“Would you like some coffee, Major?”
“Why yes, very much.”
Martin went into the galley and poured two cups from the pot which always sat, warming, on the stove. He brought the cups back into the salon and set them down on the table.
The Major grunted his thanks. They drank the dark and bitter liquid. Martin warmed his hands on the coffee mug. His hands were cold and stiff from climbing the focs’le ladder without gloves.
“Tell me, Mr Martin,” said the Major finally, “do you feel ... I know it’s a tactless question, in fact an unethical question to ask ... but do you feel that Mr Evans is ... well, quite capable of handling this situation?”
Martin smiled to himself. “Yes, Major. I have a lot of faith in Evans; when it comes to sailoring he’s one of the best seamen up here.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say that. I should never have asked, of course. But the situation being as it is, well, I thought it best to get your opinion.”
“I quite understand.”
“I hope you’ll regard my question as confidential, Mr Martin.”
“I certainly shall.”