'Yes, sir.'
'That was intended to be a warning. Now let's change the subject. You have probably realized we may have to evacuate Bastia?'
'Yes.'
'Well, Count Pisano and Lady Elliot left this morning for Gibraltar. The Marchesa and Count Pitti are also going to Gibraltar, but they wanted to await your return, so they leave tomorrow night'
He watched Ramage's face fall and said sympathetically, 'Yes, it is very sad: I for one shall miss their company. However, I hope we shall all meet again soon under happier circumstances. Are you tired, Mr Ramage?'
'No, sir,' lied Ramage.
'Very well, perhaps you would care to join us for supper?'
The supper had been a great success: Nelson had kept them all amused, teasing both Gianna and Ramage, and in turn being teased by Pitti, who was obviously fascinated by the little man's vivacity. They had all drunk bumpers to the downfall of Bonaparte, the safety of the two charcoal burners, the health and happiness of Gianna, and a safe voyage for both her and Pitti.
Finally the supper had ended, and Nelson had taken his farewell of the two cousins, and suggested Ramage did the same, explaining that they were returning to the Viceroy's residence and Ramage might not have time to call on them next day.
So he had said goodbye. Pitti had said very little; in fact he was almost formal. Nor had Gianna seemed upset at the prospect of being parted from him. Her eyes had twinkled, but when a moment later he kissed her hand it had been limp; there was no secret pressure, no hidden message in its touch. The rescue, he thought sourly, was at last completed: the cousins were reunited and Lieutenant Ramage's role had ended.
Just as he had turned to leave the cabin - he wanted to be the first to leave the ship, so that he did not have to watch the boat carry Gianna to the shore — the Commodore had handed him a sealed packet.
'Your orders,' he said shortly. 'Let me have your written report on the Belette operation in the forenoon tomorrow.'
Now, as Jackson steered the boat back to the Kathleen in the darkness, Ramage sat in the sternsheets, eaten up with bitterness. It was all facade, all pretence with these Italians. One minute she was on her knees beside him; the next minute she was saying goodbye with about as much emotion as she would display to a guest who had overstayed his welcome.
A hail came from the cutter and Jackson shouted back, 'Kathleen', warning them that the captain was on board.
As soon as he reached his tiny cabin, where the steward had a moment before hooked a lantern to the bulkhead, he unhitched his sword, flung himself into the chair, and stared down at the deck. The canvas stretched across it as a carpet was worn where the door scraped and needed painting again. Hell, he was tired. How lucky was a piece of canvas, he thought sleepily: a coat of paint would cover all the old marks and make it like new.
He pulled the sealed linen envelope from his pocket. What did the Commodore want him to do now? Some dam' fool errand: that's all cutters were meant for. Probably deliver despatches to Sir John Jervis at San Fiorenzo, or take letters for the Ambassador in Naples.
He broke the seal, opened the envelope and began reading.
'You are hereby required and directed,' it said, 'to receive on board His Majesty's ship under your command the persons of the Marchesa di Volterra and Count Pitti and to proceed with all possible despatch to Gibraltar, being careful to follow a southerly route to avoid interception by enemy ships of war... On arrival at Gibraltar you will report forthwith to the admiral commanding to receive orders for your further proceedings.'
Ramage grinned: no wonder Gianna's eyes had twinkled.
END