Go In and Sink! (15 page)

Marshall said, ‘All right, Cox’n. You and the escort can fall out.’ He looked at Devereaux. ‘You too.’

The door closed behind them and Willard looked at Simeon, then at this own wrist as if expecting to see the handcuff still there.

Then he said, ‘There are two other Geordies in the crew, sir. I mean chaps from Newcastle. We all joined up together. They know me mother. If they ever found out she was.…’

Marshall wished Simeon would go with the others. He asked. ‘Is that why you went home!’

The stoker nodded jerkily. ‘She wrote to me, sir. This bloke had been knocking her about. Threatened to carve her if she told anyone. He’s a big bloke, with several mates, too. He’s been living off her, you see.
Put her on the game
.’

Marshall looked up, seeing the agony on Willard’s face, the disgust and the pity. It was all there, like the pathetic determination which had taken him south to put matters right.

He asked gently, ‘What did you hope to do?’

‘All this training we’ve had, sir.’ He took half a pace forward but recovered himself. ‘I’ve never been no good in a scrap, but those commando blokes taught me
how
, sir.
How
to fight dirty, to win. The only sort of fight those bastards understand!’

The telephone jangled on the desk, making the stoker gasp with alarm.

Marshall snatched it up. ‘I said no calls!’

But it was Browning. He was speaking very quietly. ‘Sorry about this. Is Simeon still with you?’

Marshall said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘How’s it going?’

Marshall glanced at the stoker. He was shaking badly and his eyes were bright with tears. Anger and humiliation perhaps. Or the edge of despair at this sudden interruption.

‘Fair, sir. Could be a lot worse.’

Browning coughed. ‘Bit awkward. I’ve got a call on the ship’s line from the base. Personal. For you.’ A pause. ‘Can you take it? I’m afraid it must be now.’

The phone crackled as Browning transferred the call. Then a woman’s voice said, ‘I want to speak with Lieutenant Commander Marshall, please.’

‘This is Marshall,’ He kept his eyes on the closed door, hearing her quick intake of breath despite the bad line.

‘Steven. This is Gail.’

Marshall shifted his gaze very slightly. The young stoker was swaying from foot to foot, his face like chalk. Simeon was standing by the same scuttle, brushing a speck of dust from his cap. He did not seem to have realised what was happening.

‘Well?’

‘Roger’s going to ask you to come over to the house.’ She spoke quickly, as if afraid he was going to hang up. ‘I knew you’d make some excuse not to come, so I thought if I—if I said I
wanted
you to.…’

Marshall cleared his throat. ‘Right.’ What the hell was
he
saying? ‘That will be fine.’ He put down the phone.

Simeon said sourly, ‘Browning again? Can’t it wait?’

Marshall looked at the stoker. ‘You’ve been a bloody fool, do you know that? You were going to pick a fight with some local tough and probably cut his throat into the bargain. What the hell good would that do for you or your mother?’

Willard said in a whisper, ‘Had to do something, sir.’

‘Right now I’m depending on you, Willard. Your place is here, amongst your friends, people who rely on you as you have been made to do on them.’

He was only half listening to his own words. Why had she called him like that? Taking the risk of rousing Simeon’s suspicion and worse.

He continued, ‘I’ll get the welfare people to check up on your story. If it’s true, I’ll do what I can, or rather the Navy will. If not, I’ll see you stand trial. But either way, I want you here, under my command,
right?
’

‘Yessir.’ Willard gaped at him incredulously. ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

‘You’ll be confined to the depot ship until otherwise ordered. Fall out.’

The stoker turned and almost tripped over the coaming as he stumbled through the door.

Simeon opened his cigatette case. ‘Bloody hell. His mother’s on the game and he wants to save her! I suppose he’s afraid she’ll have half the Jacks from the Home Fleet banging on the door next time he’s on leave!’

‘Is that what you think?’ Marshall leaned back in his chair, watching him curiously. ‘I was trying to see our last patrol as it must have looked to that young stoker. His first-ever action. It was probably hell in the engine-room when the supply boat blew up. Like a volcano.’

‘So what? We’ve all been through it.’ Simeon sounded indifferent.

‘He must have come back full of it. Then he found that letter waiting for him. All round him his friends were writing to their families, mothers mostly, with a company as young as this one. How do you think he felt?’ He stood up, suddenly sick of Simeon. Of the land. ‘What would
you
have felt?’

Simeon raised his hands. ‘Fair enough! Keep your hair on! It’s your pigeon anyway.’ Then he said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘Come to dinner tonight.’

Just as he had been planning to refuse, the answer came out equally firmly. ‘Thanks, sir. I will.’

‘Good,’ Simeon walked to the door. ‘Any priests in your family?’

Marshall smiled. ‘Not as far as I know.’

‘You surprise me.’ Then he was gone.

Marshall sank down on the chair again. How easily he became riled. He smiled to himself. Getting past it. He wrote a short note on Willard’s folder and closed it. What did it matter what happened to Willard’s mother? They were stuck with him no matter what his reason for trying to desert. In the war they were trying to win why did any individual count any more?

Devereaux stepped into the cabin. ‘Instructions, sir?’

He pushed the folder towards him. ‘Welfare people.’

Devereaux grimaced. ‘Great.’

‘I suppose it is. People do matter, you know. In the long run.’

He stood up and walked out of the cabin, Devereaux staring after him with unusual astonishment.

Marshall studied himself in the cabin mirror for several seconds. Despite a steward’s efforts, his best uniform still showed a few creases in the wrong places. Where it had lain folded in a metal trunk for far too long. But at least it did not feel damp, and the fresh shirt added the right touch of luxury.

‘All set?’ Simeon appeared in the doorway swinging his cap negligently in one hand. ‘That’s better. You look a proper hero!’ He stepped into the cabin. ‘Or as Buster would have it, a
real
submariner!’

Marshall smiled dryly. ‘Two a penny around here, I should imagine.’

‘We’d better get moving then. These roads, as they are laughingly described, are bad after dark.’

Together they made their way to the upper deck and then into a waiting motor boat. The sky was very dark but without cloud. It would be a fine day tomorrow, Marshall decided. The first feel of proper spring.

Their shoes rang hollowly on the wooden pier, and Marshall realised with a start that he had hardly set foot ashore since taking command. He had certainly not been outside the base area.

A well-polished car was throbbing at the end of the pier, and a seaman stepped out, holding the door for Simeon to enter the driving seat.

Simeon waited for Marshall to get in and then called to the seaman:

‘Give her a good polish again tomorrow!’

The rating bobbed his head. ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

Simeon let in the clutch and said evenly, ‘I always have the car brought to the pier. Saves groping about amongst the others.’

You would
. Marshall watched the shielded headlights
swinging
across hurrying figures, sentries and barbed wire. Simeon had spoken to the sailor like a personal servant. Or the hall porter of a good hotel. As everywhere else, it seemed he had his life well organised.

Once past the gates Simeon pressed on the speed. Again, it was with a practised recklessness, cutting bends, making dark, anonymous figures jump aside for safety. The car was a good one. Expensive.

‘It’s not much of a house. But I got the admiral to lend me one of his chefs. The food’s palatable but I’ll be glad to get somewhere civilised again.’ He swore as an army lorry hurtled past in the opposite direction, the driver yelling into the headlights. Simeon muttered, ‘Bloody pongos!’

The journey took about half an hour. During the whole time Simeon hardly stopped talking. About his work with the Intelligence services, his general views of the war, many of them openly critical of both Government and High Command. Marshall was surprised at his frankness, especially in view of their first meeting. Perhaps Simeon regarded him as a mobile extension of his own ideas and strategy, or part of some wider experiment which he had not so far completed. Several times he mentioned important names, men who appeared only in newspapers as far as Marshall was concerned. If he was boasting Simeon gave little sign of it. It was his world, the arena for power and influence.

They shot through a wide gateway and slithered to a halt beside some parked cars. Simeon consulted his watch. ‘Took longer this time. Must drive faster in future.’ He glanced quickly at Marshall. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Marshall followed him through a heavy, studded door. It was curious the way Simeon had attached importance
to
his driving skill, his ability to reach here in so short a time. More importance, or so it seemed, than his place in affairs within the Service. Did it really matter, he wondered, and did Simeon secretly envy him for what he had seen and done in his own world of close combat?

It was a very pleasant house, comfortably furnished. Lived in. A log fire burned cheerfully in an open grate, and the room to which Simeon guided him gave off an air of rural prosperity.

‘Few others for dinner, I’m afraid. Can’t be helped.’ Simeon gestured to a cabinet. ‘Mix yourself something. I’m going to wash.’ He added, ‘Not like you. Didn’t get time before I left the
Guernsey
.’

Marshall smiled grimly. It was just as if Simeon always had to add his little rider. To prove that he was the busy one. A man in constant demand.

He opened the cabinet and regarded the span of bottles with surprise. No shortages here. He selected some malt whisky and half filled a glass. He found that he needed it more than usual. It could turn out to be a tense evening.

A door opened behind him, and he turned, the words ready on his lips. But it was a complete stranger. Not Gail.

She was dressed in a tweed skirt and plain black jersey. In the soft lamplight and the flickering log fire Marshall thought she looked tired, irritated perhaps at his being in the room.

‘I’m sorry.’ She picked up a magazine and dropped it again. ‘I did not know anyone was here.’

She had a faint accent. French possibly.

He said, ‘I’m Steven Marshall. Let me be the one to apologise.’

He watched her as she moved to a chair. Very easily
and
lightly. Like a cat. She had short dark hair, it was probably black, he thought, and her eyes, which were large and partly in shadow, seemed very steady. Almost too steady.

She said, ‘Chantal Travis.’ Then she smiled. It was grave but managed to light up her face nevertheless. ‘My home was in Nantes.’

She crossed her legs and leaned back against the cushions. Relaxing appeared to be difficult for her. She seemed to be listening, and only half with him.

‘Are you staying here?’ He hesitated, seeing her hands clench slightly. They were small. Well shaped. ‘I don’t mean to be nosy.’

She smiled again. ‘That is all right.’ But she did not answer his question. ‘I see you have decorations? More than I expected.’

Marshall grinned. Simeon must have told her about him. ‘There’s a war on.’

‘So I believe.’ She sounded distant. ‘A war.’

He said quietly, ‘That was a damn stupid thing to say. I was forgetting. Are your family still in France?’

She nodded slowly, the hair falling lightly over her forehead. ‘My father and mother are in Nantes.’

Marshall remembered her name. Travis. ‘You’re married?’

Again the slow nod. ‘An Englishman.’ She looked at the glass in his hand. ‘If I may have a choice, I would rather have a drink than any more questions.’ She smiled at his confusion. ‘Pardon me. That was unforgivable.’

Marshall held up some sherry and she nodded.

As he poured her drink she said softly, ‘Commander Simeon’s wife told me something about you. What you did in the Mediterranean.’

He handed her the glass, watching the light playing on her hair as she leaned forward. It was black.

‘Have you known her long?’ He groaned. ‘God, I’m doing it again!’

But she laughed. ‘It is all right. But no, I only met her——’ She hesitated, ‘Recently.’

Marshall sat down opposite her. It was like some invisible force between them. Holding him back. If only he had more time he would like to stay with her. Just to hear her voice. Watch the stillness in her.

‘Getting acquainted?’ Simeon strode past them from the door and examined the drinks cabinet with controlled indecision. ‘Splendid. Dinner in fifteen minutes.’

Voices murmured outside and two more figures threw shadows across the heavy curtains. Both were army officers, one Marshall recognised as the so-called Medical Corps major. They shook hands all round and the conversation became general, but, Marshall thought, kept carefully away from the war, Probably for her sake. It couldn’t be easy to have your country occupied and under Nazi rule.