" Please take that bird off the compass," she said. " be flying on instruments alone in a moment."

The modulation in Sailhardy's voice was an acquired control. I felt the same about hers. Why, I could not guess. I gripped a metal stay with one hand and prised the bird off the compass. She looked past me, weighing up the storm. I was at a complete loss. " This bird is terribly lucky…" I started to say.

" There is no such thing," she replied. " Judgment is everything."

" To pick us up like that-your judgment was spot-on," I said.

Her eyes looked at the sea, and through them the sea looked back at me. There was no warmth in them. " So was your boatman's," she replied.

" Sailhardy and I are most grateful."

" Sailhardy!" she said. " What a name! You can practically smell tar in the rigging." Sailhardy balanced himself with his sailor's grace in the small cabin. She turned to him. " You know these waters well?"

" I do, ma'am," he replied.

What are our chances against that lot?"

The islander shrugged. " It depends-on you, ma'am."

" Carl!" she called. He came through to the cockpit. " What's it like back there in the anchorage? What does the factory ship say?"

" Starting to roll. Like a drunken fiddler's bitch."

" That's what I thought," she said. She jerked her head towards me. " Captain Wetherby. Carl Pirow, radio operator. Oh and Sailhardy. Boatman."

Her staccato, offhand manner grated on me.

" We're now all known to one another-except one," said.

" Helen Upton," she said, as if it were no more important than the piece of metal she held in her hand. " Whale-spotter." She craned forward. " What is that over there-about two hundred and seventy degrees? Inaccessible Island?"

" Yes, ma'am," replied Sailhardy.

" Thank you, Sailhardy," she said. She looked at him for the first time. " Sailhardy-what? Obviously the Royal Navy wants formal introductions."