Julian Stockwin - Artemis

Renzi leaned forward. 'One might argue that their very precepts make it impossible of a closer acquaintance,' he said.

Sarah's eyes lingered for a heartbeat on Kydd, then transferred their attention to Renzi. 'Sir, I am not in the philosophic line. My dealings are more of a practical nature,' she said daintily. The eyes returned to Kydd, and dropped modestly.

They were underneath a hibiscus tree, which in season would have been a picture. The dull pearlescence of the winter monsoon swirled about them in the form of a fine mist of tiny dewdrops, which caught in Sarah's hair like a halo.

Kydd could not think of anything to say, and looked at Renzi. His friend lolled back, but was not at ease. He returned the look, and Kydd was startled at the stony hostility in his expression.

'I think Nicholas meant th' Chinese have, er, things in their civilisation which we find difficult t' take to — I saw sights in Canton that would make y' stare,' he said.

Renzi lurched upright. 'I most certainly did not! I say that by their contempt for our civilisation they have withdrawn themselves from our society and thus from all possibility of fellowship.'

'Oh!' Sarah said, her hand flying to her mouth and without a glance at Renzi. 'You have been to Canton? I would die to go - just the once - but ladies are not permitted.' Her eyes grew yet larger, and she leant forward towards Kydd.

Flustered, he knew what was happening, but was out of his depth. In Guildford he was vaguely aware that females were one of two types; the earnest but dowdy ones you married, and the exciting ones who always turned out to be shameless doxies. Sarah looked neither — or both. And she was driving a wedge between him and Renzi.

'Why, er, yes,' he said.

'Do tell me.' She cupped her face in her hands. Her eyes were enormous.

There was movement to the side. Renzi got to his feet. 'Pray excuse me, Miss Bullivant ... it is not often I get the opportunity - Honrar Nunez is expecting me. Do not trouble, I beg. . .' His voice seemed distant and preoccupied. 'Your servant,' he said, with a bow, and left without a glance at Kydd.

'He's sometimes a difficult fellow to understand,' mumbled Kydd.

'But he is your particular friend,' Sarah said immediately. 'I can tell. You have no idea how jealous that makes a woman - the closeness, I mean,' she said, dropping her eyes.

'We have - done much t'gether,' Kydd said defiantly.

'Yet you are so different.' Somehow her candour made things much easier than the delicacies of conversation before.

'What do you talk about?' she asked. 'No, that's unfair. You would not be friends unless you shared something -deep,' she said.

She sat back and stared at Kydd appraisingly. 'You look every part a sailor, Mr Kydd, and I do confess that before today I would rather be seen dead than talk to a ... sailor.'

'I understand,' Kydd said, stiffly.

'No, I don't mean that,' she said, her gloved hand coming out to squeeze his. 'Please forgive what I said about sailors before, but . . .'

He forced her to feel her shame, then smiled. 'It's the most wonderful thing that ever happened t' me,' he said in simple sincerity.

She looked at him steadily. 'There are things in this life . . .' she began.

'My father is a schoolmaster also,' Kydd put in, thinking of her duty as a governess, but being a little hazy as to what that implied in pedagogy.

'Is he?' she said, looking puzzled.

'Well, not really,' Kydd said, and explained the saga of the naval school.

She sat still, her eyes unblinking. At the end she sighed. 'You're a very nice man, Mr Kydd.'

He was not sure if this meant his duty to his family or something more, so he compromised with an inaudible mutter.

'And a very interesting one - I demand you will tell me of your voyages across the bounding main. What marvellous things have you seen? Do tell!'

Kydd was no raconteur, his masculine directness only hinting at the loneliness and terror, the consuming bloodlust and exultation, the deeply affecting love of the sea, but it held Sarah spellbound in quite the same way as it had Cecilia. The afternoon passed, tea had come round at least three times, the fine mist insinuating cool and damp but still she would not let him go.

For Kydd, it was a dream, unreal, not of this existence. Less than a year ago he had been a perruquier in a small Surrey town, glad to be noticed by ordinary girls. Here, sitting in front of him, was a handsome woman of the world in far China who was fascinated by him.

Sarah stood, smiling down at him. He snapped out of his daze and scrambled to his feet. 'Would you see me home, if you please, Mr Kydd?'

'Ah, of course, er, Miss Bullivant,' he said. She waited; he waited.

'Take my arm, if you please,' she said primly. 'It is unseemly to be seen walking at a distance.'

He settled his tricorne on firmly, and held out his arm. Hers entwined and lay gently on his, and the electric soft touch of the side of her breast turned his arm into a rigid claw.

They moved off in sedate promenade. Magically, Ah Lee appeared, to follow at a respectful distance, her face blank but watchful. The touch of Sarah's arm on his was all fire and flowers; Kydd felt twenty feet tall.

He carefully matched his pace to hers, across the praca and into the streaming hubbub of the bazaars. As they walked, Sarah pressed closer to him, turning to speak with a flashing smile. He could manage only monosyllables in reply, but something of his happiness must have communicated itself, for she was plainly flattered. He wondered what sort of picture he made in the fine clothing he wore with such a woman on his arm, and lifted his chin in defiance. He might be a common sailor, but at the moment he was king of the world!

The road widened to a leafy avenue, and in the gathering dusk she stopped before an imposing mansion. Rearing up behind the building was a pagoda, smaller than the ones Kydd had seen in Canton, but more richly appointed. Lanterns gleamed discreetly at the entrance to the mansion; the whole smacked of careless wealth. Ah Lee scurried forward to open the door and waited inside.

Kydd's heart sank. It was self-evident that Sarah was of a different social order, but had been amused for the length of the afternoon. It had been kind of her, but he had to be realistic.

'Thank you, Mr Kydd. I did enjoy our tea this afternoon -you are wonderful company, you know.' Her eyes caught the soft lantern light; they seemed to steal into his soul. She held out her hand. It was bare, the glove had been removed.

'Er, the same f'r me, Miss Bullivant,' he blurted, and shook her hand warmly. A brief shadow flickered across her face. He caught the expression, then realised that probably what was wanted was a more formal exchange. He bowed deeply, but forgot to put a leg forward; the gesture ended awkwardly and he blushed.

He looked up again, fearing ridicule, but her face was set, albeit with the tiniest trace of vexation. She brightened. 'Do you know? We never did get to see the Sao Tiago. Do you think it would be very wicked of me to suggest that we met again tomorrow to remedy the omission?'

Kydd was thunderstruck.

'That is, if your duties on board your boat do allow,' she said.

'After noon, we are free t' step ashore,' Kydd stammered.

'Splendid!' Sarah exclaimed, clasping her hands. 'If we meet at two at Honrar Nunez's, perhaps I can prevail on Ah Lee to provide a picnic basket.'

Her mood was infectious and Kydd found himself grinning inanely, his hat passing from hand to hand.

'Very well - until two then, Mr Kydd,' she said decisively. A final radiant smile came that stabbed right through him, then she swept up the steps and into the mansion. The door closed soundlessly. For a moment he stared after her, then slowly turned to make his way back the short distance to the priest's residencia.