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The smile was back now, but he seemed to speak in earnest. ‘I could say old times--what we began in Altair. You remember how we talked in your cabin?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘And on deck too. Do you know you never looked at me properly? You’d always one eye on the sails.’
    ‘Force of habit, I suppose. You should watch your topsails--weather leeches.’
    ‘Whatever that means. And you’d the other eye on the horizon. Another habit, no doubt?’
    ‘A little more, in those waters. But coming back to this, you were saying?’
    ‘I said we could talk, and in these days I’d be glad of someone I can talk to. I’ve said it isn’t good at home. I’m missing my father, too. Does this put you off?’
    ‘No.’
    He said it curtly, and meant it. Then silence came, while his thoughts ranged round it, cutting across it and conflicting with each other. It tempted, but there was a touch of despair. It would take him to what he needed, the other England that would not be London, and it could lead to introductions and to friends. It would take him out of London, away from Anice, and he would not see her again. That would be wise, and the thought chilled. The thought of Wickham warmed. He liked the man. Anice was off to Paris, and he need not stay in the country long. Yet he would be wise to forget her.
    He looked up, and saw Wickham watching him with courteous patience. Their eyes met, and something flowed between them that made it easier.
    ‘Take your time,’ said Wickham. ‘I don’t want to hurry you.’
    ‘I feel I should be rather making use of you. It fits--more or less--with what I need.’
    ‘More or less is probably right. It’s how I feel about most things, just now.’
    ‘I don’t know what sort of guest I should be. I’m not used to mixing with the Peerage.’
    ‘Are you asked to?’
    ‘Lord Barford’s your uncle, you say. And your sister, I suppose, is Lady St. Hollith?’
    ‘There’s nothing of the Peerage about Mary, and she knows it. As for Barford, he’s only lately become a peer, and he’s a gay old dog when you get to know him. He has a weakness for the Navy too. He--er--had a son.’
    Once again they looked at each other in silence, and then Wickham nodded.
    ‘It seems agreed, and it’s more than I’d expected when I turned in here for dinner. Fortunate. Now then . . .’ His tone was suddenly brisker. ‘Order of march?’
    ‘When do you think of going?’
    ‘I’d arranged for tomorrow. Does that give time to pack your kit? I’d arranged a late start, though--ten o’clock.’ ‘Then make it so.’
    ‘You’re sure? It does sound late, but I’ve an appointment tonight, and--er ...’ The laugh came suddenly back to him. ‘Well, she might keep me late.’
    ‘Then good luck to you.’
    ‘Thanks. We’ll say ten o’clock, then. That’s at the Angel in the Strand--back of St. Clement’s. I had the chariot sent there because it’s a post house.’
    ‘We’re driving post?’
    ‘At Barford’s expense. Suits me perfectly.’
    ‘So it should. All right--the Angel at ten. And thank you.’
    ‘Don’t say it.’ Wickham looked happily across the table and then slipped his watch out of his fob. ‘We’ve time to end this bottle. What’s the toast?’
    ‘The old one--fair wind and happy landfall.’
    ‘I thought it might have been something about sweethearts--from the Navy?’
    ‘Not . . .’ Grant tried quickly to chase some thoughts away. ‘Not always.’
    ‘As you choose.’ Wickham was smiling as he lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to it, then. Fair wind--and no regrets!’
     
     

4 The Enchantress
     
    It was nearly eight o’clock, and all but dark, when they came into the cool air of the Haymarket again, to part for the few brief hours before their journey. Wickham went hurrying off, and Grant took it easily. He had nothing to do except pack, and since it was no great way to Berkeley Square he took the long way round, walking slowly along Pall Mall while he tried to clear