The feast had been cunningly prepared with old favourites but, in deference to the climate and setting, many a Caribbean delicacy as well. He tucked into more jerk pork and idly listened to Bolton, two down, weave a complicated yarn about Fisgard and the North Sea.
There was no doubt now, he was succeeding in life. The Curaçao action would be noticed in England and he had been a principal in the affair. And, of course, with the taking of two significant-sized warships with little damage and three minor there would be useful awards of prize money to look forward to.
And in society – there was no mistaking the gleam in Miss Amelia’s eye and the envious looks of her sister. There had been a casual invitation from her father for an at-home in the near future, whatever that meant …
Yes, things were looking rosy for him, he concluded. As long as this vexing threat hanging over them was dealt with.
The spirited hum of conversation slackened as the cloth was drawn, and blue smoke spiralled up as the brandy came out. Several officers left to ‘ease springs’, leaving their places empty.
Kydd allowed his thoughts to wander agreeably as he relaxed back in his chair.
Suddenly aware that a figure had taken the vacant chair opposite, he refocused and prepared to engage in easy conversation.
It was Tyrell.
‘You! Um, Kydd, isn’t it?’ The man’s voice was thick with drink but it still held a steely hardness.
‘It is.’ He was enjoying the evening too much to have it affected by a bitter and aggrieved sot. He would indulge the man for a few minutes, then make his excuses.
‘Damn it, man! I’ve seen you afore, sir, and I’d like to know where.’
Kydd’s warm feelings drained away.
If this ghost from his past was intent on laying bare those raw memories of his brutish rite of passage into the Navy, he would resist. Yet the feral presence before him of the one whose terrifying figure had most haunted his existence then still had the power to unnerve.
‘If you must, Rufus, it was I who saw you home the night of the levee if you’ll recall.’
‘Not that, y’ fool. Years past, some time in the last war. Long time back. Where did I see you? Answer me, sir!’
Kydd took a breath, then steadied. He replied coolly, ‘Why, the London season, perhaps. Vauxhall Gardens by night is not to be missed and—’
‘Never trifle with such tommyrot! Popinjays prancing up and down like ninnies, gib-faced dandies with fusty tomrig in tow – I’ve forbidden my wife to attend ever, against her fool wishes I’m sorry to say, and I’m surprised you see fit to show your face at such – such folly!’
‘Then I’m at a stand, sir,’ Kydd drawled carefully. Wanting to strike back at the apparition from his past, he forced himself to muse artlessly, ‘In the sea service – were you at the Nile at all? I was a lieutenant in Tenacious, as I recollect, and—’
‘No!’
‘At Trafalgar, then. I was at the time in my present command and had the honour—’
Tyrell’s face reddened. ‘Neither!’ he retorted. ‘I’ve always been disappointed in m’ hopes for a fleet action of merit. No, sir, I’ve a notion it’s to be years before … and somewhere …’
‘Then at the theatre? Do you favour Miss Jordan at all? Much faded now but an actress of fine parts, I’m persuaded.’
Tyrell thumped the table angrily. ‘I never forget a face, sir,’ he grated. ‘As many a deserter who thought to hide can testify. No, Kydd, I’ll have your number and won’t be denied.’
Just south of the Garrison Savannah Renzi had found a small, perfectly formed beach, which, with its arc of offshore reefs, was not favoured by the fisher-folk or, it seemed, by others. His mood was black and he didn’t want company.
He went to a gnarled tree overhanging the glistening white sand and sat in its shade, gazing out over the translucent green seas, waves lazily creaming in at regular intervals. The hot smell of sun on sand was soothing and he felt his mood gradually ease.
He had some thinking to do. It had been a humiliating and embarrassing experience, not only for his standing with the admiral, which was not so important to him, but more for his friendship with Kydd. Did Kydd really believe that he had made up a story about stealing into a secret base to cover the failure of his logical theory? If so, it was difficult to blame him, for there was not a shred of independent evidence that such did in fact exist.
He realised he had now to face a disturbing, frightening possibility. Was it all a species of dream, of ardent wish-fulfilment, generated by a fevered brain to …
To what? As far as he was aware, there was no mental instability in his family, no incidents in his past to lead him to doubt his senses now. Even so, he was no medical man and it had to be considered.