Alexander Kent - Heart of Oak

Napier watched him in an awed silence. Mild enough, but from Yovell it matched a hardened seaman's crudest oath.

The door slammed and there was silence. Napier folded the letter slowly and replaced it in the torn envelope. He was a bully, a coward, and a liar. Aloud or to himself, he neither knew nor cared. He thought of the dark-eyed girl who had tried to drive away those same bitter memories.

Our secret. Now she would be separated from the man who was her life. He thrust the letter into his coat.

Our captain. Nothing else mattered.

She sat in one of the high-backed, matching chairs, her hands clasped in her lap, only her eyes moving as Adam Bolitho strode restlessly about the study. The fire in the grate had all but died, but the door was closed; they would not be disturbed.

Her cloak was still lying across the old chest by the window, where she had thrown it when they had arrived back from the harbour.

She had been expecting it, dreading it, but surely not so soon? She said only, "When? "and saw him twist the envelope in his hand. "Is it a ship?"

He turned toward her, with the same expression she had seen when Yovell had brought the letter. And before that, when they had walked from the stable yard and the eyes had watched them pass. He had known then.

He took her hands in his and stooped to kiss her hair.

"I am required to report to Plymouth. "He looked away, fighting it. "Again. "A piece of charred wood fell amongst the ashes and he saw her eyes reflect the leaping flame. He thought of the letter, complete with its stamp and seal of Admiralty. It was not a command. Upon receipt of these orders, or to proceed with all despatch. Curt and to the point. You became used to such brevity; you were not expected to like it. This was unreal; he could see him, hear his voice. John Grenville, still listed as captain, secretary to the First Lord. Second only to God. Like another world, and yet he remembered him better than many he had known for years.

"I am ordered to attend a meeting with certain senior officers. Captain Grenville apologizes for the abruptness of this summons. "He saw the question in her eyes. "That was stupid of me, Lowenna. You do not know him. He is already at Plymouth… his last active duty, to all accounts. "He was making no sense, and he gripped her hands as she rose from the chair. "I wanted anything but this!"

She waited, giving herself time. This was their life, or would be.

"Down by the harbour, Adam, I told you I wanted to share it, be a part of it. "She put her arms around his shoulders. "A part of you."

They walked to the old chest, and Adam lifted her cloak so that she could read its carved inscription, the motto of the Bolitho family. For My Country's Freedom.

She murmured, "Remember the curate, Adam. The second part. "When danger threatens, but not before.'" She paused. "And I'm prepared for that too, God help me, if need be."

There were voices, perhaps guests. He said, "We must tell my aunt."

She had seen that look in his eyes when the little brig had been getting under way. The captain. A man apart.

He walked to the door, pausing once to glance back at the room, the books and the paintings. The past. He heard Grenville's voice again. Be patient. A ship will come.

She slipped her hand around his wrist, and the gold lace on his sleeve.

"I am ready."

But as he held open the door, she touched her breast. It was as if her heart had stopped.

The clerk held open the heavy door with one hand while he snatched a coat from a chair with the other.

"If you would wait here a moment, sir. I was told to conduct you directly you were announced."

Adam Bolitho walked into the spacious room; it was as if nothing had changed. The same paintings, the great windows with their sweeping views across Plymouth Sound, and the narrow balcony where only the determined would brave the cold easterly wind. It only needed Valentine Keen, that youthful admiral, to make an appearance and the clock would turn right back to the year when Adam had taken command of Unrivalled.

T will inform Sir John of your arrival."

Adam turned abruptly, but the door was closed. He must have misheard, or the clerk was wrong. Sir John Grenville? He looked toward the table near the door, at the candle burning beside a pile of envelopes, the wax and official stamp ready for use. Documents of some importance… The clerk was not likely to have made a mistake.

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."