Officers. His mouth tightened. Nothing else to do.

There was something else that still puzzled him. Athena had anchored at Plymouth only briefly before proceeding on to Portsmouth, which she had left less than a year ago. Bethune had insisted on breaking the passage, apparently to send some urgent despatches by courier.

Even then, the captain had found time to speak to the men being discharged or put ashore to have their wounds treated.

The lucky ones…

And the boy, now a midshipman, who had somehow managed to swim ashore at San Jose after Audacity had exploded. His own captain had been killed, cut in half by a redhot ball from the battery, but one of his lieutenants had seen fit to write a short report on David Napier's courage and determination in supporting another midshipman and getting him to the beach, where the Royal Marines had found them.

Only Napier had survived.

Napier would be in Falmouth now. At the Bolitho house, with the green hills behind and the sea below. Something Jago had also shared in his own way.

Captain Adam Bolitho was at the Admiralty right now, not all that far from this room. It was hard to fix your position, he thought, here in London anyway. It must be somewhere over and beyond those faceless houses. Bethune lived here when it suited him, and had used to ride across the park in a leisurely fashion to his offices.

Athena was being paid off. Another victim, like Unrivalled after her battle at Algiers. He recalled the silent bundles being slipped over the side for that last journey, and controlled his anger. That was the way it was. The sea was all he knew. He stood up and faced the door. And all he wanted.

But it was not one of the household staff, or even Lady Bethune, not that she would deign to meet him. It was George Tolan, Bethune's servant, although the word didn't do him justice. Always smart and alert in his distinctive blue coat, and obviously at ease with his lord and master.