Hamett-Parker waved him away and wondered how long he had been listening outside.
Sillitoe picked up his cloak and turned towards the doors.
"I shall walk. It keeps my head clear." He gave a slight bow. "I bid you good-day, Sir James."
He descended the elegant staircase and went briskly out past the porter's chair into the drizzle.
His coachman acknowledged him with his whip. He knew where to find him. He was reliable, otherwise he would not be in Sillitoe's employment.
There were few people in the streets. As he walked, ignoring them, Sillitoe was deep in thought. He was still surprised that Hamett-Parker had not put up any fight.
His thoughts ranged on to Catherine Somervell and what he would say to her. She was not on this earth to be hidden away in Cornwall with fishermen and labourers. Nor was she meant to spend her life conducting a hopeless liaison in a little house in Chelsea. Sometimes she must recall her previous marriage to the Viscount Somervell, the grand occasions, being presented as she should be. She would be aware of Sillitoe's influence at the Admiralty and with Parliament. A few words, spoken or written, could bring Bolitho from his constant campaigning, and its ever-present fear of death. She would also be well aware that he could persuade a bigot like Hamett-Parker to prevent Bolitho's return, as they were doing to Nelson's best friend, Lord Collingwood.
The reception he had suggested to the admiral had been the first step.
He thought of the latest piece of news his spies had brought him, that Catherine had purchased an old collier brig from a Cornish prize-court. To impress the man she could never marry, any more than she could reach out and touch him whenever she chose? He doubted if it were only for that reason. Perhaps it was her personal mystery that excited and taunted him like none other.
He stopped at the door of a house in the quiet street, and after a quick glance in either direction dragged the bell-pull.
For a while he would lose himself in a flippant, bawdy world where even the power of politics had no place. He smiled as the door opened slightly. Perhaps whores were the only honest people left after all.
The woman almost curtsied. "Oh, Sir Paul! A real pleasure! She's waitin' for you upstairs! "
He glanced at the gloomy stairway. He would think of Catherine while he was here. Of how it would be.
10. Exchange of Fire
John Allday sat as comfortably as he could on an upturned dory and stared at the assembled shipping and sluggishly moving boats. If he turned his head he could see the great spread of Table Mountain that dwarfed Cape Town and all else in sight. But every movement was torture in the relentless heat. He was surprised he was not sweating: it was too hot even for that. There was a steady enough breeze from the sea, but it had no life, and reminded him of a village smithy he had once known.
His stomach rumbled and he knew it was time for something to eat and a wet, but not until Sir Richard and his flag lieutenant had returned from meeting the governor and some of the military commanders.
He stared across the shimmering water to Valkyrie and the ex-prize ship Laertes. Quivering like a phantom vessel, Captain Adam Bolitho's Anemone swung at her anchor, and Allday wondered what would happen when
he met his uncle again. Captain Trevenen had reported that Anemone, the third frigate in their small group, had been sighted at dawn, her arrival reported by one of the army's mountain lookout posts. But she had still not entered harbour when Sir Richard had left Valkyrie, and Allday knew enough about signals to realise that as senior officer of the flotilla Trevenen had hoisted Captain repair on board almost before Anemone's anchor had hit the bottom.
Allday turned his attention to the gig that had carried them ashore. It was made fast to a small mooring buoy and the crew was smartly turned out, but they were sitting with their arms folded and straight-backed despite the heat and discomfort, as they had been since Sir Richard had stepped ashore. It was as if the boat must not make contact with the land, he thought. As if one might become infected by the other.
There was a lieutenant in the boat. Even he did not have the authority, or the concern for the crew, to let them find some shade ashore. Then there was the captain. Trevenen was respected by his officers, although it showed in the sailors' eyes as something worse. Fear.
Some soldiers tramped past, a solitary drum beating out the step. Several were barely sunburned, unsure of themselves, ungainly under full packs and weapons, their red coats adding to the burden of heat. They were only a few of the men gathered here, and there were ships in plenty to carry them when required.
But fighting their way on to a heavily defended cluster of islands? Allday could not see the point of it at all. Why should he care? He had seen enough of it in the Caribbean, on the islands of death as the soldiers called them. Men plucked from the English countryside or the Scottish garrisons, from the Welsh valleys and anywhere else where they could be persuaded to take the King's shilling and go for a soldier.
But he did care. He grinned to himself. It must have rubbed off Sir Richard. Allday had seen many men thrown away, fighting over islands nobody in England had heard of. Like as not they would be handed back to the enemy once the damned war was over and done with.
He tried not to worry about Unis Polin, but to think of their last quiet moments together in the parlour of the Stag's Head at Fallowfield. He had always had an eye for the women, in more ports and harbours than he could remember. But this was very different, and he was almost afraid to touch her until she had looked up at him, with her fresh skin and laughing eyes, and had said, "I'll not break, John Allday! Hold me like you mean it! "
But even her brightness, which he now understood had been for his sake, could not hold out. She had pressed her face against his chest and had whispered, "Just you come back to me! You promise, eh?"
She understood about the sea, and things like loyalty. She must have had enough of that from her dead husband, Jonas Polin, master's mate in the old Hyperion.
Time moved on, and in his heart, although he knew it was stupid even to make a comparison, he knew Sir Richard had felt the same about leaving.
This time. Why then? It had troubled him. It still did.
He heard footsteps behind him and got to his feet. It was Lieutenant Avery, looking tired and hot from his walk. Another North Sea officer, Allday thought. Rain, wind and more rain. Even as the thought touched his mind, he realised how much he was missing it.
Avery said, "Call the boat, Allday. Sir Richard will be here presently."
Allday's bellow made the boat's crew come to life and the oars appear in the row locks like magic.
"Everything all right, sir?" He gestured towards the eye-blinding buildings, above which the Union Flag made the only visible movement.
Avery said, "I expect so." He thought of Bolitho's face when a staff officer had handed him some letters. He plunged his hand into his coat. "There's a letter for you, Allday."
He watched the big coxswain take it, with hands so strong and scarred that he could only imagine the life he had led.
Allday turned it over very carefully as if it might break. He knew it was from her. If he raised it to his nose there would be some of her there too. The sweet smell of the countryside and flowers, of the Helford riverbank and the little parlour.
He recalled her face when he had touched on the gold he had given her for safe-keeping, the 'booty' as Ozzard had called it, which he had taken from one of the Golden Plover's mutineers.
He had said, "It's yours, Unis. I want you to have it." He had seen the shock in her eyes and had added, "It'll be yours anyway when we're wed."
She had answered with the same gravity, "But not until then, John Allday! "
Avery watched him now and wondered if he should risk offending the man.