His hand shook slightly, finding the correct one. Is it the Return to the fleet, prepare for War, he expected? He sat at the table that was surrounded by seats, screwed to the deck, and broke the seal.

"It was extraordinary, down there, Malcolm.

Ghastly in a way, all those men down there, astonishing--and if it's like that in a small ship like this, what would it be like on a big steamer--say like on the Great Eastern?"

"It's astonishing, Angel. I saw her launched on the Thames the last time I was in London, four years ago, when I finished school--my, was I glad to have done with schooling. She's completely of iron, four thousand tons burthen, the biggest in the world by far and built to carry emigrants, thousands at a time, to Australia. It took weeks to launch her-- they did it sideways, a complete cock-up and she almost sank. Poor Brunel who designed and built her went broke many times, the companies he floated did. She was ill-fated, caught fire on her maiden voyage and almost gutted--and that killed him. Damned if I'd sail on her --ill-fated she is, and was, from the first plate laid..." He saw Marlowe come on deck and frowned. Now there was no humor on the man's face.

The Bosun rang eight bells. Noon.

"I have the conn, Number One," Marlowe said.

"Yes sir."

"Why don't you take Miss Angelique for'rard, she might like to see some of our deck cannon close up."

"Gladly. Miss?"

Obediently she followed him down the gangway and along the deck. He was short, freckled and her height. "You're Welsh, Mr. Lloyd?" she asked.

He laughed, his voice singsong. "Welsh as the hills of Llandrindod Wells that is my home, look you."

She laughed with him and, leaning against the tilting deck whispered, "Why am I being sent off like a schoolgirl?"

"I wouldn't know about that, Missy." She saw his deep-set brown eyes look back and then they were turned on her. "The Captain's wants to talk about lunch, no doubt, or asking him, your man, if he wants to use the head, the toilet.

Man talk," he said and the eyes smiled.

"You like him, don't you?"

"The Captain is the Captain. Now, cannon, Ma'am!"

Her laugh trilled, the sailors nearby were warmed and Marlowe and Malcolm on the bridge heard her too and turned to look. "She makes a pretty picture, Malcolm."

"Yes she does. You were saying. Tiffin?"

"Does that sound all right? The cook's first class on his apple turnovers." The menu was to be fish stew, chicken and salt-pork pie and dumplings, cold roast chicken, cheddar cheese and apple turnovers. "I've a couple of bottles of Montrachet, '55, chilled, that I've been saving against a special occasion, and a Chambertin '52."

"You live rather well," Malcolm said, very impressed.

Marlowe smiled. "Not really but this is a special day and, to tell the truth, I scrounged the Chambertin--it was my Old Man's favorite. The Montrachet, he gave me a couple of cases when I came out."

"He's Navy?"

"Oh yes." The way Marlowe said it expressed surprise that the question needed to be asked. "He's Commander in Chief, Plymouth."

He hesitated, began to talk and stopped.

"What's the problem? We're ordered back?"

"No." Marlowe looked at him. "I was given several sealed orders this morning, along with written permission to bring you aboard and to be back by sundown, without fail. A few minutes ago Flag ordered me to open one of them. I wasn't told to tell you about it but I wasn't told not to. Perhaps you'd explain. The message said, "Should Mr. Struan ask a peculiar favor, you may, if you wish, grant it."

The world stood still for Malcolm Struan. He did not know if he was alive or dead and his head reeled and if he had not been sitting he would certainly have fallen over.

"Christ Almighty!" Marlowe gasped.

"Bosun fetch a tot of rum right smartly!"

The Bosun took to his heels and Malcolm managed to choke out, "No, no I'm, all right ... actually a rum would be, would be grand." He saw Marlowe's lips moving and knew he was being shaken but his ears were not hearing anything above the pounding of his heart and then he felt the wind on his cheeks and the sound of the sea returned.

"Here, sorr," the Bosun was saying, holding the glass to his lips. The rum slid down his throat. In seconds Struan felt better.

He began to grope to his feet. "Better take it easy, sorr," the Bosun said uneasily, "looks like you seed a ghost."

"No ghost, Bosun, but I did see an angel, your Captain!" Marlowe stared back blankly. "I'm not mad," Malcolm said stumbling over his words, "John, sorry, Captain Marlowe, is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

"Of course. Here." Uncomfortably Marlowe motioned to the Bosun who left the bridge.

Only the helmsman and signalman remained.

"Signalman, go for'rard. Helmsman, close your ears."

Struan said, "My peculiar request is: I want you to sail out of sight of land for a moment, and marry Angelique and me."

"You what?" It was Marlowe's turn to be disoriented. He heard Malcolm repeat what he had said. "You're insane," he stuttered.

"No, not really." Malcolm was in control now, his future in the balance, with the Admiral's words, if you wish you may grant it, carved on his brain. "Let me explain."

He began. A few minutes later the steward came up and went away and a little later came again with "Cook's compliments, sir, lunch is ready in your cabin," but again Marlowe waved him away, concentrating and not interrupting.

"... that's the reason," Malcolm finished, "the why of the Admiral, me, you, my mother. Now, please, will you grant my peculiar favor?"

"Can't," Marlowe shook his head, "sorry, old boy, I've never married anyone and I doubt if regulations'd allow it."

"The Admiral's given you permission to do what I ask."

"He put it rather bloody carefully, old boy: "grant it if I wished." My God, that's putting my head in the old yardarm noose, old boy," Marlowe said, his mouth running away from him as he foresaw all kinds of future disasters, "you don't know Ketterer like I know him, my God no, any senior officer for that matter!

If I choose wrong here he'll have my balls in the wringer, my career's up the bloody spout ..." He paused for breath, shaking his head and mumbled on. "No way I could do that, no w--"

"Why not? Don't you approve of us?"

"Of course I approve of you, for goodness' sake, but your mother doesn't, I mean she says no to the marriage, Sir William's got his finger stuck in the pie, the Church won't, other Captains won't and, dammit, you're both legal minors so if I did it wouldn't stick and she's... damn it, you're a minor and so's she ... just can't risk it..." A sudden thought and he glanced shorewards. "Not unless I signal Ketterer. I'll ask permission."

"If you do that you'll lose face with him forever.

If he wanted you to do that he would have said so."

Marlowe glared back at him. He re-read the Admiral's exact wording and groaned. Struan was right. His future was in the balance. Christ Almighty, why did I invite them aboard? The first thing in his life he remembered his father saying was, In the Navy you run your ship by rules and regulations, by the bloody book, except if you're bloody Nelson and there's only ever been one of him! "Sorry, old boy, no."

"You're our last hope. Now our only hope."

"Sorry, no."

Struan sighed and eased his shoulders, playing his ace. "Angel!" he called out. She heard the second call and came back with Lt. Lloyd and stood beside him. "Angel, how would you like to be married today, right now," he said, loving her so very much. "John Marlowe can perform the ceremony if he wants. How about it?"

The wonder spread over her and she did not hear Marlowe begin to say that he was so sorry he could not but he was stopped by the passion of her embrace and kiss, and then she did the same for Struan again and him again, "Oh, yes, oh yes... John, how wonderful, you will, won't you, oh thank you thank you, how wonderful, please please please," begging with another irresistible snuggle and he heard himself say, "Yes, of course, why not, glad to," saying his doom words as underplayed as he could, though inside feeling more heated than he had ever been and still meaning to say, No.