A beautiful woman, he decided. And more. No man could have sought a better mother for Arthur or Sophia. Nor a wiser housekeeper for their affairs. When the opportunity had arisen to buy a third share in the Mary Celeste it had been Sarah who itemised immediately the state of their finances, made the calculations about the loan they would have to raise and then presented him with an account record so that he could assess whether they could afford it.

Briggs realised that she was as much a companion as a wife, a special friend to whom he could always turn and from whom he would always receive the correct advice.

He recognised suddenly the reason for the completeness of the pride he had experienced earlier at the top-gallant rail. Perhaps the sensation had not even been pride. Rather, it had been the satisfaction of knowing that the purchase of the vessel had filled the one vacuum in an otherwise perfect life. He had a perfect wife and a perfect family and a perfect career and now he was a man of substance, an owner-captain. Part-owner, he thought again. But hardly a qualification. Definitely not one that Captain Winchester, the principal shareholder, was invoking.

‘Your ship’, the man had said during their dinner the previous night. And meant it, Briggs knew. He decided he liked Captain Winchester. A blunt speaker, almost to the point of curtness. But a no-nonsense man, the sort of person with whom Briggs preferred to deal. He had left every encounter with Winchester knowing exactly where he stood, without any half-doubts about anything the man might have intended but held back from conveying in case there were need to alter his opinion at some later stage. And about that he was lucky, he knew, thinking back to involvements with other shipping men.