The roses are at their best just now. I would that they might last for ever.
The summer would soon be over in Cornwall. In his mind, he could see her on the old path, their path. Watching the empty horizon. Waiting.
Hoping… Ozzard hurried to the door and opened it, although Bolitho had heard nothing.
It was Tyacke, outwardly relaxed, glad to be at sea again, even if it proved a worthless exercise.
His blue eyes moved quickly to the untouched coffee, and back again to his admiral.
"Black Swan is taking up her station ahead of us, sir."
Bolitho nodded. The brig might remind Tyacke of his old command, but her commander was not of his world. A forceful, determined young officer, he might go far, if fate was kind to him. When the fleet was reduced in strength and numbers, he would be only one of many trying to prosper in the career of his choosing.
Tyacke had commented bluntly, "A big mouth to match his head, that one!"
Bolitho said, "When you hear of slavery even here, does it bring the past back to you, James?"
Tyacke squinted against the sudden glare as Frobisher altered course very slightly.
"It was different then." He did not explain. "But where there's gold you'll find slavers. In the end they'll not be so quick to run they'll stand and fight. Turks, Arabs, they are always the hardest to control." He saw Ozzard by the pantry. "Would you fetch a chart for me? The master knows which one."
Ozzard almost frowned, but hurried away after glancing at Bolitho.
When the door closed, Tyacke said, "I am sorry about the trick, sir. I wanted to talk. A ship can be a small market-place where privacy is concerned."
Bolitho waited. This was the moment.
Tyacke said, "Years ago, there was a girl in my life. That was before.." He hesitated. The Nile. Then I lost her. I never thought I'd ever see her again. Or want to, for that matter." He looked at his hands and added simply, "So I lost her."
Bolitho wanted to tell him that he understood, but if Tyacke lost the will to speak now, it would not return.
"She wrote to me, and I wrote to her, but never posted it."
Bolitho said nothing. It was the letter he had put in the strongbox before Indomitable's battle, with another of his own addressed to Catherine. But we both survived that day.
Tyacke turned to look at the door, expecting Ozzard or someone else to be there.
"Then, in Portsmouth, just before we commissioned, she came to see me." He spread his hands, as if he still could not understand or believe it. "I knew we would meet one day." He looked now at Bolitho, very directly. "As you must have known, sir."
Bolitho said, "I hoped."
"I had another letter when the courier came. I should have penned a reply, but with you away, and the future uncertain, I thought I would wait."
"You still care for her, and for what happened. Do you care enough, James?"
"That's it, sir. I don't know. I have no right…… I've lived so much apart from ordinary, decent people for so long that I'm not sure any more."
He thought of the gown Tyacke had carried in his chest, for the girl who had rejected him. The same gown he had given to Catherine.
"Did you ever tell her about the gown, James? The way you told Catherine?"
Tyacke shook his head. There are two children to consider, sir."
Bolitho saw the door edge open. "Ah, Ozzard. Some cool wine, if you can lay hands on it!"
Ozzard said, "The master didn't know about a chart, sir." It sounded like an accusation. Then he hurried away: always alone.
Bolitho said gently, "When you write, James, tell her. About the gown.
Tell her."
Tyacke touched his scarred face. "I never see this. I'm always looking out, watching others."
Ozzard reappeared, without any change of expression. This is cool, Sir Richard."
Bolitho said, "Let me." He held the bottle; in the unmoving air it felt almost cold. Ozzard must have stowed it in the bilges somewhere. It was clear Rhenish wine, from that shop in St. James's, in her London. Perhaps she had even held this bottle, before it was packed and sent to Portsmouth.
Tyacke watched, his uncertainty, his inability to speak like this before, momentarily forgotten. Unimportant.
He could never have what this man had and shared with his lovely Catherine, who had kissed him on board Indomitable that day in Falmouth, to the delight of the assembled ship's company.
He could see it in Bolitho's grey eyes, the way he shaded the damaged eye to study some detail of the label. So private, and yet so strong that he felt like an intruder.
But aloud he said, "I shall try, sir. When I write." He stared at the deck head and sensed Ozzard placing a glass within reach. Then I shall exercise the gun crews, and blow away these Maltese cobwebs!"
Bolitho raised his glass. "Let Mr. Kellett do it, James. He admires you greatly, you know."
Unexpectedly, Tyacke laughed, the tension draining away. Bolitho regarded him for several seconds; his wine remained untouched.
"I think we shall fight." He brushed the rebellious lock of hair from his forehead, and Tyacke saw the livid scar. "In fact, I am certain of it." He smiled, the man he must have been when he had first met Catherine.
"I am glad you told me… shared it with me, James. Now we are truly of one company."
Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune got to his feet, startled by the interruption as the doors of his room were thrown open and Sillitoe, followed nervously by a protesting clerk, strode towards him.
Bethune exclaimed, "My lord, I had no idea…" He tried again, angry with himself that he was so easily disturbed by this man, powerful or not. "You were not expected!"
Sillitoe stared around and into the adjoining room, and waited for the clerk to withdraw.
He said, "I am here to see Rhodes. I trust that will present no obstacles?"
Bethune gestured to a chair. "I shall see what I can do, my lord. At any other time……"
Sillitoe sat down, outwardly calm, unmoved. "At any other time I would prefer not to visit this place. However, I shall use the opportunity to mention a matter to you first."
Bethune watched him across his desk, dressed all in grey, elegant, assured, with droplets of rain on his coat. He must have walked here from some nearby building. For exercise, or to prepare himself for a meeting with Admiral Lord Rhodes, although Bethune had heard no mention of it; his clerk would have told him.
Lean and sleek; a man who rode, walked and fenced to keep his mind and body sharp. Bethune had heard he used a very respectable house not so far from the Admiralty. Was he like that with women, also, habit rather than need?
Sillitoe said, "I have just had news of the attack on Washington last month, the burning and destruction of government buildings and stores, and the sinking of American ships there."
Bethune felt suddenly wary, uneasy. The Admiralty had only received the information this morning, on the telegraph from Portsmouth. The first person to be informed had been the Prince Regent; Sillitoe must have been with him at the time.
"I was relieved to know that the attack had been successful.
Surprised, too." He ignored Bethune's resentment, and continued, "I understand that Captain Adam Bolitho is to be given a new command."
Bethune swallowed. Sillitoe's change of tack was like the man, swift and unpredictable. "He should have received his orders, and be returning to England as we speak, my lord. Valkyrie was severely damaged. She will be withdrawn from service."
Sillitoe studied him coolly, his hooded eyes revealing nothing. The squadron commodore was killed? Unfortunate, although it would seem, in my experience, that officers chosen of necessity for this or that command are not always the right ones for the task." He raised his hand. "There is another matter. One which I would prefer to remain between us only." He watched Bethune's growing discomfort, but felt no triumph; if anything, he sensed anger and contempt.