Battlecruiser (1997) (22 page)

She thought of the woman who had first told her about this appointment. ‘Captain Thorne is O.K., dear. But when he gets a few gins inside him, he can be a bit of a groper, d’you know what I mean?’

She did know.

Thorne said, ‘I can always have you driven to your quarters in Chelsea, y’know. We sometimes have to work late, meetings, preparing releases, that sort of thing. Not too lonely out there, is it?’

‘I think I shall like it.’ She tried to describe it as she would to her father. ‘Chelsea is more like a village. Except for the bombs – but there’s a good shelter in the building.’

She watched him, and knew his thoughts.

He knows all about me. My age; that my father and brother are doctors; that Philip is in the bag. And now he knows what I look like.

He folded his arms, but did not notice the expression that crossed her face, the sudden little shock of recognition. There were four gold rings on his sleeves, exactly like Sherbrooke’s, and yet so completely different.

‘Well . . . er . . . Emma.’ He smiled again at her. ‘Let’s see how it works out, shall we?’

‘Of course, sir. They told me that I could always go back to Armaments Supply in Bath, if I choose.’ It was a lie, but it worked.

‘We’ll have some tea. Nothing stronger, I’m afraid.’

She uncrossed her legs and saw his reaction. Groper, she thought. Just let him try.

He pressed a button, and said, ‘One of your last jobs with Graham Edwardes was to fix that interview and broadcast on board
Reliant
– couple of months back, if my brain serves me right?’

She looked at her hand on her lap, the left hand, with its ring.

‘Yes, sir.’ She was quite grateful when a messenger came in with a tray of tea and some biscuits on a plate. It was like someone knowing a secret, but there was no secret to know.

Thorne was saying, ‘I understood Rear-Admiral Stagg was supposed to be there. I believe he was tied up at the Admiralty.’ He paused, and then said with something like admiration, ‘He’s a real goer, that one! We’ll see him in high office before this lot’s over, you mark my words.’

She leaned forward to take a cup, and winced as her long hair caught on one of the buttons at her collar. Thorne moved as though to assist her, but she freed it, and said coolly, ‘My fault. I should cut it short.’

He said, ‘That would be a terrible thing to do. It looks delightful. Suits you, too.’

She heard herself change the subject. ‘Is
Reliant
back in harbour, sir?’

‘Well, yes, she is, as a matter of fact. She’s been working up with her group. Done pretty well, to all accounts.’

She held the cup carefully to her lips.
What’s the matter with me? Why do I have to think that every man is after me?
Or was it that the guilt and loneliness were tearing her apart?

Thorne said, ‘I’ll let you see my reports, but you understand that they must never leave this room. It’s all
very hush-hush, but then, you have top security rating, so that’s no bother.’

‘Has she been in action?’

He stirred his tea, his face full of curiosity.

‘Well, you read about the German cruiser, the
Minden
? Made quite a splash, if you’ll excuse the pun. Then she did some fine work with a very important convoy. You won’t be able to read about
that
, I’m afraid. Top secret!’ He grinned hugely as if to say,
although I know all about it.
‘Now, where was I?’ He felt for some cigarettes. ‘Care for one of these?’

‘No, thank you, sir. I don’t.’

He clicked his lighter, and smiled at her through the smoke. ‘Not one of your vices, eh?’

She smiled back. Yes, she could handle this. ‘Not yet, sir.’

Either the smile or the answer seemed to disconcert him. ‘Well, anyway, as I was about to say, Rear-Admiral Stagg is coming to London.’ He gave a knowing smile. ‘Again.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go – I have to see the Second Sea Lord. Might not be back. You can hold the fort, right? Mr Cousins can help with any problems. In at the deep end, eh?’

She walked to the window, and saw the river. The Savoy Hotel was along the Embankment to her left. She and Philip used to joke about going there before they had been married. She had been rather shocked by the suggestion, the implication; it had not been like him. But the thought had been oddly exciting, too. So where had they lost their way?

She listened to the persistent murmur of traffic. Peace or war, fog or air raids, London never slept.

Thorne picked up a briefcase. ‘Sign out when you go ashore. Ted will fix transport for you.’

When sailors like those to whom she had spoken aboard
Reliant
referred to going ashore, and even those who lived in barracks, the term had seemed quite natural. From Thorne, captain or not, it sounded too pat. False.

The phone rang loudly, and Thorne put a finger to his lips.

‘I’ve gone. Take a message, or tell Mr Cousins!’ He opened the door. ‘I’m off!’

She picked up the telephone and a voice said, ‘A call for Captain Thorne.’

She replied, ‘I’m afraid he’s not here.’ She reached for a pencil. ‘Put it through, please, and I’ll take a message.’

A different voice said, ‘I was told that Mrs Meheux had been appointed to your section.’

She stared at the pencil in her fingers.

‘Speaking.’

There was a long pause.

‘Emma?’

She said faintly, ‘It’s you, Captain Sherbrooke.’

He said, ‘Are you all right? If this is an awkward time, I’ll . . .’

She shook her head, as though he could see her. ‘No . . . no, it’s not. Please, tell me how you are.’

‘Fine.’ He sounded unsure. ‘A bit tired, but otherwise, just fine.’

Somewhere in the background a whistle shrilled, and she heard the hiss of steam. So he was at a railway station.

He said, ‘I’m coming to London. I’d like to see you again. Very much.’

He waited, and then asked, ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’ She glanced at Nelson’s portrait. ‘I’d like that. I’ve thought about you, wondered how you were.’

Don’t be such a stupid fool. You’ll both be hurt. Think what it might do to him.

She heard herself saying, ‘Call me when you get here.’ Somebody was speaking urgently in the background: perhaps it was Stagg.

He said, ‘Did you get my letter, Emma?’

‘No.’

‘When you do . . .’ But there was too much noise, and he said quickly, ‘Goodbye!’

She put the phone down as if it were something brittle.

He was here. And she was frightened.

She looked toward the portrait of Nelson again.
And he called me Emma.

The army ambulance with the bright red crosses painted on its canvas sides swung around a wide bend and lurched across a section of newly repaired road.

Lieutenant Dick Rayner clenched his teeth and felt the pain throbbing in his side. God help any wounded man in this crate, he thought.

He glanced around. How different it all looked from his one and only visit to Eddy Buck’s ‘lively hotel’. He felt strangely lost, light-headed, as if he no longer belonged anywhere.

When
Reliant
had handed over the convoy to the local escort group he had been put ashore, and had eventually ended up in the Royal Naval Hospital at Haslar. A surgeon had praised
Reliant
’s medical team, saying how fortunate he had been.
An inch or so this way or that, and that would have been it.
Rayner wondered how many times those words had been used, and to how many men.

After a week at Haslar he had been told that he was to be moved north, to the R.N. Sick Quarters at Rosyth. He had been feeling so depressed that the news could not have come at a better time. He kept thinking of
Reliant
, and the friends he had made aboard her. He knew how it was: they
would soon forget him, and he might never be sent back to her, despite what the captain had said.
Just another pilot. So who cares?

He had fretted for two whole days after arriving in Rosyth, enduring all the usual tests and inspections, the formalities of being alive, then he had cadged a lift from this army ambulance. The driver had watched him with obvious amusement when he had broken the journey in order to buy some flowers from a small shop. It was April. Spring. He looked at the flowers again, tulips. She might think he was being stupid. Perhaps he should have tried to get hold of something less ordinary.

The driver asked politely, ‘Goin’ to a weddin’, are we, sir?’

It had given him a strange feeling of loss when he had seen the anchorage where
Reliant
had been. There was a carrier there, and a battleship, but nothing to compare with
Reliant
’s grace and power. He had written to his parents about those recent events, but had omitted any mention of his injury, and the captain’s visits and their conversations in the sickbay. And the medal.

The soldier said, ‘Not far now.’

Rayner smiled nervously. That was exactly what Eddy Buck had said that night. She might not even be free to see him, or want to, for that matter. A girl like her, always working with servicemen, would have plenty of offers.

He asked, ‘Do you come here very often?’

The driver shrugged. ‘I’ve been a few times. Most of our lot go to the military hospital. I’ve taken a couple of cases, though.’ He had seen the wings on Rayner’s sleeve when he had asked for a lift. ‘Breaks yer ’eart, sir. What it can do to a bloke.’

A Londoner. The accent, too, held memories, of Jim Hardie from ‘the Smoke’.

‘I know,’ he said.

The man glanced at him, and said, ‘I think I’ll go to Canada after this little lot’s over an’ done with. Room to breathe. Raise a family, maybe.’ He grinned. ‘Bloody pipe dreamin’, that’s me, sir.’

And suddenly, they had arrived. The building had probably been built between the wars, and was solid, unattractive, functional.

The driver leaned on his wheel. ‘Used to be a mental ’ospital. Says it all, dunnit?’

Rayner gave him a pack of cigarettes and thanked him, then walked through the open gates, where a uniformed porter was regarding him and his bunch of flowers with interest. Behind him, he heard the ambulance drive on.

The porter looked out from his cubbyhole. ‘Can I help, sir?’ His eyes assessed Rayner in a second. No suitcase, no attendant; no obvious reason for being here.

Rayner glanced past him at the main building, larger than he had expected, and obviously added to over the years. It was extremely unwelcoming.

‘I’ve come to see Nurse Collins . . . Andrea Collins, if it’s convenient.’

The porter frowned. ‘Sister Collins, you mean. Is she expecting you, sir?’

Why did they always call them ‘sister’, as if they were a bunch of nuns?

‘Well, not exactly. I’ve been in hospital myself.’ He broke off. ‘Sorry. I’m not making very much sense.’

The porter smiled, for the first time. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He picked up a telephone and turned away, so that Rayner could not hear what was said.

He shivered. It seemed very cold here, or maybe it was just him. She would make some excuse and tell him to get lost. What else had he expected?

The porter regarded him gravely and then spoke into the mouthpiece again.

‘Yes, it certainly appears to be him.’ He put the telephone down. ‘Up the drive, sir. Second entrance on your right.’ Then, severely, ‘Sister Collins is on duty, but she sent word that you were to wait for her.’

A white-coated orderly met him at the door, and Rayner guessed that the porter had been speaking to him.

‘Have a seat, sir. Newspapers aren’t in yet, not that they make light reading these days.’

Rayner tried to smile.
Tell me about it.
‘Oh, it’ll probably get better,’ he said.

The orderly sighed. ‘I sometimes wonder how we all got into this mess.’

He picked up a uniform jacket on its hanger and resumed brushing it. It was an R.A.F. officer’s jacket, and Rayner studied it with professional interest, although he knew it was more to control his sudden attack of nerves. A flight lieutenant. He recognized the bright medal ribbons as a D.F.C. and the A.F.C. They didn’t hand those out with the chocolate ration, he thought. The guy was obviously a hero.

He said, ‘Someone’s done a good job on that. It looks like new.’

The man regarded him without expression. ‘He can’t wear it, of course. He just likes to have it with him.’

Rayner watched the orderly walk away with the jacket, something for a survivor to cling to.

He looked away, and saw her standing in the entrance, her hands at her sides, almost unrecognizable in the starched uniform and the funny little cap English nurses wore. And yet, so familiar . . .

He got to his feet, saying hurriedly, ‘See, I’m back. Just like the bad penny. Sorry it had to be this way . . . I should
have given you more notice. But that’s the navy for you!’ He heard the words tumbling out, as if he could not contain them, and knew he was being stupid. He held out the flowers. ‘These are for you. There wasn’t much choice, I’m afraid.’

She took them and held them to her face, although they had no perfume that he had noticed. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you so much.’ She seemed to be studying him. ‘You’ve lost weight.’ They walked along the room, side by side, like the strangers they were.

Rayner said, ‘I got into a bit of trouble.’

He saw one wing of fair hair escape the pins and fall across her cheek, as it had done before.

She said, ‘I know. Your friend Eddy called me. He told me you’d been hurt. He was afraid to say too much in case he was cut off – they do that kind of thing, if they think they’re intercepting careless talk.’ She stopped and faced him. ‘Are you really all right?’

He said, ‘Sure. I feel great. I was lucky.’ Then, ‘I thought about you all the time.’ He saw the scepticism in her eyes. ‘No, really. It’s not just a line. I thought about that night – I wondered how you made out afterwards. Did you go to court?’

She smiled, but he sensed that it was only for his sake. ‘He turned out to be “a very respectable citizen”, and he’d been working
so
hard. He’d had a glass or two too many.’ She paused, and said bitterly, ‘He
apologized.
The charge was dropped, and he was found guilty of being drunk and disorderly instead.’