Cross of St George by Alexander Kent Page B

I had had more time to know him.”
    The table had been cleared by Whitmarsh and one of the captain’s messmen. He had said quietly, “I want you to feel you can always speak your mind to me, Adam. Admiral and captain, but most of all friends. As I was, and am, with your uncle.” He had seemed uneasy, disturbed then by some thought. “And Lady Catherine—that goes without saying.”
    And then, eventually, Wakeful had changed course, north-westby-north to take full advantage of the obliging Westerlies as, close-hauled, they started on the last leg of their journey.
    Of Halifax Keen had remarked, “My father has friends there.” Again a note of bitterness had crept into his voice. “In the way of trade, I believe.” Then, “I just want to be doing something. Peter Dawes might have fresh information by the time we arrive.”
    On another occasion, when they had been free to walk the quarterdeck, and there had even been a suggestion of sunlight on the dark, rearing crests, Keen had mentioned Adam’s escape, and John Allday’s son, who had risked everything to help him, only to fall in the battle with Unity . Keen had paused to watch some gulls skimming within inches of the sea’s face, screaming a welcome. He had said, “I remember when we were together in the boat after that damned Golden Plover went down.” He had spoken with such vehemence that Adam had felt him reliving it. “Some birds flew over the boat. We were nearly finished. But for Lady Catherine I don’t know what we would have done. I heard your uncle say to her, tonight those birds will nest in Africa. ”He had looked at Adam without seeing him. “It made all the difference. Land, I thought. We are no longer alone, without hope.”
    As the miles rolled away in Wakeful ’s lively wake, Adam had shared few other confidences with his new rear-admiral. Others might look at him and say, there is a favoured one, who has everything. In fact, his rank was all he had.
    And then, on that last full day when they had both been on deck, the air like knives in their faces.
    â€œHave you ever thought of getting married, Adam? You should. This life is hard on the women, but I sometimes think …”
    Mercifully, the masthead had yelled, “Deck there! Land on th’ weather bow!”
    Hyde had joined them, beaming and rubbing his raw hands. Glad it was over, more so that he was ridding himself of his extra responsibilities.
    â€œWith good fortune we shall anchor in the forenoon tomorrow, sir.” He had been looking at the rear-admiral, but his words had been for Adam. The satisfaction of making a landfall. Even the ocean had seemed calmer, until the next challenge.
    Keen had walked to the quarterdeck rail, oblivious to the idlers off-watch who were chattering, some even laughing, sharing the same elation at what they had achieved. Men against the sea.
    He had said, without turning his head, “You may hoist my flag at the mizzen at first light, Captain Hyde.” Then he did turn and face them. “And, thank you.” But he had been looking past them, through them, as if he had been speaking to someone else.
    Hyde had asked, “May I invite you and Captain Bolitho to sup with my officers and me, sir? It is quite an occasion for us.”
    Adam had seen Keen’s face. Empty, like a stranger’s.
    â€œI think not, Captain Hyde. I have some papers to study before we anchor.” He made another attempt. “My flag captain will do the honours.”
    Perhaps it had been then, and only then, that the impact of his loss had really struck him.
    It would have to be a new beginning, for them both.
    Richard Bolitho walked across the cabin deck, and paused by the table where Yovell was melting wax to seal one of the many written orders he had copied.
    â€œI think that will be an end to it for today.” The deck was rising again, the rudder-head thudding