Bolitho was saying, "Make arrangements for an early start tomorrow. We will stay overnight."

"The Golden Lion, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho’s eyes were searching, the reflected colour of Plymouth Sound, and he imagined that he had offended him.

"I-I only meant…"

Surprisingly Bolitho smiled, and seized his arm through his damp cloak.

"I know. I am all aback today." He looked towards the town. "But some other place, I think."

He pictured Catherine suddenly. How they had held one another before he had left for Plymouth. She would be on her way to London by now, to Chelsea. She had shared her London with him. Like all she had given him, all they would have to relinquish when he sailed again.

He had rarely felt like this before. Every day had been like a bright dawn, and even though each had known they must soon be separated it was hard even to contemplate.

He saw Avery walking away, back to the waiting carriage. His uneven shoulder, the stiff manner in which he held it, moved him deeply. What are these men, Kate? If only all England could see her sons. And above the fresh breeze which rattled Larne’s halliards and incompleted rigging he heard her voice in his mind. Don’t leave me!

There were shouts, and Bolitho realised that the marine picket

was watching him nervously. A burly figure in lieutenant’s uniform but without a hat had appeared on deck, pushing seamen and dockyard workers aside as he roared, "Man the side, you damned hawbucks! Why was I not told?"

Bolitho put one foot on the brow and raised his hat to the small quarterdeck.

"It is good to see you again, Mr Ozanne! And in fine voice, too!" Then he tossed a fold of the cloak over one shoulder to reveal an epaulette with its bright pair of silver stars.

The dockyard workers gaped with amazement, but some of the seamen gave a lively cheer. Like a meeting of old friends.