Freddie shook his head, though he did smile. “I put this in motion at the end of last year,” he said. “The selection process was brutal. I had to swim five hundred meters in full combat dress and then do an endurance march with a twenty-five-kilo weight.” He shuddered. “Don’t even get me started on the interrogation training. I squeezed about twenty-four weeks of work into half the time. But everyone at the Royal Navy has been superb. No one has called me a dilettante to my face, although I’m sure they all think I’m a spoiled brat with something to prove. And I probably am.” He glanced over at the Speke monument again. “I couldn’t keep going to engagements and making small talk and cutting ribbons anymore. I need to do something, Bex. My whole life, I’ve skated by on charm and goodwill and money, and it hasn’t added up to anything real.”

Across the park, two spaniels were wrestling over a rubber bone. The faint squeaks of the toy and their delighted yaps were the only soundtrack to his monologue.

“Is this because of Nick?” I asked. “Are you running away now, too?”

“No. And yes,” Freddie said, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know. Obviously, I’m unhappy that we’ve fallen out. But I’m losing myself here, and I don’t know how to find my way back without making a big change.” Freddie plucked a strand of grass forcefully. “I got broken up with again yesterday. Another one bites the dust, eh? She didn’t see the point because she knew she’d never want to end up with me, not for real. No one throws over a career in bloody global nuclear disarmament to spend the rest of her life opening tiny curtains. She wasn’t wrong. None of these women were wrong. You weren’t wrong. I don’t bring anything to the table but a title.”

“And a lot of really explicit online fan fiction,” I said. Freddie didn’t smile. “I’m sorry. I was trying to cheer you up. You know I think you bring more than enough to the table for anyone, but this seems extreme. What did Richard say?”

“It was his idea, in part,” Freddie said. “I actually went to him for advice.”

“Damn, you were desperate.”

“I told you he’s not all bad,” Freddie insisted. “We really did develop something last year, whether you and Nick believe it or not. He understood me. He’s always had such a clear path, and I haven’t, and that’s always been my problem. I need something important to focus on that will help shape me into more than the Ginger Gigolo.” Freddie cracked his knuckles. “He suggested I get myself on one of the ships, but that didn’t feel like enough. So I floated this as an alternative.”