Restlessly he walked to one of the windows and touched the glass. He could feel it quivering to the thrust of the wind, the chill of the March forenoon. Not that you would know it inside the massive walls of Boscawen House, the admiral's residence. Even the candle flame was unflickering. He gazed out at the Sound and the open sea beyond, blue-grey like a shark, waiting, and found himself stretching to drive away the knots of tension, the ache of travel in the last two days. Bad roads and sleeplessness, even when Young Matthew had stopped at some forgettable inn in the middle of nowhere. Why should it be like this? It was his life, the only one he knew. He looked at the candle again: fresh, and only recently lit. Even the clerk had been caught unprepared, and tried to hide his heavy coat from view.
He moved slowly toward a mirror behind the big desk, where he had once seen Gilia, Keen's wife, primp for a moment before hurrying away to deal with one of their many visitors; pushed some loose hair from his forehead and tugged at his crushed neckcloth, his eyes pitiless, as if he were assessing some unreliable subordinate.
It had been different this time because of Lowenna, and because they had wanted it so.
He touched his lip; it felt bruised from the force and the pain of their last embrace. There was no mark.
He made himself return to the window, his back painfully straight. There was an expensive telescope mounted on a brass tripod beside the heavy curtains. When a man-of-war was about to make the final approach, and the guns boomed out in salute to the flag above this building, the admiral would be able to watch every change of tack or manoeuvre to the last moment. And every captain would know it…
But there was only one sail moving today beyond the masts and crossed yards of anchored shipping. A heavy, low-hulled Dutchman, lee-boards lowered to hold steerage way in the lively breeze, her scuppers no doubt awash with the weight of her cargo. Carrying copper, clay, tin or local flint, and now heading for home; they were regular visitors to this southern coast, the war long forgotten.
He thought of the ragged figures on the Falmouth waterfront, the grip of her fingers on his arm. Only three, four days ago. They would never forget.
'Bless you, Bolitho! Up with the lark, eh? And I thought I was an early riser. You've taken everybody aback!'
He strode across the room and seized both of Adam's hands in his. Hard and strong, despite their apparent frailness: exactly as Adam remembered him, heard him, when he had read his brief message to Lowenna.
'I must congratulate you, sir. I only just discoveredЦ'
Grenville waved it aside. 'They only thought fit to inform me a few days ago. Proud moment, of course. 'He looked briefly toward the window and the telescope.
'Another way of saying you've run your course, we don't need you any more. Not unexpected, but all the same…' He faced him again, the momentary shadow gone from his face.
'You must be tired out with this constant bustle. Eaten anything yet?'
He glared as the door opened. The clerk had returned.
'I don't wish to be disturbed. 'He gestured to the candle and the pile of envelopes. 'They can wait, all day if need be. Pass the word to the piermaster.'
The clerk bobbed his head. 'I must remind him about the boat, Sir John.'
Grenville retorted, 'The boat will be there. 'The door closed.
'Many apologies, Bolitho, but time is an old enemy, pressing ever closer. I know that only too well.'
He smiled, and it transformed him. 'I have been thinking about you. Wondering if your lady will ever forgive me for dragging you away from her after so brief a reunion. But on this occasion there was no choice. 'He reached out and touched the telescope, without seeing it, Adam thought. So full of energy and enthusiasm. How could he himself contain his true feelings, say that it had been like having a door slammed in his face? Worse…
'She knows it was necessary, Sir John.'
The swift, penetrating glance again, which seemed to see and say so much. They had met only once, and his slight figure had been framed against another sky and the sprawling, smoky backdrop of London. And yet…
Grenville said, 'All those ships lying out there, the flagship and other great liners. England's 'sure shield', or so many of our leaders still believe. 'He tapped the telescope. 'But times are changing, too fast for minds which will not progress. With the flagship's people alone I could crew three frigatesЦ a whole squadron of frigates if I spread my net a little wider. 'He sighed, and allowed his hands to fall at his sides. 'No more speeches, Bolitho. Do you know of the OnwardT Adam shook his head. There was no point in pretending; Grenville could see right through you. Loved, admired or hated, his loss would be felt far beyond an empty desk at the Admiralty.
'I'm not surprised. You were too busy with your 'skirmish', as you described it, to keep track of matters here. 'He looked toward the sea, perhaps picturing her as he spoke. 'Onward's a new frigate, thirty-eight guns. Launched last year, private yard, brought here to Plymouth for completion, armament andЦ'
He shook his head impatiently. 'You know chapter and verse when a new ship is commissioned. And there are plenty I'd like to forget, believe me. Delay after delay, all with excuses to match them! 'He regarded him steadily, as he would have watched an unknown ship, assessing her strength or ability.
'When Pellew, Lord Exmouth, carried out his attack on the Dey of Algiers, and when most people claimed he was attempting the impossible, ships against well-sited shore batteries, you were there with him in Unrivalled. Later, in his report to their lordships, Exmouth wrote of you, 'Bolitho is a true frigate captain'. Praise indeed from one of our greatest.'
He smiled. 'Onward can be a ship to make us both proud.'
Somewhere in the far distance a solitary cannon or coastguard signal disturbed the stillness, but his eyes remained fixed on Adam's face. 'Take her, Bolitho. She's yours to command!'
Afterwards, Adam could not recall who spoke first, or if there were no words.
There were muffled voices beyond the door, some one giving a discreet cough.
Grenville said quietly, 'The Admiral wishes to see you, but he is human enough to take his turn. 'He touched his arm.
'Come, we will walk down to the boat together. The formalities can wait a while longer.'
The door was open: there were unknown faces, the glint of gold lace, somebody calling out congratulations, smiles, sharing the moment in their own way.
Adam took a grip on his emotions, distancing himself, regaining control, as if he were at the heart of a sudden squall or a call to arms.
Grenville was holding his arm, pausing only to greet or wave to some anonymous figure. As if it were his day. His ship.
He heard himself ask, 'Do we meet the present captain, Sir John? 'and Grenville turned and faced him as if surprised.
'His appointment was not confirmed. 'He was waving somebody aside, his eyes on the stairway. 'In your home county they have a saying, my friend, that bad news rides a fast horse. You will hear all about it soon enough. Captain Richmond is dead. You will appreciate why I…' He changed the subject abruptly. 'You are Onward's first captain. Don't fail her. 'The transforming smile again. 'Or those who believe in you, eh?'
He felt the air now, like ice on his lips. Hands were offering him his cloak, but something made him wave it aside. He saw Grenville's nod of approval.
'Your day, my friend!'
There was a launch waiting at the pier, a lieutenant raising his hat in salute, some spectators loitering expectantly.
Grenville said, 'Do you have any one with you? 'and then seemed to shrug. 'I need not have asked!'
Adam saw Luke Jago already in the sternsheets, as if he belonged there.
'My cox'n, Sir John. It was his wish to be here.'
Empty words. Jago had insisted. My place, Cap'n. And even though they had hardly spoken during that gruelling journey, he had been very aware of the tough, silent companionship.
Grenville was saying, 'Backbone of any shipЦ mine was, anyway.'
Adam saw a young woman peering down from one of the windows, on the floor beneath the room with the telescope.
She was waving, and at a distance she might have been… He looked away.
The hardest part begins now.
'Attention in the boat! 'The lieutenant stood at the foot of the familiar stone steps, the launch lifting and dipping on the choppy swell below him. A well turned-out crew, arms folded and facing aft. For them this was mere
