Redcap (19 page)

He started. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. But let’s just pretend this is an ordinary voyage, just for this evening, anyway.”

“I didn’t mean anything special except what I said—that the voyage’ll soon be over.” She pushed at her coffee cup on the starched white cloth, kept her eyes down. “That’s all. And it’s you who’s on duty all the time—it’s you who needs to relax. Not me.”

He said, “Now, that’s not fair and you know it. I happen to feel that my job’s pretty important. If things don’t work out right, all this may be over soon. Literally.”

She stubbed out her cigarette fiercely, didn’t look at him. She said, “Oh, I know you’re right, of course I do. But why keep on about it?”

“Because—if you must know—there may not be many days left now. Next stop Fremantle, don’t forget. Nearly journey’s end. Time really is running out.”

“Then for God’s sake why not let’s do as you said and enjoy ourselves?” There was a catch in her voice, and a hint of hysteria.

Shaw said, “That’s exactly what I meant to do this evening, my dear. Doesn’t seem to have turned out that way, though, does it?”

She smiled at him then, but he caught a glitter of tears in her eyes. She said softly, “I’m sorry.” She reached out impulsively for his hand, and he had the feeling that her gesture was symbolic, that she was reaching out for something else and didn’t know quite how far she ought to go, or even just how she ought to go about it. He finished his brandy, said abruptly:

“Come on, Judith. Let’s go out on deck.”

“All right.”

She got up; there was a seductive
frou-frou
of material, and for the first time he realized she’d made a special effort with her appearance to-night. She was, in fact, disturbingly attractive and desirable. He took her arm, and they went out, away from the peculiar tang of the air-conditioning and out into the velvety clutch of the warm, soft tropic night. There was a pleasant breeze made by the ship’s movement as they walked over to the starboard rail and leaned against it; there was a dance going on below and the boat deck was almost deserted. They stared down into the dark water swishing past the liner’s hull so far below, the hull which dipped almost imperceptibly to a gentle deep-sea swell. Music drifted up. His arm went round her shoulder and he felt her body stiffen momentarily. They remained very still for a long time; Shaw could feel the beat of her heart against his side, and he felt the blood thrusting through his veins, pumping in his temples. His mouth tightened; here they were, aboard a luxury liner out at sea, in a small isolated world of unreality where no one else knew them or their affairs, or the pattern of their shore-side lives, a world which, as Judith had said at dinner, would vanish when the
New South Wales
raised Sydney Heads and came up the harbour of Port Jackson to turn beyond the bridge into the Pyrmont berths. A world in which, when that happened, all that had gone before would be forgotten, and whatever he and this girl might do in the secrecy of an Indian Ocean night would be forgotten with it as soon as they returned to day-by-day normality and picked up the ordinary threads of life again. If ever they did.

And Shaw knew, up there on the boat deck, knew for certain from the pressure of the girl’s body against his own, that she wouldn’t deny him anything he asked of her tonight, or any other night.

Who would it hurt—who could it hurt? The girl herself, if they came out of this. He mustn’t do that.

Shaw released her, stood back, said quietly: “Judith, let’s go down. Let’s dance.” His voice sounded forced, distrait; and she didn’t move. He said awkwardly, “You like dancing, don’t you? Come on.”

She still didn’t move and she didn’t answer; she remained leaning over the rail. He repeated, “Come on.”

She turned then, and he saw the sparkle of tears, a very slight tremble of her lips. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and she was shaken with sobs. He rumpled her hair, held her very close and tight, but could find no words in that moment. They both knew . . . and then, just as suddenly, she pushed away from him. She turned and went quickly aft to the companionway and down to the veranda deck. Shaw didn’t follow her. He stayed where he was, puzzled and unhappy, looking out over the sea under the low-swinging Southern Cross which hung like a pattern of lamps to light the way for this great ship which vibrated beneath him ... in spite of everything it was still good to be back aboard a ship, at sea again, after all these years. To feel the wind on your face once more and the surge of the sea for music in your ears, and the lift of a deck beneath your feet again . . . after a while Shaw lost himself in a nostalgic remembrance of the past, of the war days when he’d been an ordinary junior watchkeeper in a destroyer rolling her guts out in the North Atlantic and enjoying, so far as his stomach condition had allowed him, calm and storm, sunlight and shadow and clear blue days. . . .

It may have been simply the fact that he had been thinking back to the War which made him listen, as he pulled himself together and turned away from the rail at last, to a distant throbbing, a very far-off regular beat of what sounded like engines.

He walked aft, stared up into the sky. The sound seemed to be up there. Aircraft engines passing . . . drum-drum, drum-drum. He could see no navigation lights. Of course, these days, they mostly went too fast for the eye to follow, but this didn’t sound all that fast—it was more like an old-fashioned propeller job. However, some less up-to-date airlines than B.O.A.C. and Qantas no doubt sent their flights over here.

Shaw yawned, clattered down the ladder, went below to his stateroom and turned in. The throb overhead, strangely enough, went on and on and it seemed to be circling the
New South Wales
so far below.

Partly because he was troubled by thoughts of Judith and partly because his subconscious was telling him that those aircraft sounds hadn’t been altogether normal, Shaw had half an eye open. So, when two hours later the phone buzzed beside his bunk, he was wide awake on the instant.

He grabbed the handset. “Shaw here.”

The Captain’s voice came through, abrupt and worried. “Sorry to wake you—but I’d like you to come up to the bridge right away.”

Shaw threw his clothes on quickly and went up top.

As he went across the deserted boat deck, where the lifeboats, triced up high to the davit-heads, stood out sharply in the hard moonlight, he heard the same throb of engines that he had heard earlier. So far as he could judge, the plane was somewhere astern; and then, as he reached the foot of the ladder leading up to the bridge, it sounded as though it was turning to come down the liner’s port side, though still a long way off.

It was an eerie, flesh-creeping sound now, that distant throb in the otherwise silent night.

Sir Donald, a blue uniform jacket over his pyjamas, met him at the head of the ladder, asked: “Hear that, Shaw?”

“Yes. It was buzzing about when I turned in, if it’s the same one.”

The Captain said, “I don’t know if it’s actually the same one, but I rather think it must be. It’s been up there on and off for a couple of hours, anyway. My officer-of-the-watch has been listening out.”

Shaw walked to the for’ard rail, stared up into the night. He asked, “Do you know if many of the scheduled flights cross the track here, sir?”

Sir Donald shook his head. “Not all that many, anyhow. Certainly I’ve never had anything like this before, and I’ve been on the run a good many years. However, the officer-of-the-watch apparently didn’t think there was anything particularly suspicious, not enough to call me—until the radio office reported a few minutes ago that the aircraft was making signals.”

Shaw frowned and rubbed the side of his nose. “What sort of signals?”

The Captain shrugged. “They couldn’t identify them.”

“Funny . . . was the plane getting any reply, any acknowledgement from anywhere?”

“Apparently not. None that the radio people could pick up, that is. What d’you make of it, Shaw?”

“I don’t know. It’s certainly odd.”

The two men exchanged glances, and Shaw felt a cold shiver running up his spine. That throbbing noise above as the liner slid so silently through the night had suddenly got him very much on edge. The Captain said, “You know, it’s almost as though we’re being shadowed. D’you remember those aircraft during the war, shadowing the convoys?”

“Do I not!” Shaw drew in breath sharply. “Always just out of range. Reports to the sub-packs and all that. But I don’t quite see what this chap can hope to do to us, all the same.” He ruminated for a moment, then he added half to himself: “Or do I?”

“How d’you mean?”

“I’m wondering if he could be . . . well, homing something on to us.”

Sir Donald stared at him, looming vast in the moonlight. “How—what?”

“Well, I don’t know, sir.” He laughed uneasily. “Maybe there’s just something about unexplained sounds in the night that gives me ideas! But this could be the threat, couldn’t it? Some attempt, perhaps, to seize REDCAP. Even seize the ship.”

“But good God, man—they couldn’t do that!”

“They could, sir, and very easily too.”

“But—a damn great ship like this—with all those people aboard! That’s a fantastic notion, Shaw. It’d be an act of war.”

“The whole of this threat is by way of being an act of war,” Shaw said grimly, “at least it will be when it materializes. I don’t believe they would hesitate to interfere with the ship if they wanted to. Remember we did even suspect they might try to blow us up.”

Sir Donald nodded, big shoulders hunching as he rammed his fists into his jacket pockets. He said heavily, “Quite, but that wouldn’t necessarily have
looked
like an act of war. It could have been put down to a fault in the reactor. This is quite different. Nevertheless, if there is any concrete danger developing, I’ve got my passengers and crew to consider. For that reason, I’d just as soon turn around and head back for Colombo.”

“I understand that, sir. But I think, before we make any fresh decisions, it’d be better to report this.”

“Who do we report to?”

Shaw wrinkled his brows. “There’s a man in Sydney I’ve been told to contact on arrival. He’ll be the one for this. With your permission, sir, I’ll report this myself. I’ll cypher a signal and tell him what’s going on and ask for a search of the area. He’ll take any other action he thinks necessary—I hope! That all right with you, sir?”

“Yes, indeed. Thank you, Shaw.”

Shaw went quickly below and encyphered the message, addressing it to Captain James of the Royal Australian Navy at the Garden Island base in Sydney. After showing the plain-language version to the Captain, he took the cypher himself to the radio office and saw it transmitted right away. It may have been the sheerest coincidence, but within five minutes of the transmission the throbbing noise, seeming to circle once more over their heads, had gone. There was a brief, fleeting shadow across the moon and that was all.

Sir Donald blew out his cheeks in relief, said: “I suppose they picked up the transmission and guessed they’d been rumbled. Anyway, it looks as though it’s done the trick, Shaw.”

Shaw was staring into the sky still, his face troubled and anxious. He said, “Maybe, just for now. I’ve a feeling we haven’t quite done with that chap, though. Not altogether.”

Shortly after the twelve to four watch had been relieved the following afternoon, they heard another distant sound, this time the roar of many aircraft; for some time that afternoon they had heard the patrols in the distance, but the day had been hazy and they hadn’t seen them. The sounds, increasing the tension in the ship, had upset the passengers. Little groups of them sat or stood about the decks, looking out to sea and speculating. And then, as that deep roar came closer, there was a sudden pattern of glittering silver in the sky as a formation thundered out of the haze across their course, straightened, and turned to come back down their beam.

Shaw, on the bridge with Sir Donald, said: “Australian Fleet Air Arm planes. There’s probably a carrier in the vicinity.” He screwed up his eyes against the glare. “They’re flashing, sir.”

A light was winking from the leader’s aircraft. It was a difficult light to read, and the message took some time to send as the planes turned and came back again and again until the signal was passed in full and acknowledged. It said:

NO PLANES NOW IN AREA THIS POSITION FREMANTLE. ALL 

SURFACE CRAFT SIGNALLED AND PASSED O.K. GOODBYE AND 

GOOD LUCK.

Shaw murmured, “Nice to have met you. . . He turned to the Captain. “Wish they were coming all the way with us! I could do with an escort.”

Sir Donald stretched his arms. “I expect they’ve cleared the air a bit, though.”

Shaw grinned. “Neatly put, if I may say so!”

Judith asked, “
Now
what’s up with this ship?”

“Why? Still giving you the shivers?”

“Yes, only more so. I don’t know. . . . I’ve just been down at the Purser’s office. I was really sorry for them. All the old ladies were there, absolutely besieging the counter, demanding to know what all those planes meant. They were all terribly nervy and really being quite rude.”

“These things do hit you harder when you’re old, Judith.”

She said, “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry for them too, of course. There’s such an—I don’t know—such an
oppressive
feeling right through the ship now. Everyone’s on edge, wondering what’s going on.”

That, Shaw knew, was true. The stewards were having the life harassed out of them. Tempers had become strained, men became snappy and unhelpful, the elderly people even more querulous than they had been all along. This voyage had never been normal from the start, but now the last remnants of the proper carefree atmosphere of a liner had vanished, suddenly and entirely. The Liaison Officers, the entertainments men responsible for whipping-up the social frenzy, had never worked so hard, had never found it so frustratingly impossible to get anybody interested in anything. Quoits and deck-tennis pitches stood empty despite semi-finals of deck game competitions to be worked off, as the passengers still huddled in those little groups by the rails, staring out to sea, examining the sky. Unease spread like a contagion, self-propagating. Ship’s officers moved about on the Captain’s orders, which were to inject confidence and re-assurance so far as they were able; but the very fact that they were doing so only added to that general feeling of unease, of something unpleasant about to happen. Only some of the more boisterous extroverts were immune, and they went about the ship talking in loud voices and saying it was all damned queer and hinting that a war scare had blown up suddenly and no one wanted to tell them.