He was surprised to find that he did not care. The ship, their ship, was to go into service again. They were fully repaired and supplied. And if they could get a few volunteers, they would be ready. A fighting ship once more.

"I would sail her single-handed, sir, just to get away from this graveyard!"

Adam smiled. It was far better to be like Galbraith. He was reminded suddenly of Keen, in that spacious house commanding the sea and the countryside in one unending panorama. Where he himself had walked with Keen's wife Zenoria, for so short a time before her tragic death.

Keen's second wife Gilia had been there this time, and had made him more than welcome, and her pleasure had matched only Keen's pride in the revelation that a child was expected in the spring.

It was obvious that Gilia had never told Valentine Keen what she knew of Adam's love for her predecessor, who had thrown herself from a clifftop after her son by Keen had died.

If Keen suspected, he hid it well. He had confined their conversations to Unrivalled's return to duty, and her performance against the renegade frigate Triton.

Only once, Adam had sensed something, as Keen had remarked on the "fine piece of work" when they had caught and destroyed the big ex-Dutchman. By rescuing Aranmore, the government had been saved the embarrassment of having to parley with the Dey of Algiers for the release of hostages. One glowing report of the chase and action had been sent by Sir Lewis Bazeley, one of the passengers and, it was said, a friend of the prime minister.

Keen's wife had commented, "Bazeley? He has a very pretty young wife, I believe," and Keen had said, "You carried them earlier to Malta, Adam."

An admiral's discretion, or was he still a friend? Once Sir Richard Bolitho's flag captain, and one of his midshipmen. Like me.

Galbraith probably knew or had guessed some of it.

He made up his mind. "I recommended you for a command again, Leigh."