“Here, Adam, sit down by me.” He gestured to the table which Trute had laid with unusual care. “The food is not too exciting, but doubtless no worse than you’ve been accustomed to.”

He fumbled with a decanter, aware the whole time of the boy’s eyes watching him. How he had changed. He was taller and looked more confident, more sure of himself. And yet, there was the same dark restlessness, like that of a young colt, which he had remembered since their parting two years ago.

The boy took the glass and said simply, “I have been waiting for this moment.” Then he smiled, and Bolitho was again reminded of those other faces in the portraits at Falmouth. “When Captain Herrick told me you were wounded . . .”

Bolitho raised his glass. “Let us forget about that. How have you been?” He ushered him to the table, vaguely conscious as always of the deck’s steady vibration and the regular rolls of the hull as the ship plunged in pursuit of Coquette in accordance with Broughton’s orders.

He pulled a steaming dish of beef towards him. It was recently from the cask and was probably already going bad. But in the warm lantern light, and served as it was on the best cabin pewter, it looked almost luxurious. He hesitated, suddenly confused by his inability to use the knife. The realisation both angered and embarrassed him. This was to have been a perfect moment, spared of duties on deck, and for once almost free of pain.

Pascoe reached across the table and took the knife from his hand. For a moment their eyes met and then he said softly, “Let me, Uncle!” He smiled again. “Captain Herrick has trained me to do all manner of things.”

Bolitho watched him as he bent over the plate, the hair, as black as his own, falling rebelliously over his eyes as he sawed busily through the tough meat.

“Thank you, Adam.” He smiled to himself. Seventeen. It was so easy to remember what it had been like as a young midshipman. And Adam was actually enjoying himself. There was neither pity nor deception in his voice as he chatted excitedly about the Impulsive’s part in the mutiny, of Herrick and all the dozens of things which had changed him from a young boy to a confident replica of his father, and himself.

Bolitho had difficulty in eating the meat even after it had been cut into small pieces for him. But Adam had no such qualms and helped himself again and again from the platter.

Bolitho asked, “How can you keep stuffing yourself and be as thin as a stick?”

Adam eyed him gravely. “A midshipman’s lot is a hard one.”

They both laughed and Bolitho said, “Well, maybe your days in the gunroom are numbered. Once an examination can be arranged, I see no reason why you should not sit for lieutenant.”

The boy dropped his eyes. “I will try not to betray that trust.”