Later, Bolitho opened his eyes and found himself still in her arms, their bodies entwined as if they had never moved. The room was full of silver light, brighter even than the sun; or so it seemed.
"How long…?"
She kissed him. "Not long enough. I have been with you all the while. Did you know there is a pale patch on your neck where the skin was shaded by your hair?"
"Don't you like it, Kate?"
She pulled his head down to her breast. "I will grow used to it. The man I love is unchanged! "
She stroked his hair. "I must bring you something to eat. The whole house is abed. What must they think of us-of me?"
Bolitho propped himself on one elbow, watching the moonlight, knowing she was staring up at him, knowing that he wanted her again, and again.
"It is so warm." As if to a secret signal they both left the bed and stood side by side at the window, feeling the soft warm air about their nakedness, the sense of peace as the sea boomed faraway on those hidden rocks which guarded the approaches like black sentinels.
He put his arm around her waist and felt her body respond to his touch. Then he looked up at the moon. It was full, like a great silver dish.
"I need you, Kate." He was almost afraid to say it. He was unused to speaking out about something so secret and yet so powerful.
"And I you."
Bolitho hugged her. "But I will close the windows. There will be no food tonight, dearest Kate, and with that halo around the moon I think it may come on to blow before dawn."
She drew him down again and without effort roused him to match her own excitement, until they were once again joined, and he lay across her, breathing hard, his heart beating against her body like a hammer.
Only when his breathing became regular and he lay close by her side did she allow the tears to come; she even spoke his name aloud, but he was in a deep sleep once more.
She turned her head to look at the window and felt the wetness of her tears on the pillow. The moon was as bright as before. She felt him stir and held him more tightly as if to protect him even in sleep. But there was no halo, and the sky was clear but for its stars.
So it was not over. In spite of his high hopes, the damaged eye was waiting; like a thief in the night.
9. Summer Wine
BOLITHO reined his horse to a halt beside a low mossy wall and stared across the fields to a cluster of tiny cottages beside the Penryn road. It had been three days since his unexpected arrival in Falmouth and he had never felt so well nor known such happiness. Every hour seemed to be filled with exciting discoveries although he knew it was only that he was sharing them with Catherine. He had been born here, had grown up amongst these same villages and farms until, like all the Bolitho ancestors, he had gone off to join his first ship, the old Manxman of eighty guns which had been lying at Plymouth.
For England it had then been a rare moment of peace, but to the twelve-year-old Midshipman Bolitho it had been the most awesome experience of his life. The very size of the ship, or so she had appeared at the time, had taken his breath away the towering masts and spread yards, the hundreds of busy seamen and marines and the terrible thought that he would never be able to find his way about, were unnerving enough.
He was quick to learn and had managed to laugh off, outwardly at least, the usual taunts and the brutal humour which he came to recognise as part of any ship, as much as the tar and cordage which held them together. He had never even laid eyes on an admiral until he had joined his second ship, and at no time had he believed he would reach the lordly heights of lieutenant, let alone live to see his own flag leading the line of battle.
Catherine edged her horse closer to him and asked, "What are you thinking?" She leaned over to put her gloved hand on his. "You were so far away from me."
He looked at her and smiled. She wore a dark green riding habit, and her hair was plaited above her ears, shining in the bright sunshine.
"Memories. All kinds of things." He squeezed her hand. "Of the past three days. Of our love." Their eyes seemed to lock. Bolitho thought of the time they had found a quiet cove and left the horses to graze while they had explored it. By the tiny beach he had uncovered an old rusting and weed-covered ringbolt hammered into the stone. It was where, as a boy, he had come in his little dory, and had once been cut off by the tide and unable to pull the boat clear. They had found him clinging halfway up the cliff, the waves spitting at his ankles as if to pluck him down. His father had been away at sea, otherwise Richard doubted if he would have been able to sit down for a week.
She had listened to him and said, "We shall make it our cove."
It still made him feel dazed to think about it. How they had made love on that tiny crescent of sand, as if the world were abandoned but for themselves.
She said quietly, "Then I was sharing your thoughts."
They sat in silence for a long time while the countryside left them untroubled. The horses nuzzled one another, insects kept up a steady chorus and invisible birds joined in. A church clock seemed to rouse them, and Catherine took her hand away "I like your sister Nancy very much. She has been most kind. I suspect she has never met anyone like me before." She looked up directly at the sprawling house which lay beyond a pair of open gates as if it were waiting for them. "Her husband, too, has offered his services and advice without my asking."
Bolitho followed her glance. It was huge, this place which Nancy and Lewis Roxby called their home; it had been in the Roxby family for generations, and yet Bolitho knew that for years Lewis, "the King of Cornwall," had had his eye on the grey house below Pendennis Castle. His ancestors had perhaps been content to be the landowners and magistrates their position dictated. Not so Nancy 's husband. Farming, tin mining, even a local packet company were all a part of his empire. He was a hard-drinking, hunting squire when he was not dealing in business or hanging local felons for their crimes. He had little in common with Bolitho, but he had treated Nancy well and was obviously devoted to her. For that, Bolitho would have forgiven him almost anything.
Bolitho urged his mount forward once more, wondering what awaited them. He had sent a note to Felicity to tell her that they were coming. The horses rather than a carriage had been his idea, to give the impression of a casual visit rather than any sort of formality.
As they clattered into the courtyard two servants ran to take their bridles while another brought a dismounting stool, only to stare with astonishment as Catherine slid easily to the ground.
She saw Bolitho's smile and put her head on one side, the unspoken question in her eyes.
Bolitho put his arm round her shoulders and said, "I am so proud of you, Kate! "
She stared at him. "Why?"
"Oh, so many reasons." He hugged her. "The things you do, the way you look."
"And there is someone peeping at us from an upstairs window." For a brief instant her confidence seemed to falter. "I am not sure I should have come."
He looked at her and replied, "Then here is something more to peep at! " He kissed her hard on the cheek. "See?"
She seemed to shake it off, and when a footman opened the tall doors and Lewis Roxby, red-faced and rotund, bustled to greet them, she returned his welcome with a warm smile and offered her hand to him.
Roxby turned to Bolitho. "Dammee, Richard, you're a sly old dog! I'd been hopin' you'd stay away a bit longer so that your lady and I could get the better acquainted, what! "
He put his arms round them and guided them to the great room which overlooked his rose gardens. The doors were open and the room was filled with their scent.
She exclaimed, "What perfume! " She clapped her hands together and Bolitho saw the young girl she had once been in London. Not Belinda's town, but the other London of rough streets and markets, pleasure gardens and bawdy theatres, water-men and beggars. He still knew so little about her, but all he could feel was admiration for her, and a love he had never known before.