'Deck there, foremast here...the East Indiaman's making a signal.'

Kenton, the officer of the deck, looked with his telescope and took the sheet listing the flag signals agreed between the Calypso and the Earl of Dodsworth: single flags which represented complete sentences.

'For you, sir,' he told Ramage. 'The captain of our ship invites the other captain to dinner.'

Ramage tried to appear casual. The sea was reasonably smooth, the trade wind clouds matched in orderly procession, the Calypso was up to windward on the Earl of Dodsworth's larboard quarter. He looked at his watch - he would be expected on board about one o'clock for dinner at two. Usually he was not fond of large dinners: taking up a couple of hours and involving too much food and too much wine (and too much talking about extremely boring subjects), they left him with a headache and an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

All of which did not matter a damn now because here was his first chance of seeing Sarah since the day before both ships had left Trinidade. Five days, did Southwick say? It could have been five months.

'Acknowledge the signal and accept the invitation,' he told Kenton. 'Then in half an hour I want the ship hove-to a mile ahead of the Earl of Dodsworth while you hoist out a boat to take me across. I'll keep the boat and make a signal when I'm ready to return. You'll see the Earl of Dodsworth heave-to.'

'Aye aye, sir,' Kenton said and saluted. Heaving-to and hoisting out a boat made a welcome break in the boredom of keeping station on a John Company ship day after day ...

Half an hour later Ramage, in his second-best uniform and wearing the obligatory sword, climbed down into the jolly boat, settled himself in the sternsheets as Jackson draped a light tarpaulin to keep the spray from spattering his uniform, and watched the Calypso with interest as she drew away, seeming huge and almost clumsy from what was little more than the height of the wavetops.

The East Indiaman was sailing down on to them and in a few minutes would luff up and back the foretopsail. It would all make a diversion for the jaded passengers who, even now, would be exclaiming over the tiny boat. . .

Two hours, probably three, before he would return to the Calypso. Would he manage to speak to her privately - or, at least, with no one able to hear what was said - during that time? What a stupid position to be in. He wanted to ask the question because he wanted to know the answer. Yet the answer could bring such black misery that the rest of the voyage would be like being transported to a penal settlement in Australia. Some people preferred not to know the worst, but he was too impatient to be able to bear the suspense.

Someone had once said to him: 'Why be unhappy today when you can put it off until tomorrow?' That made sense if the unhappiness came unexpectedly, but waiting until tomorrow to be certain of something you half expected - no!

'Sir,' Jackson was saying and Ramage glanced up, startled to find the bowman about to hook on to the Earl of Dodsworth, whose sides reached up beside the jolly boat like a black cliff.

Two ropes covered in green baize hung down almost to the water, one each side of the battens, and held out clear of the hull by boys. He flung off the tarpaulin, jammed his hat hard on his head, swung his sword behind him and stood up, grasping a rope in each hand as the jolly boat lifted on a swell wave. A moment later he was climbing up the ship's side, conscious that the muscles in his right leg and left arm were still not completely knitted.

Hungerford and the Marquis were at the entryport to greet him. The master was soon apologizing for their slow progress; the Marquis regretting that Ramage had been unable to accept the two previous invitations to dinner.

'Paperwork, sir; I'm trying to get my reports written while things are fresh in my mind,' Ramage lied. It would hardly do to tell him that he had been so miserable he did not want to speak to anyone, least of all Sarah's parents.

A few minutes later he was among the East Indiaman's passengers, smiling, kissing the Marchioness's hand and then Sarah's; making small talk with the woman who had sat on his left at dinner when they presented the painting, reassuring Mrs Donaldson (already a little tipsy) that indeed, the Calypso's men were keeping a sharp lookout for pirates . . .

Then, as if by chance - but he realized the two of them had been circling like fighting cocks to arrange it - he found himself with Sarah, and no one else within a couple of yards.

She wore a pale turquoise dress which had a fine lace overskirt. Her tawny hair caught by the wind and free of pins and clips had strands bleached blonde by the sun; her skin was gold and her eyes, green flecked with gold, were watching him, as though she knew he had something to say to her.

'Your leg and arm?' she asked quickly, as though to dispose of them at once, although to her they were important questions she was afraid he would brush aside.

'Still giving me twinges, but otherwise fine: you saw me climbing up the side.'

'Yes, and your leg gave way twice.'

'I didn't notice it. Sarah -'

Suddenly everything was quiet but for the drumming in his ears; drumming from the pumping of his heart. She moved slightly, so that she was standing with her back to the rest of the passengers and obscuring his face. She said nothing, her eyebrows slightly raised.

When he hesitated she said quietly: 'You look as if you're seeking the answer to the riddle of the universe.'

'I am, to my universe.' This was not the way he had wanted the conversation to go: he wanted to ask the question casually, instead of making it a single issue of vast importance.

'Captain Ramage's universe must be enormous.' She was smiling, but he knew she was trying to lessen the tension which had suddenly sprung up between them.

'Nicholas's is very small,' he said and ploughed on. 'That uniform - whose is it?'

She blinked and then her eyes were wide open with surprise. 'What uniform?'

'The military uniform you lent me the day ...'

'Oh yes! The day you were using a stock as a loincloth! Most dashing you looked, but you needed something, well, more substantial, before you met people like Mrs Donaldson!'

'You haven't answered my question,' he reminded her.

'But Nicholas, it's such a silly question! What on earth does it matter?'

'It matters to me,' he said stubbornly.

As soon as she realized he was serious she said quietly: 'Does it really matter to you all that much? It was just a uniform which fitted you.'

'Yes, it matters. I must know.'

Suddenly she began to go pale and instinctively she touched his arm. 'You think it is my husband's?'

'Yes. What else can I think?'

She shook her head slowly, as though trying to make herself understand something.

'You are jealous of him?'

'Of course.' The Calypso looked a fine sight over on the starboard quarter but seemed remote from him.

'Why? Why should you be jealous of him?'

He sighed and was just about to turn away and return to the other people: it was the husband's uniform, she loved the man, and she had not the faintest idea that she was loved by the captain of the Calypso frigate.

'It is of no consequence now, ma'am,' he said stiffly, and then forced a smile. 'We must rejoin the others.'

'No, wait. It is of consequence why you should be jealous of him.'

'Flattering for you, ma'am, but hardly of consequence to a married woman.'

'Answer me!' Her voice was low and her fingers grasped his arm.

There was nothing to lose: a few minutes' embarrassment and he could leave the ship and return to the Calypso after taking a bowl of soup, claiming his arm was paining him.

'I have fallen in love with you. So naturally I am jealous of your husband.'