Betrayal (19 page)

With the loss of all hands. She
must
look at him; mustn't concentrate on the mashed potatoes picked at in their gravy before her with bits of dressing—did they call it stuffing in England and Ireland? The cranberry sauce she had fought so hard to get had been left untouched.

‘Are you finished, madam?'

‘Yes. Yes, thanks.' Hamish had sat down at last, and the talk had gone back to other things, to films, to fishing, to books read and not yet read, to dancing and thoughts of Christmas leave to come. At least the talk here had.
And
religion.
And
the war between the North and the South. Would that blasted business ever end?

Hamish was looking rather pleased with himself. Though she couldn't see them, she thought then that Major Trant and Captain Allanby must be sitting across the table from him and that he had said it as much for their benefit as her own.

‘What is it you do in the war?'

‘Nothing. I'm not in it.'

‘But you want to be?'

‘Not really. Look, I know that sounds as if I don't care about what's been happening but I do. I care passionately but … but it just isn't my war. I'm a Canadian.'

‘But Canada's been in it right from the start. Half my old squadron were Canadians. Bomber Command is loaded with them, as are the Royal Navy and Army. Jack's navigator's from Winnipeg.'

He'd found her alone in the colonel's gun room. Flying Officer Christopher Blakely was about four years younger than herself, of the same height and with dark, wavy hair, a narrow, somewhat hawkish face, and deep grey eyes that seemed to say he really did want to know something about her.

She wondered where the Irish girls had got to, but then the sound of a record player started up—they'd rolled the carpets back.

‘Most of the merchant ships that come over here have Canadian crews, Mrs. Fraser, out of Halifax, Nova Scotia and St. John's, Newfoundland. They're a damn fine lot of men.'

‘Yes, I know, but you see, I came to Britain in the autumn of 1938 to get away from something, so I've cut myself off and now feel I'm neither Canadian nor British, or Irish for that matter, just someone without a country.'

Had she been trying to justify things to herself? wondered Blakey. That business about getting away from something couldn't have been easy, but best not to pry, best to simply say, ‘Someone with all sorts of feelings then?'

She wished he wouldn't persist. ‘Yes, that's just the trouble. They're all mixed up at the moment. Now if you'll excuse me, Flying Officer, I'd best rejoin my husband.'

‘Hey, hang on a minute. Let's talk. It can't hurt. I'm … Look, you'd jolly well be doing me a favour, Mrs. Fraser. You see …' He glanced towards the door and the sounds of Glen Miller's band. ‘I'm rather fixed at the moment—engaged, if you get my meaning.'

And very much in love? ‘Tell me something then about the North Channel—anything, that is, that's not classified.'

‘Why the interest—if you don't mind my asking?'

Had Bannerman or Trant sent him to her after all? ‘I work with the prisoners at Tralane Castle. Some of them were on U-boats.'

Blakely gave her a sheepish grin and scratched the back of his head. ‘Well, I'll be damned. You're a lot closer to them than we are. Who would have guessed?'

Again she wondered if he'd been sent to ask her things but that couldn't be. He was far too nice. And she thought then, as she sat down in one of the easy chairs, that his girl was pretty lucky, and she hoped he'd make it through.

‘What are they really like?' he asked, genuinely wanting to know.

‘A lot like yourselves. Young and very fit and eager to fight, but wanting lives of their own as well.'

‘But incredibly tough and brave, I should think.'

He sat forward on the couch, resting his arms on his knees, wanting a cigarette perhaps, but not having one because he must have known by then that she didn't smoke.

‘Jackie did shoot up a sub pretty badly and came back with the holes from their deck guns to prove it.'

‘And yourself?' The image of Erich in his conning tower facing the strafing of enemy aircraft was all too clear.

Blakely lost himself in thought. It wouldn't be fair of him to tell her he'd seen men trying to swim in the sea with their clothing on fire and that there'd been nothing he could have done for them. ‘London diverts the convoys up our way. It's supposed to avoid the massive concentrations of air and sea power Jerry has along the French coast, but it doesn't always work.'

When she didn't say anything, he carried on. ‘The North Channel's heavily mined, Mrs. Fraser, so there's only a narrow passage, and the Channel itself isn't any more than ten miles across between Torr Head and the Mull of Kintyre. Mostly they hit the convoys well before then, but it's uncanny how some of them get past us.'

Again she didn't say anything, but was she forcing him to continue? ‘The U-boats slip under the mines and through the nets to come up at night and wait. They can't remain submerged for all that long. Usually a few hours at most—that's how we get them sometimes. They're starved for oxygen by then, so they have to surface for air and to recharge their batteries. They cruise on their diesels, on the surface. Although they can receive wireless signals underwater, they can't send them and have to surface for that, but I expect you know all this.'

Had he and his crew sunk one, had that been it? Things had really got to him, and he had wanted to talk about it to someone. ‘How many ships have you seen go down?' she asked.

He seemed startled by the question. ‘So close to home? Seven. Jerry has the whole area divided into grid squares. Sectors fifty-four and fifty-five hug the north coast of Ireland. Fifty-seven is the worst because it's right in the narrowest part of the Channel. Sectors fifty-one and fifty-four are just to the north. They call it the AM Block. I don't think what I'm telling you is classified, but just to be on the safe side …'

She'd give him a nod. ‘Do they come in packs?'

‘Wolf packs? Don't believe all the press tells us, Mrs. Fraser. Two or three U-boats are a lot to see in an area at any one time but the bottom's not too deep in the North Channel—about six hundred feet and just at the limit of safe depth for them, so they can and do lie on it.'

‘Having picked up the sound of the propellers with their hydrophones, the asdic first, if there's a destroyer?'

Had the prisoners told her such, or had she overheard them, and in either case, what else? ‘Then they wait for the depth charges, but they can tell one kind of propeller from another—they're very good at this, and I've known them to stay down until you'd think they must surely have all died from suffocation. Thirty-six hours once, with everything shut down, of course.'

Sweating in the heat and the closeness, the men remaining still and silent lest they give themselves away. ‘They'd all be looking up every time a destroyer's propeller noise increased until passing over top of them.'

‘And the depth charges begin to sink, but those have to hit the pressurized hull or explode very close to it, otherwise it's far too strong. But, yes, it can't be any more pleasant for them at times than it is for our own people.' She was really feeling it, was still lost to it.

‘Did Trant and the colonel send you to me?'

She had such smashing eyes. ‘Why should they have?'

A shrug would be best. ‘It doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand and it would take me too long to explain. Now I really must get back to my husband.'

Blakely got to his feet to stretch out a helping hand. ‘Will he mind if we have one dance?'

What was it in the look he gave her now? A need for understanding? It wasn't his fault he'd been ordered to talk to her.

‘That dark-haired girl. Mrs. Fraser. She's got it into her head that she fancies me, but I'm off home soon to get married. Flying patrols is not like it was during the Battle of Britain. I've got a bit of time coming and really ought to make use of it. Besides, my girl would kill me if she knew I was out with someone else.'

That was fair enough and she'd let him lead her back. All the younger set were dancing. Having shoved the furniture aside, the floor was crowded. She and Blakely would have to slip quickly in between other couples and dance cheek to cheek, he with an arm about her waist, she with hers about his shoulders.

Hamish caught sight of them, and she smiled his way and raised a hand to indicate she'd forgive him if he behaved. Chris Blakely was a good dancer. Erin Ross had changed boyfriends …

‘You enjoy dancing,' he said appreciatively.

Though she smiled at the compliment, he couldn't have seen this. ‘Dancing … Yes, I do, but it's been ages since I've been out. Hamish … My husband's a doctor.'

‘Was he the one who gave the toast to the King?'

A nod would suffice, though she wanted to say, He's really not that much older than myself. He does like dancing and he's not bad at it, only …

They came to the end of the piece and Blakely asked for another. Jimmy Allanby was looking at them and she didn't want a scene, not if it could be avoided. Besides, with Blakely she was safe, and for a while she needed that, needed the reassurance of someone who was completely neutral and unthreatening. And it felt good, so good, just to dance.

Eventually they broke for drinks and he found her a gin and tonic, but then Tommy Dorsey's
Moonlight Serenade
came on and it was such a good piece they went at it again.

‘Someone's stealing my drink,' she said, catching sight of Maevis.

Blakely swung them around and chuckled. ‘My gosh, I hope she doesn't get sloshed. Jack and I borrowed the squadron leader's MG. If we're not back with it in tiptop shape, we're for it.'

‘How did you meet the girls?' she asked, leaning away from him a little. ‘They're from Armagh, aren't they?'

‘The colonel's wife fixed us up. I really didn't want to come.'

‘You're missing your fiancée, aren't you?' He had a nice warm smile, and she felt he'd be honest with her.

‘You bet I am, Mrs. Fraser. We've got to take the girls home, so I only hope there aren't any hitches.'

Like someone throwing up all over the seat or wanting something else. ‘Then you're heading back to base tonight, to Derry?' He smoothly pivoted them around.

‘Unless the colonel wants us here for breakfast.'

So that was it. Breakfast! Pump Mrs. Fraser and find out what you can. Tell her how bad things really are and kick a bit of gumption into her!

‘Thanks. I must go.'

Leaving him standing in the middle of the floor watching, Mary barged through the others, made it right to the drawing room, then the conservatory.

‘Look, what's the matter, Mrs. Fraser? Did I say something I shouldn't have?'

‘No. No, it wasn't anything like that.'

He handed her a fresh drink and she took a nervous sip, knew he'd see that she was still shaking, but she mustn't be angry with him over something he could not have known a thing about. ‘I do want to join up. I think I need that, but can't. Not for a bit.'

‘Then why not come back and dance? No strings attached, just friends.'

Everyone would begin to wonder about she and Hamish who had left her on her own, hadn't even bothered to come over. Not once! Oh damn. He was being stubborn.

Perhaps Erin Ross would cut in on them, and if not that one, then her friend. After all, the boys did have a motor car and these days … ‘How did you and Jack get asked to the party?'

Blakely knew he was for it, but he'd be straight with her. ‘The C.O. gave us our marching orders. Said the colonel wanted some RAF types who'd seen a bit of U-boat action.'

And could tell her about it if the seating arrangements were such that Mrs. Mary Ellen Fraser was stuck between two dry old sticks of religion. ‘Did he ask you to tell me something of what you've been through?'

‘Do you mind?'

‘Not really. I know most of it anyway, but … but from the other side, of course.'

When they reached the dancing, Mary set her glass down on the table behind her. They tried to make idle conversation but it was no use. They watched the couples. Someone called out to Blakely. Suddenly everything was loud—the talk, the music, the laughter, even the sounds of the glasses. Colonel Bannerman was climbing on to a chair to give some sort of an announcement. He was waving a telegram. His wife was with him, so it was good news about their sons. ‘The boys are safe, ladies and gentlemen. Safe! Found walking in the desert!'

Trant was nowhere to be seen and neither was Jimmy.

‘Your drink, Mrs. Fraser.'

Distracted, she accepted the glass from the waiter without looking at him. The colonel's face was flushed. He was still waving the telegram, still couldn't believe the miracle that had happened. Tears of gratitude were running down Dotty Bannerman's plump cheeks, ruining her makeup.

Mary took a sip only to find the glass empty, wondered what on earth had happened to her drink, and turned quickly towards the waiter only to see that he had left.

Her drink was still on the table where she'd set it. Bubbles were rising in it, but lying against the base of the glass was a .455 calibre cartridge. She could see the number quite clearly, and damn, oh damn, what was she to do? That voice … The way he'd said her name.

Even as her fingers closed about the cartridge, she knew he was watching her, that somehow Liam Nolan had got into the house dressed as one of the waiters.

He would have been here all along. The colonel and the others—Major Trant and Jimmy—wouldn't even have thought it possible.

‘Is there a problem?' asked Blakely as the clapping and the cheering died away and the colonel finally got down off his perch.