Atlantic Fury (33 page)

I didn't want to be questioned and when I didn't answer she gave me a wry grin. ‘For one wild moment I thought you might have come to see me.'

‘I'm sorry.' I ought to have managed this meeting better, but it couldn't be helped. She was wearing the faded anorak she'd had on when I'd first seen her. Wisps of her black hair escaped the hood, glistening with moisture. She looked very attractive and at any other time …

‘That rubber dinghy, the outboard, all that gear on the jetty – it's yours I take it.' And when I nodded, she said, ‘I'm afraid you haven't chosen a very good time. It's been like this for almost a fortnight, nothing but rain and wind.' She meant it as a warning. And she added, ‘It's Laerg, isn't it? You're going to Laerg.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I'm going to Laerg.' No point in denying it when she'd known it instinctively. ‘But please don't tell anybody. I'm hoping Cliff will give me the local forecasts and then I'll get away from here just as soon as I can.'

We were driving into the camp then and she stopped at the main gate. ‘I'll wait for you here. I have to pick my father up anyway.'

My luck was in. Cliff was on the afternoon shift and he was still there, standing by the sloped desk, checking through a teleprint sheet. ‘Ross.' He put down the teleprint sheets. ‘Damn it, man, what are you doing here?' He hadn't changed – still the same old cardigan, the open-necked shirt, the quick, volatile manner.

‘I want your help,' I said. And I told him about my plan to go to Laerg.

‘Good God! I should have thought you'd have had enough of the place after what you went through there.' The quick brown eyes stared at me curiously from behind their thick-lensed glasses. ‘What makes you want to go back?'

‘You forget I'm an artist,' I said. ‘And my father was born on Laerg. Now that the Army's evacuated, it's an opportunity to be there alone. The birds will be back now. I want to paint.'

He nodded and I thought he'd accepted my explanation. But he was still looking at me curiously. ‘Have you got the Army's permission?'

‘No.'

‘What about Nature Conservancy then?'

‘I haven't got anybody's permission,' I said. ‘I'm just going to go there.' And I explained what I wanted from him; a weather clearance at the first possible moment, the certainty of at least twenty-four hours of light winds; and one, preferably two, personal weather forecasts during the voyage. ‘I want to sail as soon as possible and it's essential that I have calm conditions on arrival at Laerg.'

He asked then about the sort of boat I'd got, and when I told him, he reached for his cigarettes. ‘You know what you're doing, I suppose.' He didn't expect an answer to that, but went on to inquire about my radio. Could I take Morse? What speed?

‘Fast enough,' I said.

‘And you'll be on your own?'

‘Yes.'

He lit his cigarette, staring thoughtfully out of the window.

‘Well,' I said, ‘will you do it?'

‘And you need calm weather at the other end.' He seemed to be thinking aloud. ‘That means you're not planning to land in Shelter Bay.' I thought he was much too shrewd where weather was concerned. But instead of pursuing the matter, he turned abruptly to the maps on the wall. ‘Well, there's the situation.' The lower one showed a low pressure area south-east of Iceland and another Low coming in from the Atlantic. But it was the upper one that interested me, the one that gave his forecast for midnight. It showed that second Low just west of the Hebrides. ‘A southerly air stream, you see, with the wind veering south-westerly some time during the night.' Behind the depression with its wedge-shaped lines marking the warm and cold fronts was a shallow ridge of high pressure. Beyond that, farther out in the Atlantic, another Low.

‘It doesn't look very promising,' I said.

He had walked over to the map and was standing there, staring up at it. ‘No. Fine tomorrow with the wind falling fairly light, and after that high winds again. But it's not quite as bad as it looks. The Azores High is strengthening – I was just looking at the figures when you came in. Maybe in a couple of days …' And then without a change in his voice: ‘You know Braddock's been seen on the mainland.' He turned abruptly and faced me. ‘There's talk in the Mess that he's stolen a boat – one of those lobster boats. He could reach Laerg in a boat like that.' He was staring at me, his gaze fixed on my face. ‘The last time you were in this office, Braddock came in. Remember? They questioned me about that at the Inquiry. They asked me whether you'd recognised each other. Did you know that?' And when I nodded, he added, ‘I told them no.' He hesitated. ‘You're not being quite frank with me now, are you? It's because of Braddock you're going to Laerg.'

It was no good denying it. I needed his help. ‘Yes,' I said. ‘But I'd rather not talk about it now.'

To my relief he seemed to accept that. ‘Well, it's your own business, nothing to do with me. I don't give a bloody damn about Braddock. He cost a lot of men their lives and if he'd bothered to consult me first … However—' He shrugged. ‘It's done now and I don't like to see a man hounded out of his wits. Did you know they'd got an aircraft up looking for him?' He stood there a moment, thinking it out. ‘Suppose I refuse to give you the local forecast – what then, would you still go?'

‘Yes. I'd have to rely on the BBC shipping forecasts, and that wouldn't be the same as having the local weather from you. But I'd still go.'

He nodded. ‘Okay. That's what I thought.' And he added, ‘I don't know what your connection with Braddock is or what you hope to achieve by going to Laerg, but nobody would undertake a trip like that unless they had very strong reasons for doing so. I accept that, and I'll do what I can to help you.' He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘The weather's been bloody awful these last few weeks and that Low that's coming in from the Atlantic –' he nodded to the weather map – ‘it's still intensifying. The new figures just came in over the teleprinter. Pressure at the centre is nine-seven-two falling and unless the ridge of high pressure in front of it builds up – and I don't think it will – that next Low will start coming through some time tomorrow night. After that … well, this is just guesswork, but we might get a fine spell. It's about time, you know.' He went back to the desk. ‘I'll give you my call sign and the frequency you have to listen on.' He wrote it down for me and suggested I tuned in to his net at 22.00 hours. ‘Just to check that you're picking me up all right. Phone me at nine o'clock tomorrow morning here. I usually look in about that time if I'm not on the morning shift.'

I thanked him, but as I turned to go he stopped me. ‘Take my advice, Ross, and keep clear of the Military. It's not only Braddock they're worried about. There's a report of a Russian trawler in the area, and this new chap, Colonel Webb – very cautious he is. Can't blame him after what's happened. And a fellow alone in a rubber dinghy, you see … thought I'd better warn you.'

I left him then. It was just after six-thirty. The car was waiting for me at the main gate and there was an officer leaning against it, talking to Field. It was the dapper little captain who had replaced Mike Ferguson as Adjutant. He watched as I climbed into the back of the car and I thought he recognised me.

‘Marjorie tells me you're going to Laerg,' Field said as we drove off. ‘Alone?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I hope Cliff Morgan was able to offer you the prospect of some better weather.' He didn't ask me why I was going.

But later that evening, sitting by the peat fire in their croft, it was obvious he had guessed. ‘The air search is being stepped up tomorrow – two helicopters and a Shackleton. They'll be concentrating on The Minch and the Inner Hebrides, and every fishing vessel will be on the lookout for him.'

‘He hasn't been seen then?'

‘No. But it's just a matter of time.' And he added, ‘I gather he was under treatment. It's possible he said things …' He didn't look at me, but sat staring into the fire, his long, beaked face in silhouette against the lamplight. ‘These truth drugs, they quite often work, you know.' And then he gave me the same advice that Cliff had given me. ‘If you don't want the Army bothering you, I should get away from here just as soon as you can. The North Ford, between North Uist and Benbecula, is as good a jumping-off place as any. Nobody will bother you there, and when you do sail you'd have the Monach Isles to land on if the wind got up.' He turned his head suddenly and looked at me. ‘I wonder what makes you so certain Braddock is heading for Laerg?' And when I didn't say anything, he added, ‘That night when we were leaving, he wanted the tug to go without him, didn't he?' I hadn't expected him to have guessed that. His gaze returned to the fire. ‘A strange man. Quite ruthless. But a great deal of courage. And with a drive … I think that's what one most admired, that driving energy of his.' And after a moment he added, ‘For your sake I hope the end of it all isn't' he hesitated – ‘some ghastly tragedy.'

Marjorie came in then with supper on a tray. We ate it there by the fire. It was a cosy, pleasant meal, and for a while I was able to forget the weather and the sense of loneliness, almost of isolation, that had been growing in me ever since I'd returned to the Hebrides.

I had to leave at nine-thirty in order to be back in time to pick up Cliff's transmission and test reception. ‘I'll walk down with you,' Field said. Marjorie came to the door with us. ‘I'll see you in the morning,' she said. ‘I hope you don't have too unpleasant a night.'

Outside the rain had ceased, but it was blowing harder than ever. Field didn't say anything until we had passed the church. ‘I wanted to have a word with you alone.' His voice was hesitant. ‘About Marjorie. You realise she's in love with you?' And he went on quickly. ‘She's Celt – both sides. She's the sort of girl who'd break her heart over somebody.' He stopped and faced me. ‘I wouldn't be talking to you like this if you were an ordinary fellow. But you're not. You're an artist. I don't know why that makes a difference but it does.'

I didn't know what to say, for I hadn't given much thought to the way the relationship between us had been developing, and now … ‘Probably it's just the reaction … I mean, she was fond of Ferguson.'

‘Fond, yes. But nothing more. You're an older man …' He hesitated. ‘Not married, are you?'

‘I was – for a few months. But that finished years ago.'

‘I see. Well …' He sounded awkward about it now. ‘We're very close, Marjorie and I – always have been since her mother died. And now she's grown up …' He started walking again, his head down. ‘Not your fault, perhaps, but don't make a fool of her. I couldn't bear that – and nor could she.' And he added, ‘Well, there it is … just so that you understand.' He didn't give me a chance to say anything, but switched abruptly to the subject of my voyage to Laerg. ‘I don't like it,' he said. ‘The weather up here can change very quickly. Right now there are half-a-dozen lobster fishermen marooned on the Monachs. Been there almost a fortnight.'

‘I'll be all right,' I said. ‘Cliff's giving me the local forecasts.'

‘If I weren't tied up here, I'd offer to come with you. I don't like the idea of your doing it alone. Nor does Marjorie.' We had reached the dip in the road that led down to the hotel and he stopped. ‘Well, you know what you're doing, I suppose.' And he added, ‘I'll let you know if there's any further news of Braddock.' He left me then, going back up the road, the darkness swallowing him almost at once.

I had pitched my tent on the same grass slope just beyond the small boat harbour and I got back to it just in time to pick up Cliff's transmission. He gave me his call sign first – GM3CMX, repeated several times; then the weather forecast, keyed much slower than he would normally send. Reception was good, loud and clear with no interruption. He followed the forecast with a brief message:
Your arrival commented on. Remember my advice and clear out tomorrow
. He ended his message with the letters
CL
, which meant that he was closing down his station.

I lit the pressure lamp and got out my charts, starting with 2508 which covered the whole hundred miles of the Outer Hebrides chain and included all the out-islands. Laerg stood solitary and alone on the very edge of the chart, a tiny speck surrounded by the blank white of ocean, with only scattered soundings. The shortest line from Laerg to the Hebrides touched North Uist at its westernmost point, Air-an-Runair. The distance was eighty-three nautical miles.

But now that I had disembarked my gear and contacted Cliff, I was no longer tied to Rodil and could shorten the voyage by crossing the Sound of Harris. The west coast of North Uist was too exposed, but remembering what Field had said, my eyes were drawn to the North Ford and to a straggle of islands shaped like the wings of a butterfly that lay barely a dozen miles to the west. These were marked on the chart – ‘Heisker (The Monach Islands.')

I lit a cigarette, got out chart No. 3168 and began to examine the North Ford in detail. It would be low water before I got there and I saw at a glance that the narrow channels through the sand would make it possible for me to go through whatever the tide. And at the western end, beyond the causeway that joined North Uist to Benbecula, the island of Baleshare stretched a great dune tongue down from the north, a bare waste devoid of any croft. I pencilled a circle round it, let the pressure out of the lamp and lay down with a sense of satisfaction. From Baleshare to the Monachs was about nine miles. From the Monachs to Laerg seventy-six miles. This way I should reduce the open sea passage by at least thirteen miles.