Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

Renzi faced his brother. 'And I will answer truthfully that those who have not experienced the especial fellowship of the sea, the profound and never articulated feeling of man for his fellow, out there on the yardarm, at the cannon's mouth, deep in the ocean's realm, they cannot know mankind in all its imperfection yet heroism.' He gazed into the distance. 'There is time at sea to ease the mind, to contemplate infinite truths and consider in their intimate detail philosophies and axioms to complete satisfaction.'

'You do not weary of the quality of your company?'

'At times I — but I keep myself impervious, there are ways to remain apart,' Renzi said slowly, 'and I have a particular friend .. .' He tailed off, for with a rush came a vision of Kydd's face - strong and uncomplicated — which held both intelligence and humour. He continued huskily,'. .. but I regret he has met with - he is probably dead,' he finished suddenly.

'I do sincerely mourn with you,' said Laughton softly. He busied himself with his glass and said, 'It would be an honour, brother, if you could sit at table with us tonight. We generally meet on this night, not in the formal way you understand, but to talk together, perhaps a cigar or pipe while we settle the business of the world.' His eyes flicked over Renzi's odd clerkly garb. 'And there is probably a stitch somewhere I could give you, should you feel the need to appear, er, inconspicuous,' he said lightly.

* * *

The cool night airs, which breezed freely through the double doors and on through the large airy rooms of the house, were agreeable to the guests as they sat down in the richly polished dining room.

'Gilbert, might I present Mr Renzi, an acquaintance of mine from England? Nicholas, this is Gilbert Marston. He is owner of the estate that borders mine to the west.'

Renzi inclined his head civilly at the stout gentle-man to his left, noting the shrewd intelligence in his eyes.

'Y'r duty,' the man said gruffly. 'In coffee, are ye?'

'No, sir, alas, I am here to visit only,' Renzi said, leaning back to allow a vast dish to be placed on the table. 'I have my interests, er, in the country — England, that is.'

'Ah.' Marston sniffed at the dish, strips of dried dark meat. 'Jerked hog. Y' got to hand it to the blackies, they c'n conjure a riot o' tastes.' Another vast tureen arrived. When the silver cover was removed it proved to be a mound of small, delicate fish. Yet another came: this was uncovered to loud acclamation. 'See here, Renzi,' said Marston, eyes agleam, 'this is y'r Jamaica dish royal - black crab pepperpot.'

The conversation swelled happily. Renzi noticed his brother gazing at him down the table, thoughtful and concerned. His expression brightened when their eyes met and he called, 'You will require a quantity of wine with that pepperpot, m' friend. Allow me to prove we are not without the graces here in the Caribbean.'

He nodded to a houseman, who in turn beckoned in a servant who pushed before him a neat cart. To his surprise Renzi saw that it seemed to be some sort of windmill, which the servant rotated carefully to catch the night zephyrs. 'A breeze-mill,' Marston confided. 'Damn useful.' Renzi saw that the mill drove a pump that kept up a continual circulation of water over bottles of wine in cotton bags, ranged together in a perforated tin trough. 'Saltpetre an' water - uncommon effective.' It was indeed: to taste chilled white wine in the tropical heat was nothing short of miraculous.

Renzi caught a speculative look on the face of an officer in red regimentals. 'Have I seen you, sir?' the man said slowly. 'In Spanish Town, was it not?'

Laughton put down his glass. 'That would be unlikely, sir. Renzi is heir to a particularly large estate in England. I rather fancy he would hardly have occasion to call upon the army.'

The officer bowed, but continued to look at Renzi, sipping his wine thoughtfully.

'I see Cuthbert has been broke,' Marston said to the table at large. 'All he had was ridin' in the Catherine brig, an' she was taken off Ocho Rios — less'n a day out.'

A murmur of indignation went up. 'For shame! What is the navy about that it cannot keep our trade safe, not even a piddling little brig?'

Marston bunched his fists. "There'll be many more ruined afore they stirs 'emselves,' he growled. 'Too interested in the Frenchie islands in the Antilles, all their force drawn off b' that.'

Laughton frowned. 'Went to see the Admiral's office in Spanish Town the other day for some sort of satisfaction in the matter — but was fobbed off with some damn lickspittle clerk.'

The conversations subsided as the table digested his words. An olive-complexioned man with curiously neat manners spoke into the quiet: 'In chambers they are saying that within the month insurance premiums will be out of reach of all but the grand estates ...'

A heavy silence descended. To send a cargo of sugar to sea uninsured would mean instant ruination if it were taken. The turtle arrived, and Renzi nibbled at the tongue and crab patties, checking his impulse to comment on naval matters. Further down the table a grumbling voice picked up another thread. 'Trelawney maroons are getting fractious again.'

Renzi gave a polite interrogatory look towards Marston, who took up the cue. 'Maroons, that's y'r runaway slaves up in the cockpit country, where we can't get at 'em. Damn-fool governor — about fifty odd years ago, gave in t' them, signed a treaty. They lives free in their own towns up there, doin' what they do, but that's not enough — they wants more.'

'An infernal impertinence!' another burst out.

'Wine with you, sir,' Marston exclaimed to Renzi. 'Your visit should not be damned by our moaning.' Renzi smiled and lifted his glass. Around the table, talk resumed: gossip, local politics, eccentricities. The barrister politely enquired of him London consol prices; fortunately, Renzi's recent devouring of the latest newspapers had left him able to comment sensibly.

The claret gave way to Madeira, ginger sweetmeats and fruit jellies appeared, and chairs creaked as they accommodated the expansive relaxation of their occupants. The cloth was drawn and decanters placed on the table. 'Gentlemen, the King,' intoned Laughton.

Chairs scraped as the diners scrambled unsteadily to their feet. "The King, God bless him!' The simple act of the loyal toast unexpectedly brought a constriction to Renzi's throat: it symbolised for him the warmth and good fellowship of the company to be had of his peers. A blue haze arose from several cigars and the talk grew animated; the evening proceeded to its end, and carriages were announced,

'I wish you the sleep of the just, Nicholas!' Laughton joked as he stood with Renzi at the door of his bedroom. He hesitated a moment, then turned quietly and went.

Renzi lay in the dark, the softness of the vast bed suffocating to one who had become accustomed to the neat severity of a sea-service hammock. He stared into the blackness, his thoughts rushing. It had caught him unawares, he had to admit, and even more, it had unbalanced him. The sight of his brother and the memories this brought of home, and above all the easy gaiety and reasoned conversation, all conspired against his high-minded resolution.

He rolled on to his side. It was hard to sleep with the up-country night sounds - the long snore of a tree-toad outside the jalousie window, the chirr-chirr of some large insect, a non-stop humming compounded with random chirping, whistling and croaking. An insect fluttered in his hair. He swore, then remembered too late that it was usual to search the mosquito net for visitors first. A larger insect blundered around in the confines of the net and he flapped his arms to shoo it out, but felt its chitinous body squirming against his hand and threw aside the net in disgust.