remains of a broken seal. Like drops of blood. His hands were steady, but his mouth was completely dry.
My dear Mister Napier
,
At the earliest opportunity it is my wish to speak with you in person, to offer my gratitude and heartfelt thanks for your courageous attempt to save the life of my only son Paul, after the loss of Audacity.
No written words can convey my true feelings when the news reached me of his death, and your determined efforts on his behalf.
Napier moved the letter; it was shaking, blurred. Tiny, unreal sounds intruded. A horse on the cobbles, a man whistling, breaking off in a fit of coughing. His eyes fell to the foot of the page.
I look forward to the day of our meeting.
I am, believe me, yours sincerely
,
Charles Boyce, Rear-Admiral.
“Drink this.” Yovell had come around the desk and was leaning over him.
Napier sipped at the glass and coughed, and felt Yovell’s hand on his shoulder. A latch clicked and he heard him snap, “Not now! Find somebody else!”
Perhaps that did more than anything to steady him. But his vision was still blurred. Like drowning. He said, “I didn’t even know his name. He was Boyce, that was all I knew.”
Yovell’s hand moved slightly. “You are doing well.” He raised the glass again. “And his father is a rear-admiral, no less.”
Napier hardly heard him. “We never shared anything aboard
Audacity.
There were six of us in the gunroom. There was always trouble…” He halted, shocked that all he could recall was hate. He touched his leg, without realizing that his hand had moved. The ship heeling over, explosions muffled and terrible as the sea burst into the hull. The screams, wild and unreal, others trying to cheer as
Athena
surged past, all her guns firing. Then the emptiness, drifting fragments, boats too far away to help. And through and above the smoke, sunlight touching the crest of a hill. Too far, too late. It was all he had.
He saw that Yovell was gazing at him, behind the desk once more.
“You’ve had quite a load to carry on your back, young David.” He gestured to the letter. “Some I heard, some I guessed. And you, I know.” He gave his owlish smile. “The rest can wait. But for the courier’s untimely visit, you might never have received this. Not for a while, in any case.”
Napier said, “I wondered why…” and saw Yovell’s irritation as more shouts came from the stables, and then Jeb Trinnick’s harsher tone brought an instant silence.
Yovell folded the letter and pushed it discreetly across the desk. Then he said, “It seems impossible to keep a secret in this place. The courier brought word to Captain Bolitho. It was his main purpose in coming, otherwise…” He unlocked a drawer and dragged it out until it was pressed against his stomach. “We will talk again soon. Together we shall think of a suitable response to Rear-Admiral Boyce.”
Napier saw the long, buff-coloured envelope, another, unbroken red seal. He heard himself ask, “Is he recalled?”
Yovell seemed preoccupied, patting his pockets. “I do not expect
you
to betray a confidence.” He peered around for his hat. “That was unfair, and uncalled for…Stay a while, if you wish. This, I fear, must not wait. Damn their eyes!”
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
My dear Mister Napier
,
At the earliest opportunity it is my wish to speak with you in person, to offer my gratitude and heartfelt thanks for your courageous attempt to save the life of my only son Paul, after the loss of Audacity.
No written words can convey my true feelings when the news reached me of his death, and your determined efforts on his behalf.
Napier moved the letter; it was shaking, blurred. Tiny, unreal sounds intruded. A horse on the cobbles, a man whistling, breaking off in a fit of coughing. His eyes fell to the foot of the page.
I look forward to the day of our meeting.
I am, believe me, yours sincerely
,
Charles Boyce, Rear-Admiral.
“Drink this.” Yovell had come around the desk and was leaning over him.
Napier sipped at the glass and coughed, and felt Yovell’s hand on his shoulder. A latch clicked and he heard him snap, “Not now! Find somebody else!”
Perhaps that did more than anything to steady him. But his vision was still blurred. Like drowning. He said, “I didn’t even know his name. He was Boyce, that was all I knew.”
Yovell’s hand moved slightly. “You are doing well.” He raised the glass again. “And his father is a rear-admiral, no less.”
Napier hardly heard him. “We never shared anything aboard
Audacity.
There were six of us in the gunroom. There was always trouble…” He halted, shocked that all he could recall was hate. He touched his leg, without realizing that his hand had moved. The ship heeling over, explosions muffled and terrible as the sea burst into the hull. The screams, wild and unreal, others trying to cheer as
Athena
surged past, all her guns firing. Then the emptiness, drifting fragments, boats too far away to help. And through and above the smoke, sunlight touching the crest of a hill. Too far, too late. It was all he had.
He saw that Yovell was gazing at him, behind the desk once more.
“You’ve had quite a load to carry on your back, young David.” He gestured to the letter. “Some I heard, some I guessed. And you, I know.” He gave his owlish smile. “The rest can wait. But for the courier’s untimely visit, you might never have received this. Not for a while, in any case.”
Napier said, “I wondered why…” and saw Yovell’s irritation as more shouts came from the stables, and then Jeb Trinnick’s harsher tone brought an instant silence.
Yovell folded the letter and pushed it discreetly across the desk. Then he said, “It seems impossible to keep a secret in this place. The courier brought word to Captain Bolitho. It was his main purpose in coming, otherwise…” He unlocked a drawer and dragged it out until it was pressed against his stomach. “We will talk again soon. Together we shall think of a suitable response to Rear-Admiral Boyce.”
Napier saw the long, buff-coloured envelope, another, unbroken red seal. He heard himself ask, “Is he recalled?”
Yovell seemed preoccupied, patting his pockets. “I do not expect
you
to betray a confidence.” He peered around for his hat. “That was unfair, and uncalled for…Stay a while, if you wish. This, I fear, must not wait. Damn their eyes!”
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
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