Second to None by Alexander Kent

remain here in Malta?’
    Avery put down the goblet. It was empty, and he could taste the wine on his lips, but he did not recall drinking it.
    â€˜I am able to elaborate on the information already to hand, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘Sir Richard had cause to meet Mehmet Pasha, the man who commands and governs in Algiers. I was with him, and was privileged to share the intelligence we gained there. If I may be of help?’
    He moved his shoulder and Adam saw him wince: the old wound which had brought him down and had cost him his ship.
We have so much in common.
He had seen his own flag cut down in surrender when, like Avery, he had been too badly wounded to resist. And he also had been a prisoner of war, before making his escape. A court martial had cleared and had praised him. The verdict could just as easily have destroyed him.
    He said, ‘I would be grateful. Sir Graham Bethune has very little on which to proceed.’
    Above and around them the anchored frigate was alive with shipboard sounds, and once during their conversationhe got up and closed the cabin skylight against them. As if, for these moments, he wanted to share it with nobody else.
    Avery spoke evenly and without any obvious emotion, but Adam understood what it was costing, and what it meant to him. At last, here was someone who had been there. Had seen what had happened.
    Avery said simply, ‘I saw him fall.’ The tawny eyes were distant. He almost smiled. ‘Allday was with me.’
    Adam nodded, but dared not speak or interrupt. For Avery’s sake, but mostly for his own.
    Avery was looking at the sloping stem windows, and the anchored ships beyond.
    â€˜He was the bravest and the most compassionate man I ever served, ever knew. When I was pulled out to your ship just now, I almost asked to be taken ashore. But I had to come. Not out of duty or respect – they are mere words. Not even because it was your right to be told. Above all, I thought I would feel resentment, because you are here and he is not. I now know that I did the right thing. He spoke of you often, even on the day he fell. He was proud of you, of what you had become.
More like a son,
he said.’
    Adam said, quietly, ‘Did he suffer?’
    Avery shook his head.
    â€˜I think not. He spoke to Allday. I could not hear what he said, and I had not the heart to question him afterwards.’
    Afterwards.
    Avery’s eyes moved to the table, and the envelope which was addressed to Vice-Admiral Bethune.
    â€˜I shall take it to him when I leave, sir.’
    Duty, so often used as an escape from tragedy. Adam had learned it the hard way, better than most.
    He said, ‘You could return later. We might sup together. Nobody else.’ He felt like a hypocrite, but was glad when Avery declined. ‘Tomorrow, then. There will be a conference, I believe?’
    Avery glanced down, and almost unconsciously plucked a solitary gold thread from his coat. Where he had once worn a twist of gold lace to distinguish him as an admiral’s aide, his flag lieutenant.
    Bethune would already have one of his own, as Valentine Keen had had at Halifax. There could be resentment.
    Avery said, ‘If you so requested, I should be pleased . . .’ He smiled again, faintly, as though his mind were somewhere else. ‘Honoured to accompany you. I can still stand a fair watch, and I have nothing to go home for as yet.’
    Adam recalled that Avery was the nephew of Sillitoe, that man of power whose name was rarely out of the newssheets. Another nephew. Another coincidence.
    He held out his hand. ‘I’m glad you came. I’ll not forget.’
    Avery took a small package from his pocket and unwrapped it with great care.
    The locket. He had seen his uncle wearing it whenever he had been on deck with his shirt unfastened.
As I do.
He took it and held it to the sunlight, the perfect likeness, Catherine’s bare shoulders and high cheekbones. He