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clifftop walks, and her hair was unfastened and blowing freely in the wind. She turned and faced the sea at the place where she often paused on her walks; the best view of all, the locals said.
    The young coastguard said uneasily, ‘You don’t think she . . .’
    Tom turned his head, his eye trained to every movement and mood of the sea and these approaches.
    â€˜No.’
He saw the fine edge of the ship as she tacked around Pendennis Point and its brooding castle, close-hauled and hard over, clawing into the wind before standing towards St Anthony Head. She carried more canvas than might be expected, but heknew what the captain intended, to weather the headland and those frothing reefs before coming about to head into open waters for more sea-room, with the wind as an ally.
    A tight manoeuvre, well executed if
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was as short-handed as was rumoured. Some might call it reckless. Tom recalled the dark, restless young captain in the church and all those other times. He had seen him grow from midshipman to this moment in his life, which must be the greatest challenge of all.
    He saw the woman unfasten her shabby boat cloak and stand unmoving in the blustery wind. Not in black, but in a dark green robe. Tom had seen her waiting on this same path for the first sign of another ship. So that he would see her, sense her welcome.
    He watched the frigate heeling over and imagined the squeal of blocks and the bang of wild canvas as the yards were hauled round. He had seen it all so many times before. He was a simple man who did his duty, peace or war.
    What ship did
she
see, he wondered. What moment was she sharing?
    Catherine walked past the two horses but did not speak.
    Don’t leave me!

2
No Longer A Stranger
    ADAM BOLITHO RESTED one hand on the quarterdeck rail and watched the misty horizon tilt as if to dislodge the entire ship. For most of the forenoon they had been engaged in sail drill, an exercise made even more uncomfortable than usual by the blustery wind. It was directly from the north, and strong enough to force
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to lean until the sea spattered against the sealed gunports and drenched the men working aloft and on deck like a tropical storm.
    Three days since the rugged Cornish coastline had vanished astern, and each one had been put to good use.
    The hands were sliding down to the deck now, the landsmen and others less confident holding tightly to the ratlines when the ship heeled over to leeward, so that the sea appeared to be directly beneath them. There was a smell of rum even in the wind, and he had already noticed a thin trail of greasy smoke from the galley funnel.
    He saw the first lieutenant waiting by the starboard ladder, his face giving nothing away.
    â€˜That was better, Mr Galbraith.’ He thought he saw Galbraith’s eyes drop to the pocket where he carried the old timepiece and wondered what it must be like to take orders as a lieutenant again, instead of being in command. ‘Dismiss the watch below.’ He heard the seamen running from their stations, glad to be spared further discomfort, and to curse their captain over a tot of rum.
    He knew the sailing master was watching him from his usual position, near his helmsmen whenever the ship was altering course or changing tack.
    Adam walked to the weather side and wiped spray from his face, his body angled to the deck as the sails filled out like breastplates again. The sea was lively with cruising white horses, although it was calmer than when they had been in Biscay. There was too much spray to make out the lie of the land, but it was there, a long, purple hump, as if a bank of cloud had dropped from the sky. Cape St Vincent. And despite all the drills, the alterations of course to test the topmen and new hands alike, this was the exact landfall. He had seen the sailing master’s calculations and his daily estimates of distance covered.
    His name was Joshua Cristie, and he had a face so weathered