied casually, ' Corfu of course. There's no change.
I’d have thought my friend John Thurgood would have anchored here in his Santa Paula. He had the same destination, as I expect you well know.'
Gorse smiled modestly. 'I know many things.'
Bolitho tried to relax, to find comfort that his lie was accepted. But he was feeling much worse, and he knew his breathing was getting faster. Visions flashed across his mind like parts of a nightmare. The pale beaches and waving palms at Tahiti, and beyond to other islands. Pictures at odds with men dying horribly of fever, and the remainder drawing together in terror and despair.
He heard himself ask, 'The letter, was it good news?'
It was, Captaine. Although the Maltese people may think otherwise when the time comes.' He appeared concerned. i 'Realiy, I must insist that you rest. You do not seem well at all.
Bolitho said, 'Fever. Long time ago. Coming back again.' He had to speak in short sentences. 'But I will be ready to sail.'
'But there is no 'urry. You can rest-' A look of alarm crossed his face. 'Unless it is dangerous to others?'
