Padstowe's Lodgings, Oporto

"They are, and I've stayed in less comfortable surroundings, I can assure you."

He paused, his gaze darting briefly to the inkwell, but no; it was a terrible liberty to ask of a complete stranger.

"I am quite happy, and grateful that they found me a billet as comfortable as this one."

'Well that's good. I just thought that, perhaps, with your arm injured you might need some assisstance, if you'll forgive me for saying so.'

"I manage well enough," Padstowe replied, a wry smile curling at his lips. "I can ride, which is a blessing, and write and fire a pistol. I count myself lucky to have as much."

'Ah, well, what more does a man need?' replied Hunter lightly. 'The day I can't ride a horse, will be the day my life ends.' He smiled and paused. 'Where are you from in England? If you don't mind my asking.'

"Kent," Padstowe replied. He did not feel he had to be more specific at this point. It was interesting that Hunter had specified 'in England'. It would not occur to most officers that it was possible to originate from anywhere else. "More accurately West Kent, which is only an important distinction for natives of that county, so I should not worry about it too much. And yourself?"

'London. I suppose Kent is a much better place for growing up.' George had a feeling as if the other man was analysing everything he said or did. Perhaps, his own knowledge of what Exploring officers did was colouring his judgement.

"I suppose," he replied. "If you like trees, open fields and all that. The air is of a better quality too, that I know for certain. But a house with a garden or a spacious park nearby serves well enough, I believe."

Most of Padstowe's observations were automatic, and he was not making a conscious but instinctive effort to sound Hunter out. His coming to the Peninsula seemed somewhat irregular, and interested him. Perhaps he would ask Hogan what he knew?

'Still, not quite enough space. We have a house in the country, of course, but my father always preferred the city. And my mother is used to life in a big city, though now we spend as much time in the country as decency allows.' George shifted his legs slightly.

"Really? Which part of the country?"

'Near Ely. It's not far from Cambridge. I suppose it was a bit of a surprise when I went to Oxford instead.'

A smile quirked at Padstowe's lips.

"Suspect loyalties indeed. My father was an Oxford man himself, but I fear I disappointed him somewhat by choosing the army."

'I hope he has reconciled himself to your choice. Besides, university is not a place to suit everyone.'

"He reconciled himself when he bought my first commission."

Padstowe shifted in his chair, his ribs smarting somewhat from sitting in an awkward position, and he could not help but wince.

George noticed the wince, but the man protested the need for any assistance one before and he saw no need to press the matter. 'Sometimes I think myself quite lucky that I was able to buy my own commission.'

"Lucky indeed," Padstowe said, unable to keep a wheeze from his voice. "But, I feel I should point out, captain, that took your first commission at a much later age than I. At fifteen I had no independent capital of my own."

At fifteen George was already in the army. Not the British one, of course. And the looting was plentiful if one wanted a capital.'That is true, forgive me.' He heard the wheeze in the man's voice and his gaze settled on Padstowe with unspoken enquiry in it.

Padstowe saw the enquiry in Hunter eyes and waved it away.

"It is nothing; it catches now and then. I apologise, but do you mind if I get myself a drink?"

George shook his head. 'No, of course, not. Perhaps, you will allow me...' He rose from his seat.

Padstowe had needed to stand to ease his ribs, but he was unwilling to wrestle wine the bottle, so he merely leant agaoinst the deck, bent over slightly.

"That is kind of you, thank you. The bottle over there on the side, it's already open."

George walked over to the desk and picking up the bottle, poured a drink for Padstowe. A whiff of alcohol almost made his nostrils flare in mild disgust, but he controlled it. He handed the glass to the other Captain with a brief smile.

"Much obliged, thank you." Padstowe took the offered cup and drank in short sips, making an obvious effort to control his breathing as he did so. Only when he had half-emptied the glass did he pause, setting the glass down and bracing himself against the desk again.

"Thank you," he repeated. "It helps a little," he offered as a half-hearted explanation.

'That's good then.' Said George quietly, because what else could he say? The smallest drop of alcohol made him vomit quicker than any purgative a physician could prescribe. 'Maybe I should find a doctor? I dare say Dr. Maturin would not mind checking up on his patient...'

"Dr. Maturin I imagine is quite busy with his new charge," Padstowe said shortly; perhaps more shortly than he intended. He sighed. "Forgive me, I... I am quite fine as it is, thank you. I thank you for your concern."

For a brief moment George looked at the man as if seeing him for the first time. He was not really concerned, did not particularly care if he lived or died or if he was in pain. It seemed ironic to be thanked for pretence, for simple 'mechanical' politeness. 'It is I who should be begging your forgiveness, I am sure you know your business best.' He said mildly. 'Perhaps, I'd better go.'

"I am a poor host, I find," Padstowe said, a wry smile on his face; relieved though that Hunter had decided to take himself away. "I thank you for the introduction, though; I hope we shall meet again when I am somewhat more mobile."