Alexander Kent - Second to None

Then the mood was gone, just as quickly, and he said, “The man Willis. His wife has died.” He paused, the memory stirring. “In Penzance.”

“I did not know, sir.”

“Why should you? But Massie is his lieutenant. He should have known, and cared enough to prevent this unnecessary affront.”

Bellairs was hurrying towards them, but he waited for the captain to leave before he produced a list of items he had been told to muster for the proposed landing party.

Galbraith put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Later, but not now, my lad.” He shook the shoulder gently. “I wish you had been here just now. You’d have learned something which would have had your promotion board agog with admiration.” He thought of the captain’s expression, the dignity and the fire in the quiet voice. “About the true qualities which make a King’s officer. I certainly did, believe me!”

He knew Bellairs was still gazing after him when he walked away to call the gig’s crew. And he was glad he had shared it with him.

Adam chose the same leisurely approach to Bethune’s house without truly knowing why. The narrow street was in deeper shadow now, and most of the stalls had been closed or abandoned for the night. He looked towards the low-canopied shop where he had spoken with the silversmith, but that, too, was deserted. As if he had imagined it.

He had left the gig at the jetty alone and had sensed Jago’s disapproval; he had even ventured to suggest that he should keep him company. The whole place is probably full of cut-throats an’ thieves. But he had remained with the boat’s crew when Adam had told him that there would not be a man left, hand-picked or not, when he returned.

Like that handshake; Jago had still come only halfway towards sharing his innermost thoughts.

But the old sword at his hip had been loosened in its scabbard all the same.

There had been a couple of small boys begging, and a savage looking guard dog, but otherwise his walk was undisturbed.

The air was cooler as evening lengthened the shadows, but not much. He thought without pleasure of the reception at Bethune’s headquarters, and imagined the press of sweating bodies, and the wine. Unrivalled would put to sea in the morning. He had to keep a clear head, to deal with any remaining problems before the two frigates were committed.

He turned the corner and saw the pale gates looming out of the dusk. Every window seemed to be ablaze with light. He could smell cooking, and felt his stomach contract. He had eaten nothing since breakfast; Jago probably knew about that, too.

He touched his hat to a sentry and strode into the courtyard, aware of vague shapes, murmured instructions, and the continuous clatter of dishes and glassware.

He recalled Bethune’s casual question about the passage from Gibraltar. Did he see his unwanted visitor as a burden, or a possible stepping-stone to some new appointment? He was welcome to it. His was a world Adam had never known, and had repeatedly told himself he would never willingly share.

There was music, hesitant at first, violins, seemingly at odds with one another and then suddenly sweeping through the courtyard in a single chord.

He stopped and listened as the music faded away, and somebody called out for attention. Short notice. Bethune had not approved of that, either.

“Why, Captain Bolitho, is it not? Standing alone and so thoughtful. You are very early!”

He turned and saw her in a curved entrance he had not noticed on his previous visit. In the deepening shadows her gown looked blue, perhaps chosen to match her eyes. Her dark hair was piled above her ears, Hilda’s work, he thought, and she was wearing earrings, shining like droplets of fire in the last sunlight.

He removed his hat and bowed.

“My lady, I am a visitor, not a guest. I shall be on my way as soon as I have met with Sir Graham or his aide.”

“Ah, I see. More duty, then?” She laughed and flicked open a small fan which had been dangling on a cord at her wrist. “I had thought we might see more of you.”

He joined her in the paved entrance and caught her perfume, her warmth. The same woman, and yet so different from the one he had held and restrained in her moment of nausea and despair.

“It seems you are well cared for, m’ lady.” He looked past her as the music began again. “I hope the reception is a great success.”

She took his arm, suddenly and deliberately, turning him towards the music, towards her, until they were only inches apart.

“I do not care a fig for the reception, Captain! I have seen so many, too many… I am concerned that you choose to blame me because of such…” She seemed angry that she could not find the word to express her displeasure.

“Necessities, m’ lady?”

“No, never that!” She calmed herself; he could feel her fingers gripping his arm, like the night Napier had brought him to her.

She said, “Walk with me. There is a view of the harbour on the other side.” Her fingers tightened as if to drive away his resistance. “Nobody will see us. Nobody will care.”

“I do not think you understand…”

She shook his arm again. “Oh, but I do, Captain! I am well aware of the rules, the etiquette of King’s officers. No talk of women in the mess. But a knowing nod and a quick wink betrays such chivalry!” She laughed, and the sound echoed in the curved archway. “Listen! D’ you hear that?”

They came out on to a paved parapet, beyond which Adam saw the sea, sunset already bronze on the water, the riding lights and small moving craft making patterns all their own.

The hidden orchestra was playing now, and the other sounds of preparation seemed to pause as if servants and orderlies had stopped to listen.

She said almost in a whisper, “It’s beautiful,” and turned to look at him. “Don’t you agree?”

He put his hand on hers and felt her tense. A woman one moment, a child the next. Or was he deluding himself yet again?

“As you have observed, my lady, I am somewhat aback when it comes to the finer points of etiquette.”

She did not respond, but said a moment later, as if she had not heard him, “A waltz. D’ you know that some people still claim it is too risque, too bold, for public performance?”

He smiled. She was teasing him.

“I am thankful I am spared such hazards!”

She turned towards him again, and removed his hand from hers as if she was about to walk away. Then she took his hands once more, and stood looking at him, her head slightly on one side, deciding perhaps if she had already gone too far.

“Listen. Hear it now? Let it take charge of you.”

She placed his right hand on her waist, pressing it there, like the night when she had refused to release him.

“Now hold me, guide with your left hand, so.”

Adam tightened his grip and felt her move against him. Even in the uncertain light he could see the bare shoulders, the darker shadow between her breasts. His heart was pounding to match the madness, the pain of his longing. And madness it was. At any moment somebody would discover them; rumour could run faster than any wind. And jealousy could match and overwhelm any sense or caution.

But she was moving, taking him closer, and his feet were following hers as if they had always been waiting for this moment.

She said, “You lead,” and leaned back on his arm, her eyes wide. “Then I shall yield.”

And laughed again. The music had stopped, like the slamming of a single door.

How long they stood in the same position was impossible to know. She did not move, even when he pressed harder against her thighs, until he could feel the heat of her body, her shocked awareness of what was happening.

Then, carefully, firmly, he held her away, gripping the naked shoulders until she was able to look at him again.