casual, as though his enquiries sprang from mere politeness, yet Sharpe noted how often the questions came. Sharpe came to dread the interrogations, and knew that he could only end them by confessing a truth he was reluctant to utter. The inevitable moment for that confession came late one evening when their cargoship was working its slow way towards the uncertain lights of a small port. ‘I was thinking,’ Frederickson and Sharpe were alone on the lee rail and Frederickson, after a long silence, had broached the dreaded subject, ‘that perhaps I should go back to the château when all this is over. Just to thank Madame, of course.’ It was phrased as a benign suggestion, but there was an unmistakable appeal in the words; Frederickson sought Sharpe’s assurance that he would be welcomed by Lucille.
