He dropped his gaze to the figures who sat in the sternsheets. Yovell who had been promoted from clerk to secretary, with the new flag lieutenant beside him. The young officer seemed pleasant enough, but was not from a seagoing family. Most who seized the chance of the overworked appointment saw it as a sure way for their own promotion. Early days yet, Allday decided. In a ship where even the rats were strangers, it was better not to make hasty decisions.

His eyes settled on Bolitho's squared shoulders and he tried to control the apprehension which had been his companion since their return to Falmouth. It ought to have been a proud homecoming despite the pain and the ravages of battle. Even the damage to Bolitho's left eye had seemed less terrible when set against what they had faced and overcome together. It had been about a year ago. Aboard the little cutter Supreme. Allday could recall each day, the painful recovery, the very power of the man he served and loved as he had fought to win his extra battle, to hide his despair and hold the confidence of the men he led. Bolitho never failed to surprise him although they had stayed together for over twenty years. It did not seem possible that there were any surprises left.

They had walked from the harbour at Falmouth and paused at the church which had become so much a part of the Bolitho family. Generations of them were remembered there, births and marriages, victories at sea and violent death also.

Allday had stayed near the big doors of the silent church on that summer's day and had listened with sadness and astonishment as Bolitho spoke her name. Cheney. Just her name; and yet it had told him so much. Allday still believed that when they reached the old grey stone house below Pendennis Castle it would all return to normal. The lovely Lady Belinda who m looks at least was so like the dead Cheney, would somehow make it right, would comfort Bolitho when she realised the extent of his hurt.