The varying shore o' th' world 3

[mylodon]

Title: The varying shore o' th' world 3/?
Rating: PG
Pairing: Apollo/Hornblower
Summary: The boys set sail. In collaboration with calavarna. No claim made on or profit made from these characters.

The varying shore o' th' world 3


The decks resounded with noise, crashes as thunderous as if the very day of judgement had come - smoke billowed and the glorious smell of a rolling broadside filled the air. Hambledon was alive with activity and her Captain wore a look of smug satisfaction. The two officers who had turned up at the Hard may not have been the ones he was expecting - they had appeared later, very sheepish and one of them much the worse for wear, only to be told that the places had been taken - but the two he got were the ones he had wanted. At least on the showing so far. There had been some awkwardness at dinner when the one called Hornblower had drunk very little and eaten less, until Warne had remembered an old tale about the officer who was sick at Spithead and realised that this was the green faced man who now graced his table. He kept the information to himself, but at least it justified what he had previously taken for impolite behaviour.

Horatio had decided it would be best to brave dinner with the Captain's, rather than refuse the invitation and appear a scrub, however the whole thing had been touch and go. But if the proximity to an excellent joint of mutton and plum duff had made him want to crawl away and die, the bustle of the gun deck and the scent of the powder had rejuvenated him and put all thoughts of nausea from his brain. He had missed the sea, heaven knows, but he had missed the gunnery like it was his right arm. The old rhythm was soon found and as he began to work the crews his natural leadership came to the fore, stirring them to levels of efficiency they had never achieved up to that time. Their last first officer, now lying in his hammock off Ushant, had been workmanlike and highly competent - but Hornblower was inspirational.

Adama had worked his crews capably, keeping a surreptitious eye on Horatio to pick up tips about the handling of these archaic weapons. He'd helped them to pick up pace - much of what he'd suggested had been simply common sense, in terms of making sure that everything was absolutely to hand and that the men newly recruited at Portsmouth were entirely clear about their roles within the teams. Even so, Hornblower's battery had the edge in terms of speed. Not so in accuracy, however; Lee had a fighter pilot's eye and had used it to ensure that his teams had hit the target consistently - some innate skill made it seem like he had been born to fire cannon.

They were, Horatio mused silently, almost evenly matched when it came to gunnery. There was no doubt that he had the advantage; having spent nigh on a decade at sea - during wartime no less - he had the greater experience from which to draw on, although the ease with which Adama had assumed his new duties had been startling. The much admired officer should live up to his hastily acquired reputation without any difficulties. A lesser man would have envied Lee’s apparent popularity, in light of the officer’s lack of sailing knowledge and Horatio’s efforts in masking that fact, but Hornblower didn’t have it in him to deny such a strikingly familiar face.

“How’d I do?” Lee sat down beside Horatio, his cheeks flushed and scrubbed clean of grime “Think I’ve got any chance of beating you one day?”

Horatio gave a short laugh. “You’ve far too great a chance of beating me. Your last attempt was faster than my first; if I didn’t know better I’d say you’ve been practising on the quiet.”

Adama grinned at the jest. “Sprung. I admit to it all. Last night while you were asleep, I crept out, commandeered a ship and practiced gunnery. Good thing I thought to stuff cotton into the ears of the good citizens of Portsmouth, they’d have raised a ruckus over the noise otherwise.”

“Surely they would have noticed something was amiss when they woke to discover pieces of cotton in their ears?” Horatio found himself replying in a jocular tone, far removed from his usual staid persona and greatly absent since Archie’s death.

“Not if I made sure to remove all evidence after I was finished. You didn’t notice anything untoward this morning did you?”

“Aside from a strange man in my bed, no.” Horatio winced at his words, wishing that he had chosen a different turn of phrase. “I didn’t mean to imply that –“ He was cut off by Lee’s raised hand.

“Don’t apologise. I know what you mean. Besides, I’ve been called worse – a friend of mine once delighted in calling me a superior asshole.”

Horatio bridled: "That's hardly an expression to be used by someone regarding themselves as a gentleman."

"That's right - she isn't." Adama grinned, reminding Hornblower that this man really did come from another world, one in which he would have found it hard to survive, if life was really as it had been portrayed to him. Lee's adaptability and powers of survival astonished him - they were the very qualities that would make an excellent sailor; perhaps the man had somehow landed in the ideal time and place.

"Mr Adama," Horatio bowed slightly to his colleague, "it would be an honour to be beaten at gunnery by so fine an officer as yourself, but you will excuse me if I reserve the right to defer that privilege for as long as possible."

"Your servant, Mr Hornblower," Lee made a leg, in imitation of an action that he had witnessed often. The words he used, in impersonation of some of the people he had met on his travels, seemed strange when spoken in such an alien accent; they were even more unsettling to Horatio's ear than the crude oaths that peppered this man's language.

They prepared for bed, Adama having got well used to climbing into a hammock in the choppy seas off the Isle of Man. No more than a handshake and a sleep well were risked before they parted. Horatio tossed fitfully for what seemed hours; the first day had gone well, they had avoided discovery on all fronts and Lee had repaid all the trust invested in him - but still uncertainties flitted through Hornblower's racing mind. He knew that they had become too intimate too quickly, under the most counterfeit of circumstances. Rather than bringing the two men closer it had only served to tinge their working relationship with a streak of unease.

***
The toll of Hambledon’s bell woke Lee for what seemed to be the twentieth time. He had slept poorly; having been continually woken by the sound of piercing bells resonating through the thin wooden walls of the ship. He had suffered a similar problem aboard the ship that had rescued him from the sea, but had forgotten in light of meeting Horatio and the events that had followed. Hornblower certainly wasn’t bothered by the disturbance – the soft snores emanating from his partitioned cabin attested to that. Adama was used to being constrained by the rhythms of the watch; but the intermittent bell was, in his mind, far too similar to Galactica’s alarm. Still, he supposed one must get used to it. Or go mad.

Rolling out of his hammock, resigned to the fact that sleep was beyond him, Lee sat down at the low wardroom table; candles burning low, a book open in front of him, his thoughts miles away. Hambledon, much like Galactica, was devoid of silence. Privacy was at a minimum on a ship, even for its officers, and a brief moment of respite was to be savoured, to think and to feel. For the past two days he had been content to act on impulse, without pausing to think about how much he had left behind. He enjoyed serving aboard Hambledon, especially with Horatio, but it wasn’t Galactica. It wasn’t his home.

“You’re up early,” Horatio shuffled into the room tiredly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really. Damn bells kept waking me up.” Adama shut the book he hadn’t actually been reading, and looked up at the man standing before him. “You look tired.”

Hornblower coughed softly, a faint blush spreading across his face. “I had some difficulty falling asleep. I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say, Horatio.”

I’m fine. Lee would believe that when he saw it. There seemed to be an unwritten rule in this world that weakness was not to be acknowledged. Or perhaps it was an idiosyncrasy of Hornblower’s. Either way, it made it damn hard to figure out what the man was thinking. This planet’s social mores were completely foreign to him. At least there weren’t any Cylons on Earth. That would have taken some explaining. Coming from a different time was believable, space travel acceptable, but having to explain the concept of the evolution of humanoid machines, which are virtually indistinguishable from humans, was not high on his priority list.

A strange tapping noise caught Adama’s attention. Horatio had made an early start on breakfast and was beating his hard tack against the table. He coloured under Lee’s incredulous gaze. “Sorry. Habit. Guess weevils wouldn’t have had time to make themselves at home yet.” He ceased tapping, biting into the biscuit with a relish that would soon turn to resignation over the dull food. For now, though, he would enjoy his return to the sea.

Lee grinned; he'd heard the weevils story before, but the ship that had picked him up had been freshly supplied and he'd never encountered the wretched things in person. He'd been assured that you got used to the taste of them, soft and cold like blancmange; he'd sampled that alright, when he'd sojourned a night or two with the collector of curiosities and if that's what weevil tasted of they must be really disgusting. "I'm sticking to bread while there's some of it still around. The guy who's supposed to be our steward said he'd manage a bit of bacon and an egg this morning." He looked closely at Hornblower's face in case any vestige of green remained. "If your stomach can take it."

Horatio began to bridle, not being inclined to take any untoward comments about his inclination towards sea sickness, but he soon softened his expression. Archie used to tease him so - mercilessly, relentlessly - and he should not in all conscience deny Adama the privilege. Not least because he found the man incredibly attractive and excellent company. Hornblower had been granted the honour of having one remarkable love in his life and, while he was not thinking in terms of Lee being another grand amour, the feelings he engendered in Horatio's heart were not dissimilar to those that Archie had stirred up in their early days. New beginnings all round.

Their first venture up onto the deck filled their hearts with exhilaration - the day was fine and bright, the frigate being favoured with a nice breeze off her favourite quarter. Their spirits sank considerably when Captain Warne announced with a smile that he was planning a little cutting out practice, utilising one of the many small, secluded bays that studded the coast beyond Lyme. Just a few boat manoeuvres to start with, he explained apologetically - as if he expected his paragons of officers to be disappointed with such simple fare - to get the new men integrated successfully with the existing crews.

Hornblower nodded sagely, stomach churning - would Adama have the first notion of what he was supposed to do in such an exercise? Even if there were no ship to be taken or sailors to fight, would it be obvious that he had no idea what was going on? Merchant seaman he might pretend to be, but his skill at gunnery made it plain that he had seen action in the past. The men would expect their lucky charm to prove an expert in this setting too.

A sidelong glance in Lee’s direction gave no indication as to the captain’s feelings. Horatio hadn’t had a chance to explain cutting out manoeuvres during their brief lesson, choosing instead to focus on the general principles of sailing and navigation. In hindsight he supposed that such manoeuvres could be counted as a facet of sailing, but it was too late to explain now. Adama’s previous military service should stand him in good stead, but there were far too many variables to adequately prepare him for action in the little time they had. They could only hope for the best.

A gesture from Warne dismissed the two officers, who retreated below deck. Lee entered the wardroom apprehensively, followed closely by Horatio, their men the last thing on their minds. Slumping down at the table, Adama rubbed at tired eyes before shifting over to allow Horatio to sit next to him, closer than was strictly acceptable.

“Ok, you’ve got five minutes. What’s a cutting out and what am I supposed to do?” Lee smiled at Horatio, his expression betraying his brusque tone. “Is it some sort of raid?”

Horatio stared impassively at Adama, wondering to himself how he could condense years worth of experience and action into a five minute explanation. He was also conscious of just how close he was to Lee, and the opportunity which was presented to them, but regretfully pushed such thoughts from his mind. They had more important issues which needed addressing, and soon, if their charade was to continue to run smoothly. "A raid indeed. We take boats out - at dead of a moonless night if we're lucky - the emphasis being on the element of surprise. So no noise - muffled oars and voices barely above a whisper. We slide up to the ship we have in mind, board her, cut her loose, make sail and take her."

Lee grinned at the language employed; some of his colleagues back on Galactica would have taken great pleasure in the rather dirty implications of the words the English navy employed as they went about their work. But then, men were still men - the natural inclinations, thoughts and desires shown by the people he had met did not differ fundamentally from those he knew half the universe away. "That sounds pretty straightforward," he reassured his friend.

"It should be," Hornblower affirmed, "as long as all the men understand their roles. We need clear delineation - who's to cut the cables, whose place is up on the yards, who takes out those on watch. It is also a matter of the maximum of efficiency in the minimum of time."

"But don't the other crew fight for their ship?"

"The key is often to make the attempt when most of the men are ashore carousing. Or you just have to trap them below decks with some armed men at the hatches. A well organised cutting out can be extraordinarily effective." He stopped abruptly.

Adama touched his arm, worried. "What's the matter? Look like you've seen a ghost."

The words hit home - spirits indeed had come to walk abroad in Horatio's mind. Archie and his nemesis Jack Simpson, a cutting out raid that had been a military success but a personal disaster. "I'll tell you later," Hornblower shook free of Lee's grip and made for the steps. "We need to be back on the deck."

Warne had assembled his men and put them into three parties - one for each of the lieutenants and Freddie to lead. He would normally have left this job to his officers, but recognised that he knew the crew, their strengths and foibles, better than these two new men could hope to as yet. He handed them over to Hornblower and Adama with a grin. "Gentlemen, the field is yours."

"Mr Warne, will you tell us what sort of vessel we are to pretend to be taking, in what location she lies and what intelligence we have of her? I know that is all an exercise but it will help the men to be able to picture clearly what they are about."

The captain grinned. "Have you ever seen Jack Aubrey's Sophie? Imagine it's her, laid up alongside the quay at Mahon and most of her crew off whoring their prize money away. Lucky Jack as well - he can be taking dinner with that strange surgeon of his."

Adama, quite understandably, had no knowledge of Sophie or its captain, and resolved to ask Hornblower about Aubrey when he had a chance. He had a feeling there were a number of stories to be heard about this Lucky Jack and his surgeon, if Horatio’s look of instant recognition was anything to go by. It wasn’t difficult to envisage the sort of ship he imagined Sophie to be; what they called a sloop perhaps, smaller than Hambledon at any rate, and evidently well known to naval men and privateers alike. This would be an exercise in imagination, a test of their instincts as much as their practical abilities. He could rely on Horatio to explain the rest of their duties in the meantime. A simple nod of understanding from both officers satisfied Warne, who left them to organise their parties.

The assigned divisions of men eagerly awaited their orders, all jockeying for positions which would bring them under the direct command of their favoured lieutenant. Their manoeuvring came to naught, however, as the two officers conferred briefly and assigned them all the simple task of manning the boats to begin with. The more experienced hands looked to scoff at the simple instruction, but hastened to silence at the harsh glare and lengthy dressing down they received from Hornblower. The newer members of the crew needed to learn how to row both silently and in unison, and, as it seemed, the older ones needed a lesson in humility. Basic though the task may seem, it would serve as the basis for more extensive actions; it was also straightforward enough for Lee to command, which had been why Horatio had initially suggested it.

"We know what our target is supposed to be," Horatio continued his address of the men, "a mere sloop to all intents, but one that took a Xebec-frigate that she had no right to be a match for. That strip of shingle," he pointed to a narrow band of stones on the beach, about the size of a quarter-decked sloop, "will represent our target. We are to get there, fully armed and ready, without a sound. Is that clear?"

The hands nodded; those who had seen a bit of cutting out reacting with a slight distain, as if to ask why they should be taught their trade like some newly pressed lubber. Those who hadn't the experience listened with infinite care, knowing that their lives and livelihood might depend on such a venture as this.

Adama took up the rallying. "When we arrive you'll split into your divisions. I'll expect to hear each of you talking through what you're to do. If you're raising sail or if you're cutting her cables, I want to see you in your correct position," not that he was entirely sure he would recognise someone out of it, "and the bosun's mates should be making it clear what you're doing. I can see a few sneers but I'm telling you - anyone who can't picture exactly what he has to do, on a real sloop or on a bit of shingle, shouldn't be there with us. There's plenty of men here who could take his place." He fixed his eye on one of the hands who had scoffed at Hornblower and was pleased to see him being chided by his mates.

The exercise went well - twice the lieutenants made them do it, two of the most know-it-all of the hands having made a din with their oars the first time, despite the muffling that Horatio had ensured had been fitted. The crew looked effective throughout.

A satisfied smile and nod from Warne met the two officers as they clambered back aboard Hambledon. The cutting out exercise had gone smoothly, and neither man could be faulted for believing that their trial was going extremely well and would result in a more permanent arrangement. Hambledon’s captain seemed to be thinking along the same lines, having altered their course to sail further across the channel away from Portsmouth and towards the Channel Islands. Unless something untoward happened in the near future, they were in no danger of being put ashore.

There was no chance to talk upon returning to Hambledon, their various duties keeping them apart until late in the day. By simple luck they found themselves eating together in the wardroom, alone and uninterrupted. They spoke of everything and nothing, their childhoods, education, families. Past lovers were avoided by silent consent, Horatio having stalled while recounting his first minutes aboard Justinian. A gentle hand on his arm had urged him to continue, but he had simply shaken his head and changed the subject.

“…so she’s in the brig, I’ve been on Galactica for all of ten minutes, and she still manages to insult me at least three times.” Somehow, amidst the recollections of people they’d served with, Lee had mentioned this female officer again. Intrigued, and slightly bemused at the thought of serving alongside women, Horatio had insisted Adama tell more of his time in the service. “But that’s just Starbuck, you get used to it after a while.”

“Starbuck? Is that a common name?” Horatio raised an eyebrow at the odd name.

Lee snorted, doubled over with laughter. “It’s her callsign. Pilots use them as identification; she was just unlucky enough to have been dubbed Starbuck.”

Somewhat offended by the uproarious laughter at his innocent question, Horatio glared at Adama for as long as he was able, his resolve cracking under intense curiosity. “What is your callsign?”

Lee blushed. “It’s Apollo. And before you ask it wasn’t my idea.”

“Like the God?” Hornblower was intrigued.

Adama grimaced. He had been certain that Horatio wouldn’t recognise the origin of his callsign. He’d discovered fairly quickly that this was a monotheistic society, Warne was Master under God and would flog any man heard using the Lord’s name in vain. “Apollo is one of the Lords of Kobol. How’d you know?”

“I studied the works of the Greek philosophers while at school. I think it was the Temple of Apollo at Delphi which bore the aphorism know thyself.”

Know thyself. The strange situation in which Adama had found himself was a test of introspection. If nothing else, he would discover who he was.

A shadow at the door of the wardroom made the men start, but it was only their commander. Warne was unorthodox, not a man who remained entirely aloof from his men, or simply made them jump to his beck and call - he was happy to visit his officers if he wanted a word. Besides, it gave him an insight into their characters to see how they acted in their own territory. Efficient they might be, but there was a history to both of them, he was sure.

They rose, but he gestured for them to sit again, taking up their offer of a glass of wine. "Shame we didn't have a real vessel to try out on today; I have the feeling that you'd like to have more than a strip of beach to attack."

Hornblower nodded. "Aye, I would be delighted to see action again."

"That's as well - I've had intelligence that there's a French privateer creating merry hell with our merchants as they come up the Channel and it's taken to hiding in some harbour east of the channel islands. We're asked to find it."

"Sink burn or destroy?" Horatio asked, eyes brimful of delight.

"Take as a prize sir, or it's not worth the powder." Warne swirled his wine in his glass; it had been a gift from him to his new crew members - they had the look of men who'd been cast up on the beach for too long to be able to afford more than the basics. He raised the glass and smiled, "This feels like the time for a toast. Do you have a favourite?"

Horatio, eager both to please and to cover over any potential intimations of how his relationship with Adama stood, spoke eagerly. "Wives and sweethearts is always appropriate."

Warne's usually cheerful expression darkened. "If you will excuse me, that's a toast I find very hard. I lost my wife during her lying-in and there've been no sweethearts to replace her."

Hornblower was mortified at his faux pas. "Please accept my apologies, sir. I should not have suggested it had I known."

The captain smiled ruefully and raised his hand. "There's no offence taken, sir." He turned to Adama. "Perhaps there's one you used back on your merchantman that you prefer?"

Lee nodded. He'd heard plenty of these expressions on his travels, but he did not choose the obvious absent friends nor the usual blessing of Nelson who seemed to be some great leader. "I'd like to drink to our families; wherever they are."

The others raised their glasses and took up the toast, each with his own thoughts.

***
Hambledon tore haphazardly along the Channel; the strong wind guiding them having summoned storm clouds. The waves tossed the small frigate to and fro, and every breath of wind showered drops of water from the rigging which hadn’t been properly dry for days. The search for the French privateer was hindered by the weather, but Warne was confident that they would ride out the worst of the storm before closing in on the enemy vessel. No captain would be so foolish as to attack during such weather; even if they did by chance happen across Guichet.

They finally reached the French coast, working down from Beaumont to Carteret and peering into all the little bays in search of their quarry, without seeing hide nor hair of her. A fierce blow from the East made their task harder and the growing intensity of the wind eventually gave them no other choice than to run before it, grateful when it finally veered North and let them slip into St Aubin's bay.

Resigned to the fact that Guichet had escaped his grasp, and with the wind against them, Warne granted his crew one day’s shore leave as a reward for their successful cutting out exercise. The long stretch of sand leading to St Helier beckoned to Hambledon’s captain and hands, who went ashore leaving the two lieutenants and a small crew to remain on board the ship. The captain suspected that his lieutenants' lack of disappointment at missing out on leave was predominantly due to the lack of the financial wherewithal to enjoy it. He toyed with offering them an advance, but decided that he still wanted to see them in real action before he went that far.

Horatio’s head appeared in Lee’s line of sight, the rest of his body following as he climbed the steep stairs from below deck. They had shared the day’s workload, which had kept them busy long into the night. With each darkening hour the officers had grown less inhibited, allowing their glances to linger for longer than was necessary, heads drawn close when speaking, fingertips brushing together when walking side by side. The knowledge that they were almost alone on the ship had not distracted Adama from his duties, nor had the fact that the situation was conducive to certain activities, but he could not deny that the thought had crossed his mind many times throughout the day.

Hornblower nodded a greeting as he approached, taking special care to remain at a casual distance. “I believe our work is finished for the night. I’ll be in the wardroom if you care to join me.” He blushed lightly at the subtle proposition he had unintentionally voiced.

Lee smiled briefly at the lieutenant, indicating that he would follow shortly. He had acquired an admirer of sorts - one who had taken to shadow him and had opted to remain aboard Hambledon in hopes of gaining his favourite officer’s attention. Clarke was little more than a boy, but he had proved to be surprisingly imaginative when it came to tailing Adama and could not be allowed to witness anything that could be misconstrued. An order to find the bosun's mate and say that Mr Adama wanted Clarke to be given the longest weight on the ship saw the young seaman swell with pride at the trust being placed in his abilities, and gave Lee the opportunity to slip away. It was a joke Lee had seen played upon a feckless lad in a chandler's store in Portsmouth and it had made him smile ruefully, having seen a friend fall victim to a similar scam at the hands of Adama's brother. Funny how such a simple prank could transcend time and space.

A kiss and a caress met Adama as he entered the wardroom, Horatio seizing his arm in a firm grip and pulling him into his cabin where both were content to simply hold each other for the moment. Lee’s hand drifted up to trace the sharp planes of Hornblower’s face; memorising the feel of the lightly stubbled skin against his palm. He leaned in to rest his head against the taller man’s shoulder, acutely aware of the sensations flooding through him – the rough brush of wool against his cheek, the gentle rocking of Hambledon at anchor, the body pressed close to him.

"Want to pretend I'm Archie again?" The sheer fact of having got away with his deception so well, aided and abetted by such a genuinely capable seaman as Hornblower, had made Adama's mood unusually buoyant.

"No," Horatio's voice was hardly above a whisper; he placed his hands either side of Lee's face, drawing his forehead up to meet his own. "Such an illusion would be discourteous and pointless; I know I'll never have him back."

Adama rubbed his nose against Horatio's - a silly, childlike movement that felt immeasurably tender and sweet. "A few days back we were two lost souls - any port in a storm, is that what you say? We're in a position to choose where we dock now."

Hornblower smiled, something that Adama rarely saw outside the wardroom. They kissed again, gentleness giving way to a heated passion, memories of that moonlit night in a small bed flooding back and firing their senses. "Are you sure you wish to do this? The Articles are not just so much shouting into the wind; if Warne catches us, we'll hang, Lee."

Adama noticed with satisfaction the employment of his first name, something that Horatio had never used that night in Portsmouth. "Lived with danger half my life, Horatio," he pressed against Hornblower, "It's the risk that makes it worthwhile."

Tracing strokes became roaming caresses, as nimble fingers moved to unbutton the jackets and waistcoats guarding the soft skin beneath. Lee’s hands tangled in Horatio’s thick curls, tilting his head down for a crushing kiss, and pressing tight against Hornblower’s body as the heady sensations threatened to come to the fore. Horatio trailed a series of soft kisses along Adama’s neck, finishing with a brief nip, sharp enough to leave a mark but do no lasting damage.

They broke apart, panting heavily, affection apparent in each satiated gaze. Gathering their hastily discarded shirts and coats, they slowly amended their dishevelled state and caught their breath. Gone was the unease of their previous coupling, replaced with a peace of mind which was, in some ways, far more pleasurable than their hurried intimacy. Horatio smiled at Lee - more sweetly than Adama had believed possible from the stern young officer – pulling him down to balance upright on the swinging hammock.

A clattering noise, combined with an oath - as if a young bullock which had acquired the power of human speech had decided to invade the wardroom - made the men spring apart. Motioning with his hand for Lee to stay within the confines of the cabin, Hornblower strode through the doorway, looking suitably fierce. "Clarke! Have you taken leave of both your manners and your senses?"

"No, Mr Hornblower, sir. It's Ponting, sir, he's on watch up on the mainmast, he says he's seen a sail to leeward. Thinks it could be Guichet."

Comments

[mylodon.livejournal.com]

Aw thanks - I hope that calavarna has picked this up too - she's done wonders on this piece.
Merci my dearest.