Honour This Day

table.

He was seated at Catherine's right hand, and as the conversation and laughter swirled around them he was very aware of her, although she gave little hint of her own feelings at his presence. At the far end of the table Bolitho saw her husband, Viscount Somervell, sipping his wine and listening with apparent boredom to Commodore Glassport's resonant and thickening tones. Occasionally Somervell appeared to glance along the table's length, excluding everyone but his wife or Bolitho. Interest, awareness? It was impossible to determine.

As the doors swung open from time to time to a procession of sweating servants Bolitho saw the candles shiver in the smoky air. Otherwise there was little hint of movement, and he pictured Haven, safe in his cabin, or brooding over his possible role in the future. He might show more animation when he learned what was expected of him and his command.

She turned suddenly and spoke directly to him. 'You are very quiet, Sir Richard.'

He met her gaze and felt his defence falter. She was just as striking, more beautiful even than he had remembered. The sun had given her neck and shoulders a fine blush, and he could see the gentle pulse of her heart where the silk gown folded around it.

One hand lay as if abandoned beside her glass, a folded fan close by. He wanted to touch it, to reassure himself or to reveal his own stupidity.

What am I? So full of conceit, so shallow that I could imagine her drawn to me again after so long?

He said instead, 'It must be seven years.'

Her face remained impassive. To anyone watching she might have been asking about England or the weather.

'Seven years and one month to be exact.'

Bolitho turned as the Viscount laughed at something Glassport had said.

'And then you married him.' It came out like a bitter accusation and he saw her fingers move as if they were listening independently.

'Was it so important⁵'

She retorted, 'You delude yourself, Richard.' Even the use of his name was like the awakening of an old wound. 'It was not so.' She held his gaze as he turned again. Defiance, pain, it was all there in her dark eyes. 'I need security. Just as you need to be loved.'

Bolitho hardly dared to breathe as the conversation died momentarily around him. He thought the first lieutenant was watching them, that an army colonel had paused with his goblet half-raised as if to catch the words. Even in imagination it felt like a conspiracy.

'Love?'

She nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving his. 'You need it, as the desert craves for ram.'

Bolitho wanted to look away but she seemed to mesmerise him.

She continued in the same unemotional tone, 'I wanted you then, and ended almost hating you. Almost. I have watched your life and career, two very different things, over the past seven years. I would have taken anything you offered me; you were the only man I would have loved without asking for security in marriage.' She touched the fan lightly. 'Instead you took another, one you imagined was a substitute -' She saw the shot strike home.'I knew it.'

Bolitho replied, 'I thought of you often.'

She smiled but it made her look sad. 'Really?'

He turned his head further so that he could see her clearly. He knew others might watch him for he appeared to face her directly, but his left eye was troubled by the flickering glare and the swooping shadows beyond.

She said, The last battle. We heard of it a month back.'

'You knew I was coming here?'

She shook her head. 'No. He tells me little of his government affairs.' She looked quickly along the table and Bolitho saw her smile as if in recognition. He was astonished that the small familiarity with her husband should hurt him so much. _

She returned her gaze to his. 'Your injuries, are they -?' She saw him start. 'I helped you once, do you not remember?'

Bolitho dropped his eyes. He had imagined that she had heard or detected his difficulty in seeing her properly. It all flashed through his mind like a wild dream. His wound, the return of the fever which had once almost killed him. Her pale nakedness as she had dropped her gown and folded herself against his gasping, shivering body, while she had spoken unheard words and clasped him to her breasts to repulse the fever's torment.

'I shall never forget.'

She watched him in silence for some moments, her eyes moving over his lowered head and the dangling lock of hair, his grave sunburned features and the lashes which now hid his eyes, glad that he could not see the pain and the yearning in her stare.

Nearby, Major Sebright Adams of Hyperion's Royal Marines was expounding on his experiences at Copenhagen and the bloody aftermath of the battle. Parris, the first lieutenant, was propped on one elbow, apparently listening, but leaning across the young wife of a dockyard official, his arm resting against her shoulder which she made no attempt to remove. Like the other officers, they were momentarily free of responsibility and the need to keep up any pretence and the posture of duty.

Bolitho was more aware than ever of a sudden isolation, the need to tell her his thoughts, his fears; and was revolted at the same time by his weakness.

He said, 'It was a hard fight. We lost many fine men.'

'And you, Richard? What more did you have to lose that you had not already abandoned?'

He exclaimed fiercely, 'Let it be, Catherine. It is over.' He raised his eyes and stared at her intently. 'It must be so!'

A side door opened and more footmen bustled around, but this time without new dishes. It would soon be time for the ladies to withdraw and the men to relieve themselves before settling down to port and brandy. He thought of Allday. He would be out there in the barge with his crew waiting for him. Any petty officer would have been sufficient, but he knew Allday. He would allow no other to wait for him. He would have been in his element tonight, he thought. Bolitho had never known any man able to drink his coxswain under the table, unlike some of the guests.

Somervell's voice cut along the littered cloth although he seemed to have no problem in making it carry.

'I hear that you saw Captain Price today, Sir Richard?'

Bolitho could almost feel the woman at his side holding her breath, as if she sensed the casual remark as a trap. Was guilt that obvious?

Glassport rumbled, 'Not captain for long, I'll wager!' Several of the guests chuckled.

A black footman entered the room and after the smallest glance at Somervell padded to Bolitho's chair, an envelope balanced carefully on a silver salver.

Bolitho took it and prayed that his eye would not torture him now.

Glassport was going on again. 'My only frigate, by God! I'm dashed hard put to know -'

He broke off as Somervell interrupted rudely, 'What is it, Sir Richard? Are we to share it?'

Bolitho folded the paper and glanced at the black footman. He was in time to see a strange sympathy on the man's face, as if he knew.

'You may be spared the spectacle of a brave officer's dishonour, Commodore Glassport.' His voice was hard and although it was directed at one man it gripped the whole table.

'Captain Price is dead.' There was a chorus of gasps. 'He hanged himself.' He could not resist adding, 'Are you satisfied?'

Somervell pushed himself back from the table. 'I think this may be a suitable moment for the ladies to retire.' He rose effortlessly to his feet, as if it was a duty rather than a courtesy.

Bolitho faced her and saw the concern stark in her eyes as if she wanted to tell him out loud.

Instead she said, 'We will meet.' She waited for him to raise his head from a brief bow. 'Soon.' Then with a hiss of silk she merged with the shadows.

Bolitho sat down and watched unseeingly as another hand placed a fresh glass by his place.