“Hello, Sir. The Captain’s just finished on the phone to Fleet HQ. You’re to go straight in,” said the Secretary, an earnest, bespectacled officer wearing the two-and-a-half rings of a Lieutenant Commander, who had stood up as Bush walked in.

“Enter,” came a drawled command from the half-open door of the Captain’s office.

Bush went into the cabin and closed the door behind him, saluting as he did so.

Commodore Tony Narborough pointed at the hardbacked seat in front of his desk. A tall officer in his early forties, with a receding chin and hair brushed straight back from his forehead, like a 1950s film star, he affected (ridiculously, thought Bush) a primrose-yellow, silk paisley-pattern cravat with his navy-blue, working-rig shirt. The grandson of an Admiral, his father had been a Lloyd’s “name” who had been declared bankrupt following the Lloyd’s crash of the early 1990s. Destined for Eton, Narborough had instead been sent to the local comprehensive, where he had been hardened by the insults and fists of the other boys.

Disgusted by what the City had done to his father, he had joined the Navy, driven by an ambition to restore the family’s good name and become an Admiral. And he’d done all the right things so far: he’d been Flag Lieutenant to a high-flying admiral, played cricket for the Navy, commanded a dashing frigate and then a helicopter carrier ahead of his peers, before heading up the Ministry of Defense branch responsible for planning the size and shape of the Royal Navy. Knowing that his future promotion depended on it and that to show any dissent was career suicide in a political world of harsh financial cuts and military restraint, Narborough had delivered exactly as his masters had demanded.

He’d helped push through the cuts in escort frigates and destroyers, in order to find the money to finish building the over-budget and much-delayed carriers. The last government had concluded that it was politically more acceptable to scrap small surface ships than declare the carriers to be “white elephants” and scrap them. Bush had a certain sympathy for Narborough on that near impossible call; any naval officer formally advising the scrapping of the iconic carriers would be dead Navy meat.

It was therefore no surprise when he was rewarded with the command of Queen Elizabeth, the most prestigious command the Royal Navy had to offer.

“What ho, Number One,” said Narborough. “How are things going?”

Bush sat down in the proffered chair and pulled out his notebook.

“I’ll give you a detailed state of play at this evening’s O Group, Sir, when the Heads of Department will also brief. Right now, Warfare, Supply and Marine Engineering are on track. I’ll be happier when Weapons Engineering sort out the problems with the Phalanx anti-missile system. But the big issue is aircraft.”

“Continue,” said Narborough.