He thought of Catherine's happiness at the prospect of their journey, when before, when he had told her about Cape Town, there had been only anger and despair. "Is there nobody else they can send, Richard? Must it always be you?"

When Godschale's acceptance of his request that she accompany him had been delivered to Falmouth, she had thrown her arms about him like a child. Together. The word which had become a symbol to both of them.

Ever since Keen's wedding they seemed to have spent days on the terrible winter roads: London, Falmouth and London again.

He thought of their last night at a small secluded inn Allday had recommended; as, seated in the waiting room before Jenour had arrived, he had stared into the fire, remembering it. The need of one for the other, until they had lain by the fire in the inn's private room, unwilling to waste the night in sleep.

The bargemen tossed their oars and sat stiffly facing aft while the bows were made fast to the stairs. The first lieutenant stepped lightly on to the wet stairs and raised his hat, his eyes everywhere, puzzled as he realised there was no chest or luggage to be stowed aboard.

"Good day, Mr Sedgemore." Bolitho gave a brief smile. "As you see, mine is a short visit this time."

He and Jenour settled themselves in the sternsheets and the barge cast off, shipping water over the stem as they quit the shelter of the wall.

"Repairs going well, Mr Sedgemore?"

The lieutenant swallowed hard. He was unused to casual conversation with a vice-admiral.

"Aye, Sir Richard. It will be a month or so yet, I'm told."

Bolitho watched the passing dockyard boats, and a yawl towing a new mast for some ship undergoing refit. If Napoleon did invade Spain, the naval blockade would have to be tighter than ever until they could put an army ashore to meet the French in open battle. He thought sadly of Herrick. Even his poor, battered Benbow might be sent back into the fray.