"There, there… there, there," he whispered, stroking her back. "I never knew! Theoni, I knew it was special, it felt so righteous, if one can use that word, so… holy, but I never thought…!"
Leave, leave, leave, and never a backward glance! he thought in agony; he a man, for once!
"You did care for me, Alan?" Theoni asked, hot breath searing him. "Really cared, not just for a little while?"
"Well, o' course I did! But, we both knew the circumstances of our lives. We took solace…"
"And pleasure," Theoni added, with a hiccoughy chuckle, and an easing of her fierce grip to something more… fond.
"Aye, that too. Lashings of pleasure!" he admitted, recalling all too well those stolen hours in his great-cabins, in that lodging she'd taken in Lisbon before her packet ship had departed. "I don't know what's to happen, though, Theoni, and I can't just walk away from Caroline so easily… mean t'say, I can't cause you pain, hanging by your thumbs with false hopes, and… I won't make you go through that, I won't!" There, he thought, despite himself; that felt right-righteous! "I know that, Alan, I trust you!" she declared, "But, even if your wife and you reconcile, I would still long to be near you as we are now… as we were then," she added, suggestively. "I must go," he stated, far too late.
"I know," she acquiesced, easing her grip on him, yet loath to release him completely. "We must wait and see what happens. After all that has passed between us, though… I wanted you to know how I feel. Oh, that you were a bachelor when you fought the Serb pirates for me!"
"Saved a lot o' woe, all round," Alan sadly chuckled, forehead to forehead, and equally loath to let go of her flesh, enraptured by a heady aroma of clean hair, rosemary and thyme, commingled with a newer scent of light rosewater. They lifted their chins at the same time, their noses bumped-her artfully wee and sculptured nose!-then their lips. Searching, hungrily writhing, her breath already hot and musky with arousal!
"I must go," he repeated, after a long few moments of bliss.
"I know that, too, dearest Alan," she whispered back so fondly, toying with the back of his neck with her nails, sending chills down his spine, straight to his groin! "It is too soon, too shocking, atop the other shock you have taken. Too early. But before your ship puts back to sea, if you want me, I will come to you, I promise. And I will ask you for no promise in return, no matter how things stand. I truly do love you, so I could not do otherwise. Now, go! Be a hero!"
She turned playful, after a moment of shuddery truth, as if to shoo him away with a spank on the hindquarters.
"Theoni… no matter how things fall out, thankee," he said.
"I have your darling namesake son," she replied. "It is me who should be thankful."
She gave him one last parting kiss in gratitude.
"Now, go, before I become so tempted that…!" she pushed, now shoving him towards the hallway. "Be England 's hero, Alan. You are already mine. Write me, for I will surely write you, and… oh, please go, before…!"
"I'll write," he promised her, fetching his own hat and cloak.
"I'll come to… Sheerness?" she suddenly proposed.
"Sheer-Nasty? You'll hate it! Dreadful-boresome hole!" he japed.
"With you, it will be Paradise," she swore with a smile.
Egads, what'd I just promise? he asked himself once by the kerb; does Caroline despise me now, why make it worse? But… she can't loathe me more! In for the penny, in for the pound, oh God…!
BOOK ONE
Longa exilias et vastum maris acquor arandum.
Long exile is thy lot, a vast stretch of sea thou must plow.
Aeneid, Book II 780
Publius Vergilius Maro "Virgil"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cold, cold, cold! Faint skifts of snow littered the cobbles of the street before the tavern and posting house, lay between the stones to make a stark chequerboard, and skittered as dry as sand when a gust of icy wind stirred. It was false dawn, the "iffy" time that outlined roofs and chimneypots with faint light, whilst the bulk of the street still lay in darkness, here and there pinpricked by only a few faint lanthorns by the entrances to homes or commercial establishments, and upon the quays, where false dawn drew black-on-charcoal traceries of rigging and masts aboard the ships that lay alongside.
Tiny, glim-like lights glowed at taffrails and entry-ports on those docked vessels; a few more ghosted across the harbour waters as guard boats rowed about to prevent desertion or smuggling. Hired boats and ships' boats stroked or sailed to and fro, even at that ungodly hour, bearing officers ashore, or taking officers or mates from a night of shore comforts, perhaps even pleasure, in Sheerness.
Barely visible against the darkness, and a fine sea-haze off the North Sea, fishermen were setting out, no matter the cold or the risk, to dredge, rake, or net a meagre day's profit. Some sailed, a very good omen, with tiny masthead lanthorns aglow that created eerie tan blots of lit, shivering canvas-while the boats were invisibly dark-as if a plague of weary Jack O'Lanterns were on the prowl.
There was a decent slant of wind, out of the Nor'Nor'east for once; not enough to dissipate the cold sea mists, nor enough to toss the many ships anchored in the Little Nore or Great Nore, but it'd do, for Lewrie's purposes; and after the night before…
Lewrie heaved a troubled but mostly contented sigh, recalling.
There had been a fine sunset, rare for winter, as red as any one could wish, that had lingered for an hour or more, much like a summer sunset; "Red Skies At Night, Sailor's Delight."
And wasn't it just! Lewrie told himself.
The glass barometer filled with coloured water by the door of his posting house had shown little rising in the narrow upper neck, a sign of higher pressure that had happily coincided with that sunset, and now a shift of wind, as well. HMS Proteus would not fight close-hauled to make her offing, then jog down-coast to The Downs or Goodwin Sands to re-anchor and wait for a good down-Channel slant, but could head out boldly, round Dover and bowl along like a Cambridge Coach, perhaps as far as Portsmouth, before the wind turned foul, as it always would in winter. Foul, and perilous!
The costly travelling clock on the mantel chimed five times, in civilian manner, as far-off ships' bells struck Two Bells of the predawn watch; a cacophanous tinkling disagreement 'twixt lieutenants' or mates' timepieces and sand-glasses, that put him in mind of the myriad of wind-chimes he had heard in Canton, between the wars.
The night before, Gawd…!
A final round of shopping for last-minute cabin stores such as quills, ink, and paper, a new book or two, a chest of dried meats and hard-skinned sausages for Toulon's sustenance. They'd supped at a new and rather fine public house that featured large boiled lobsters aswim in drawn butter, some ham, boiled carrots, and winter potatoes, a green salad, a roast quail each, completed by cherry trifle. Then, as old Samuel Pepys had so often writ in his diary, "… and so to bed," most daringly nude for a few moments in the chilly room, no matter the big fireplace, the warming pans and enfolding bedstead curtains, the thick down-filled quilts and extra blankets. Bliss, strenuous bliss!
Unconscious of doing so, he had drawn out his pocket watch and opened it to compare its reckoning against her mantel clock and those ships' bells. With a firm-lipped sigh and a slight nod, he shut it up with a definite clack of finality.