Coming Home (125 page)

Five minutes or so later, they were approaching their destination, the Naval Headquarters jetty. Speed slowed, the bows of the boat came down, as the coxswain prepared to go alongside. The jetty was a long one, reaching out into deep water, built of concrete and T-shaped, and always busy with the coming and going of boats, and the loading of personnel and stores. On shore, caught in the curve of the beach, lay the complex of NHQ, the Signal Office, the Administration block, the office of the Chief Wren. All of these were square and white as sugar cubes, towered over by graceful palm trees and a tall flagstaff, where snapped the White Ensign in the evening breeze. Behind, like a backdrop, rose the jungly slopes of Elephant Hill, a ridge of land about a mile long, pointing like a finger out towards the open sea.

On the summit of this ridge, their tiled rooftops just visible through the trees, stood three important establishments. At the far end, with a view of the harbour that any right-minded human being would die for, was the residence of Captain Curtice, officer commanding HMS
Highflyer.
A little lower down the slope, his commander lived. The third airy and spacious bungalow was the Wrens' Sick Bay. All of these were surrounded by deep verandas, verdant grounds, and tall palm trees, and from each garden, stepped footpaths wound down through the jungle to the shore and the water. Penny Wailes, suffering from a nasty bout of dengue fever, had once spent a week in the Sick Bay, and had returned with some reluctance to the primitive simplicity of living in Quarters, missing the cool sea breezes, the forgotten joys of tiled bathrooms, and pleasant hours of total indolence, being cared for and waited on by nurses and houseboys.

The boat was berthed expertly, scarcely grazing the padded fenders. Two of the deck-hands had already leaped up onto the jetty and secured stern and forward ropes to bollards. The officers stepped ashore, formally, in order of seniority. Judith and Penny were the last, and Judith turned to smile down at the coxswain, because she knew him to be one of the friendlier crew members. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘OK, love.’ He raised a hand. ‘See you tomorrer morning.’ Throttle open, full speed ahead, and
Adelaide'
s boat sped away. The two girls watched it go, trailing a majestic curve of foaming wake, and then, side by side, set off to walk wearily the last leg of their journey back to Quarters.

The jetty was a long one. They had only reached half-way when they heard footsteps pounding down the concrete behind them, and a voice. ‘I say…’

They stopped and turned. The waiting boat had docked and unloaded its cargo of shore-going officers. The man was recognisable in no sort of way, and Judith frowned in puzzlement and, indeed, some annoyance.

‘I'm sorry…’ He caught up with them. A lieutenant commander RN, his starchy Number Tens stiff and new-looking, and the peak of his cap jammed low over his forehead. ‘I…I didn't mean to yell like that, but I saw you, and…aren't you Judith Dunbar?’

Still at a total loss, she nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I thought so. I thought I recognised you. I'm Toby Whitaker.’

Which didn't help at all. Judith had never known anybody called Toby. She shook her head in some confusion.

By now beginning to look a bit embarrassed, he ploughed resolutely on. ‘I was your uncle's signal officer in Devonport. Captain Somerville. I came to your aunt's house in Devon, just before war broke out. Captain Somerville had to go to Scapa Flow…’

The fog cleared. But of
course.
Memory flooded in. Lieutenant Whitaker. And they had sat in the garden together, at Upper Bickley, and he had smoked a cigarette. The day that, in retrospect, she always thought of as the very beginning of the war.

‘Of course I remember. I am sorry,’ she apologised. ‘But it was all so long ago.’

‘I had to have a word.’

‘Of course.’ All at once she remembered Penny. ‘This is Penny Wailes. We work together. We're just on our way back to Quarters.’

‘Hello, Penny.’

‘Hi.’ But Penny had more on her mind than casual introductions. ‘Look, don't think me frightfully rude, but I'm going on ahead. I have to get changed because I'm going out. I'll leave you two to catch up on each other.’ She was already moving off. ‘Nice to have met you. See you tomorrow, Jude.’

She gave a casual wave and was on her way, long brown legs and white shoes going at a brisk clip.

Toby Whitaker said, ‘You work together?’

‘Yes. On board HMS
Adelaide.
She's the submarine depot ship. Moored out in Smeaton's Cove. We work in the Captain's Office.’

‘Who's your captain?’

‘Captain Spiros.’

‘Sounds Greek.’

‘He's actually South African.’

‘So that's why you were coming ashore in an Officers' Liberty boat. I couldn't quite work it out.’

‘It's also why I'm so grubby. We're on board all day and we can't even get to a shower.’

‘You look all right to me.’

‘I'm sorry I didn't recognise you. The thing is, I was at Whale Island for two years before I came out here, and because all the sub-lieutenants came through on courses, I know the face of just about every officer in the Navy, but I can never remember any of their names. I keep seeing people, and I know I ought to know them, but of course I don't know them at all. How long have you been here?’

‘Only a couple of days.’

‘HMS
Antigua?
’

‘Signal officer.’

‘I see.’

‘And you?’

Side by side they walked on, slowly.

‘I've been here about a year. I came in September 1944. After D-Day, I volunteered to go overseas, to France, I thought. The next thing I knew I was on a troop-ship sailing through the Indian Ocean.’

‘What was that like?’

‘All right. A few submarine alerts once we'd got through Suez, but thank goodness nothing more. The ship was the
Queen of the Pacific;
in peacetime she was a frightfully luxurious cruise liner. And after Quarters in Portsmouth, she still seemed luxurious. Four Wrens to a first-class cabin, and white bread. I ate so much white bread, I must have put on pounds.’

‘You don't look like it.’

‘It's too hot to eat out here. I live on fresh lime juice and salt. Salt's meant to prevent heat exhaustion. In the old days, they called it sunstroke, and nobody would dream of going out of doors without his solar topi. But now, none of us ever wear hats, even on the beach or sailing. Did you know that Bob Somerville's a rear admiral now? And that he's in Colombo on the C in C's staff?’

‘Yes, I did know. In fact, I'd planned to go and call on him when
Antigua
docked in Colombo to take on fresh water. But we didn't get shore leave, so my plans came to nothing.’

‘That's a shame.’

‘Have you seen him yet?’

‘No. He's only been there just over a month. But I got a letter from him. The phone system here is impossible. There are about four different exchanges and one invariably gets through to the wrong one. He sounded very chipper, and said he'd got a handsome residence to live in, and that if I wanted I could go and stay with him. So next time I get some leave, I might just do that. My last leave, I went up-country to stay with some friends called Campbell who have a tea-plantation near Nuwara Eliya. My parents used to live in Colombo, you see. I lived there too, until my mother took me back to England. The Campbells were friends of theirs.’

‘Where are your parents now?’

‘I don't know.’ They walked steadily on. ‘They were caught in Singapore when the Japanese invaded.’

‘Oh God. How bloody. I am sorry.’

‘Yes. It's been a long time now. Nearly three and a half years.’

‘No news?’

Judith shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘You're related to the Somervilles, aren't you?’

‘Yes, Biddy's my mother's sister. That's why I was living with them in Devon.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘You must know that Ned Somerville was killed. When the
Royal Oak
was sunk in Scapa Flow?’

‘Yes. That I did know.’

‘Right at the start of the war. So long ago.’

‘Five years is a long time. What's Mrs Somerville doing? Does she still live in Devon?’

‘No, she's in Cornwall. I have a house there. She came to stay with me soon after Ned was killed, and when I joined up, she simply stayed. I'm not sure if she'll ever go back to Devon.’

He said, ‘We have a house near Chudleigh.’

‘We?’

‘My wife and I. I'm married. I have two small boys.’

‘How nice for you. How long since you've seen them all?’

‘Just weeks. I got a few days' embarkation leave.’

Their conversation brought them to the end of the jetty, and once more they stopped to face each other.

‘Where are you going?’ Judith asked.

‘I'm actually headed for Captain Curtice's house. He's an old shipmate of my father's. They were at Dartmouth together. He sent me a signal, bidding me to go and visit, and pay my respects.’

‘What time are you due?’

‘Eighteen-thirty.’

‘In that case, you have two choices. You can either go that way’ — she indicated the narrow path that led along the shore line — ‘…and climb about a hundred steps up into his garden, or else you can take the less arduous route and walk up the road.’

‘Which way are you going?’

‘By the road.’

‘Then I'll come with you.’

So, companionably, they strolled on, up the dusty white road — scored with the wheel-tracks of countless trucks — that led through Naval Headquarters. They came to the high fence, strung with barbed wire, and the gate. Open, because it was still daylight, but guarded by two young seamen sentries who sprang to attention and saluted as Toby Whitaker passed through. Beyond the gates the main road curved away beneath the palms, but there wasn't much farther to walk and presently they came to another pair of guarded gates, and entry to the Wrens' Quarters.

Judith turned to face him. ‘This is me, so here we take our leave.’

He gazed with some interest at the prospect beyond the gates, and the sloping track leading to the long palm-thatched building that was the Wrens' mess and their recreation room. Its verandas were smothered in bougainvillaea, and there was a Flame of the Forest tree and borders burgeoning with flowers. He said, ‘From here it looks extremely attractive.’

‘I suppose so. It's not bad. A bit like a little village, or a holiday camp. The bandas, where we sleep, are on the far side, facing out over the cove, and we've got our own private swimming jetty.’

‘I suppose no man is allowed to set foot?’

‘If he's invited, he can. Come to the mess for tea and or a drink. But the bandas and the cove are strictly out of bounds.’

‘Fair enough.’ He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘If I asked you, would you come out with me one evening? Dinner or something? The only thing is, I'm a bit green here. I wouldn't know where to take you.’

‘There's the Officers' Club. Or the Chinese Restaurant. Nowhere else really.’

‘Would you come?’

It was Judith's turn to hesitate. She had a number of male friends with whom she regularly went dining and dancing, sailing, swimming, and picnicking. But they were all old acquaintances from the Portsmouth days, tried and true and strictly platonic. Since Edward's death and Jeremy's perfidy, she had resolutely set her face against any sort of emotional involvement, but in Trincomalee, this was proving a complicated business, simply because of the overwhelming number of perfectly presentable young men mad for female company.

On the other hand, Toby Whitaker was someone from the past, he knew the Somervilles, and had a home in Devon, and it would be pleasant to be able to talk about the old days, and Uncle Bob, and Biddy and Ned. As well, he was married. Of course, the fact that one's date was a married man, did not, in this unnatural environment, account for much, as Judith had learned from bitter experience. Sexual passions, egged on by tropical moons, whispering palms, and months of enforced celibacy, proved impossible to suppress, and the distant wife and the brood of children were easily banished from mind in the heat of the moment. She had fought her way, more than once, out of just such an embarrassing situation, and had no intention of such a situation happening again.

The silence lengthened, as he waited for her reply. Wary, she considered his suggestion. She did not find him particularly attractive, but on the other hand, he did not look like a pouncer. More likely to spend his time telling her about his children and — dreaded prospect — producing photographs.

Harmless enough. And perhaps ill mannered and hurtful to refuse outright. She said, ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Super.’

‘I'd like to. But not dinner. More fun to go somewhere and swim. On Saturday, perhaps. I get Saturdays off.’

‘Perfect. But I'm a new boy here. Where would we go?’

‘The best is the YWCA.’

He bucked visibly. ‘The
YWCA?
’

‘It's all right. It's called a hostel, but it's a bit like a little hotel. Not all Holy Tracts and PingPong tables. In fact, the very opposite. You can even get a drink.’