Acts of Mutiny (19 page)

They took him to the sickbay. There was a stupid distraction, a shriek, when that wretched boy managed to hit Finlay Coote in the teeth with a cherry stone. Why must he act up now, the child. The kind who would try deliberately to lose at board-games.

She went back to her cabin. In her mind she did soothe the burns, tracing the shape of his arms, smoothing his breast. It was as if the shape of him glowed inside her own, or that she was gone out of herself like one of the saints obsessed with wounds. Not that she worshipped him. Nothing abasing or ridiculous like that. More that she knew she was fascinated in a manner not experienced before. She longed to see him; simply to see again what had disclosed itself to her: his body, from the waist up, clear, strong yet very delicate and damaged. It was strangely marked.

She wondered if she might be allowed to take him something – some fruit, perhaps. Or flowers. Or perhaps something less intimate – for she would not want to be giving the wrong signals. She should not need particularly to visit him at all. He was nothing to her. So what if his body had taken up residence in hers – well, that was a private thing of her own. What was the phrase? A sexual fantasy, no doubt. Apparently they were considered normal. Of course she would not go. How violently her emotions were playing tricks on her. Why, only this morning she was weeping over the miscarriage. It was intolerable. Quite intolerable. Vulgar, even. Like Brighton beach, even. And she knew, as everyone did, exactly what Brighton stood for.

Yet she had a certain proprietary right to visit him – as the person who found him. Not counting the children who thought he was dead. And what a shock that had been: the thought, just for a moment, that he was … It would not leave her alone. Why should she not visit him? He would be covered up. It would be the decent thing to do. She did know him – after a fashion. He was ill. She had discovered him.

What more natural thing in the world than that she should call in at the sickbay, one of the cabins on C deck – she had happened to find out exactly where – to visit a friend who had been silly enough to get himself roasted in the Red Sea. They might laugh about it. A lucky escape, maybe. From something worse – if she had not happened to be passing, and woken him. He might be grateful. He damned well ought to be. She ought to give him the chance to say so, ought she not?

Cheryl had said … But Cheryl was Cheryl … Yet he
had
been avoiding her. She was sure of it. What was he expecting, then? An
affaire?
Surely not. The impudence. But he had made no overtures of that kind. There had only been the message of his eyes. About which in her heart of hearts she understood all too well? To be absolutely honest? And now the meaning of his beautiful, painful skin?

Then she had better keep well away; or she would be getting her fingers burnt. And that would not do. Surely that would not do at all. So she made the best of the remainder of the day and turned in early.

But in her bunk-bed in the dark she continued to feel him lying there almost next to her, and could find no balm. He burnt her on the edge of sleep, where images chased one another off the rim of the world. The toad no longer troubled her. She could not be frightened by it and did not care. The phrase ‘free woman’ swelled in her mind – from the lesson at the service yesterday. St Paul. She had not noticed it especially then, whereas now it filled her head. Her thoughts sailed ahead of her, into the tropic zones, beyond Sinbad, beyond the Spice Islands, through the Strait of Malacca and out into the Pacific. She saw the delicate charts of Cook, the log-books and sketches of Bligh. She had found them in the library. Now the whole blue binding of the book of the sea, wearing red as its signature, was quite indelible.

There was a knock at her door. Cheryl came in. ‘Penny? You all right, darling? Thought there might be something the matter. Just wondered if there was anything I could do?’

‘Oh, God. Cheryl, it’s you. No. Quite all right, thank you. Yes. Just thought I’d turn in early for once. Catch up a bit on my beauty sleep.’

Cheryl hesitated just inside the doorway. The light from the corridor outside made a faint sheen about her hair. ‘You sure? Can I get the steward to bring you a glass of chocolate or something?’

Penny shook her head.

‘You didn’t look too good. I was watching you at dinner, you know. You really ought to be eating better, dear. Enjoy yourself, darling. That’s what we’re here for.’

‘I’m fine, Cheryl. Really I am. Tummy ache. Headache. You know.’

‘Of course, darling. See you tomorrow. Sorry to wake you.’

‘I wasn’t asleep. Really.’

‘I’ll let you alone, then. If you’re sure. Remember, if there’s anything on your mind … anything at all.’ The light was behind her but Penny thought she appeared to wink.

‘Thanks, Cheryl. I do appreciate it.’ Penny yawned. Cheryl closed the door behind her.

Mr Chaunteyman had no such scruples, apparently, and called on the still slightly delirious Robert in his sickbay the next morning.

He blew in like the simoom, the bad wind.

‘A word in your ear, old chap.’

Robert registered an American, speaking the phrases of an Englishman. He wondered whether he was properly awake, and looked around the room to check. Then he recognised the tall, dark-haired, slightly balding visitor as someone else who had once bought him a drink in the Verandah – an obvious alcoholic. He had made that judgement on the spot. Very likely an ex-serviceman, killing memories. Not an uncommon thing, if you knew how to look for it. Robert had lived with the problem all his life, and could tell the signs. It was a family secret. He hated it. The father was fine – could go on for years, provided nothing real was allowed to touch him. If it did the balloon would go up. But in general the drinking could be managed, kept dark. Robert’s was a close family; in which everyone did their bit.

For it never actually showed up in the music-hall sense – these types did not slur their speech, nor fall down. Their noses were rarely pickled; they did not sing. They were ostensibly quite ordinary chaps. Gentlemen. It was just that certain conjuring tricks involving alcohol happened around them. And only if you looked very carefully would you catch the exact quantities being put away. That was the constant thing. He was quite sure he was right.

‘We met at lunch last week. Dave Chaunteyman. Remember? Heard you’d got a touch of the sun. Pretty bad luck, eh?’

He extended his hand; a good-looking man, well built. His looks gave him a stylish, indeed, slightly English flavour. And, with that thin moustache, he could ‘old boy’ Robert, who was a decade his junior, as if he had picked it up through long association. Which Robert was sure he had not, for the rest of his speech was more or less thoroughly transatlantic – though he had ‘manner’. Chaunteyman was possibly, he thought, the son of some well-connected Yankee family.

But behind his suave veneer and air of command the man was plainly desperate for company – that too had been obvious to Robert in the Verandah bar. Half an hour then and he had felt compelled to escape. This time Chaunteyman’s need was as unsubtle as the flavour of his breath. Clearly he had started early. Robert felt uneasy; and escape was impossible.

‘Hurt much?’

‘I was a complete idiot.’ He spoke lightly. ‘Absolute bloody fool. I thoroughly deserve all I got, I expect.’

‘C’mon. Might happen to anyone. Guessed you could use a little company. Adversity makes us all the better shipmates.’ He grinned. ‘I took a liking to you, Bob, the moment I set eyes on you.’ And then he paused. From his left pocket he produced a bottle.

Robert sighed at the remorseless inevitability. Something like this would have had to happen. He had known it, of course, deep down.

‘Guessed you might need a little cheering up. If that nurse doesn’t show her nose.’ Before Robert could reply he had located a pair of tumblers and was placing them on the locker top. He pulled up the metal-framed chair.

‘Kind of you, Chaunteyman. I’m afraid I feel ill.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘I won’t, if you don’t mind.’

‘Ah. If you’re sure, then? Hey, call me Dave. I can’t convince you, then? Tried and trusted cure?’ Chaunteyman hesitated. ‘You don’t mind if I …?’

‘Please. Go ahead. Dave.’

The bottle shook very slightly. ‘I get frustrated, cooped up with you passengers. No offence, but it’s foreign to my nature. I’m used to sailing the god-damn things.’

‘Oh, yes. You said.’

‘Sure did. US Navy. And proud of that I can tell you. Where would you guys be now if it wasn’t for us?’

The excuse was lame. The bottle rang warning bells. Something had driven this man to blow his cover.

‘I guessed we should try to get to know each other better. Since we’re destined to become partners, it seems. And I thought all along we were just rivals.’

Robert started. The skin across the top of his chest roared against the sheet. He groaned, and lay back.

‘That’s right, old chap. Take it easy. You’ll be fine soon enough. You’re an invalid, remember? Take it real easy, why don’t you?’

‘How could I forget.’ The front of his body throbbed where the burn was. And he was nauseous. ‘I may have to … Is there a bowl?’

‘Sure. Sure. It’s here. I’ll hand it to you. Just say the word. Shall I call for a steward?’

‘Partners?’

‘Hey. Well, yes. In a manner of speaking, old boy. We’re in the same ship. Bound for the same port of call. If you remember.’

‘Adelaide?’

‘Why yes, Adelaide. And thereafter you for Woomera, me for Pine Gap. We’re both going to be watching the fireworks, isn’t that so. There may be a trade-off. You understand me? If I’m impressed I’ll make a favourable report.’

Robert just stopped himself from reacting. ‘Oh, really? I can’t recall …’

‘Sure. I told you, I’m headed that way myself. Your government and mine, there’s a joint agenda. A special relationship, don’t they say? For a while I’ll be around in Salisbury.’ He slightly mispronounced. ‘We have a client company or two. I mean the Pentagon. That’s who my employer is, Bob. I make no secret of it. You’ll have worked out as much in any case. I’ll need to touch base. Then up to the desert. Uncle Sam has quite an interest there …’ Chaunteyman showed his teeth. ‘Australia. Hey.’

Confused, Robert’s eye avoided his companion’s. The jacket was a discreet check, but the tie was brighter than an Englishman’s. ‘I didn’t know you …’

‘Hey. We spoke about it.’

‘I must have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’

‘That’s OK. Maybe we’ll run into each other.’

‘In Australia?’

‘Surely. Thought I’d look in. See how you were.’

‘It’s very kind of you.’ Robert settled back. He felt his eyes heavy. There was a pause in the conversation. Then he enquired again, pondering, ‘Rivals?’

His look must have given him away. Chaunteyman chuckled. ‘He thinks I’m going to steal his girl. You folks are paranoid. We’re the good guys, remember? But with you it’s always: Go home, Yanks. Overpaid, oversexed and all of that. Give it a break. Relax. Relax especially about women.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Women. I’ve had it up to here with women. Don’t get in where you can’t get out. Didn’t your old man ever teach you that? My dad, Commodore Chaunteyman … But hey, the military on this boat. Phwee! Top heavy. Enough brass to capsize us, one way and another. Isn’t that so? Now don’t play the innocent. I’m Navy. I said, didn’t I? US Navy and mighty proud of it. Don’t you ever forget that. What outfit were you in?’ He took another large swig, and refilled his glass.

‘Me? National service. Barracks. Square bashing. Spud bashing. And how to steal cars, I’m afraid. Sorry.’

‘Is that so?’ Robert felt himself being studied intently. ‘Well now, Mr Kettle, that does surprise me. Are the British losing their grip?’

‘Eh?’

He drank. ‘I just want a little god-damn respect around here. Is that understood?’

‘Of course.’

‘That’s OK, then.’ Chaunteyman held out his hand. Robert shook it. ‘Now don’t you get me talking about women, Bob.’ Still clutching Robert’s hand, Chaunteyman leaned forward, conspiratorially. ‘Hey, women are the bane of my life. They won’t leave a man alone. They just won’t let us get on with our jobs – or our lives, Bob. Isn’t that so?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ll be OK with old Dave.’ He squeezed the hand. ‘I’ll show you a thing or two. You’re missing your girl? You’re young. There’s a woman on this boat, Bob. I don’t mind saying you can bet she’s crazy about me. I’m talking tail, Bob. English tail. At least she talks English. English woman very good jig-a-jig. Hey? Joke. Now, I’ve had my share of women. But I have commitments. I have my job. Hey, someone else’s girl, Bob.’ He finally let go his grip and poured himself another large one. ‘Have you ever had a Hawaiian?’

Robert shook his head.

‘The Japs are good, the Filipinas are great, but the Hawaiians …! The Hawaiians are prodigious. Hey, but there’s the kid. Not mine, I hasten to add. But there’s the kid. OK? You and me are men of the world, Bob. You’re young. You’ve got a way to go. You can have any girl you want. I have commitments. I have my job. Women. I make her feel like a tart, she says. Tart? I say. What’s that Britisher for? We have an altercation, Robert, old chap. A mighty big altercation. Jesus. I am so bored on this trip. So damn bored, Bob. Thought you wouldn’t mind if I dropped in for a chat. You don’t mind, do you?’