The Glory Boys (20 page)

“Make contact with Brice for me and put him in the picture, will you? Don’t want him getting in a sweat. You can use my driver. It’ll save time.”

Kearton looked at his watch. Most of the others had already gone, glad it was over. Some were still loitering by the main entrance, undecided, or unwilling to return to duty. The senior officer of one of the established M.T.B. flotillas caught his eye and said, “Pity we can’t take him out on patrol with
us
. Might buck his ideas up a bit!”

Kearton thought he knew him. Another place, another time.

The driver had seen him coming and seemed unsurprised that he was alone, or by the change of orders. After Brice, what then? He was on stand-by, ‘on call’, as Garrick had said. The two motor gunboats would soon be here, and so, it seemed, would the convoy.

The car moved out into a street he did not recognize. A few potholes, otherwise it had been repaired very well. Only the buildings and the rubble along one side showed evidence of recent air raids.

He must send her a message, even if he was unable to speak to her.

Sliema, or anywhere else outside the base, was impossible. It had been casually said, but ‘on call’ meant just that.

She might be relieved, anyway. For both their sakes.

The car stopped and he saw the gates, now familiar, and some sailors thumbing a lift from an army truck. Two others, arm in arm, were returning from their run ashore, very much the worse for wear; they would find the steps a real challenge. He saw two naval patrolmen watching them, then purposely looking in the opposite direction. Neither the Jaunty nor his R.P.O.s would be so sympathetic.

The driver got out and studied the buildings as if to reassure himself, and Kearton realized that there had been no air raid sirens all day. But the battery of heavy anti-aircraft guns at the end of the road were fully manned and pointing at the sky, perhaps for Sir Piers Lampton’s benefit.

“I’m not sure how long this will take.”

The driver, a Royal Marine as usual, almost clicked his heels. “I’ll wait, sir!” He seemed surprised that he had been offered an apology.

The same entrance: a few ratings carrying messages, one with a tray of teacups. And the curving staircase he remembered.

The petty officer was a stranger, but he ushered him to the main office without hesitation.

Two other naval officers were already in the adjoining room, but neither of them moved or looked up as he walked past. They were apparently used to waiting.

Lieutenant-Commander Eric Brice looked tired, even rather dishevelled, but was obviously pleased to see him, and the warmth of his handshake was genuine.

“This is just great, Bob! After what you’ve been through,
and
having the Boss leaning on you, the V.I.P. thing must have just about put the lid on it.” He laughed, “But no, you’re bright as a button and ready for more!”

He sat back down at the desk. “Been like a bloody madhouse
round
here.” He ruffled some papers without looking at them. “The repair work should be finished in three days, four at the most. So in the meantime, while you’re on stand-by, I could fix you up with a bed over here.” He paused. “I wouldn’t advise it, though. There’s no escape in this place. Believe me, I
know
.”

The door opened an inch.

“They’ve gone, sir. I suggested they try again later.”

Brice said, “Good man. Not important, anyway.” Then, “Pass the word, Harris. I don’t want any incoming calls for ten minutes or so.” He looked at Kearton. “Probably all over at the V.I.P.s’ party at Government House anyway. There’ll be a few sore heads tomorrow, of all days!”

The door closed and he stood up abruptly, as if he were uncertain about something, perhaps the frustrated visitors. “There was a call earlier for you. I wasn’t sure if you would be here, or if the Boss had other ideas.” He gestured to the telephone. “She called before, I believe.”

He was on his way to the door.

“Remember this, Bob. The convoy is due to signal tomorrow.” He opened the door. “And it’s thanks to you.”

Kearton heard him speaking to someone in the other room, then there was silence. There must be over a hundred people working in the building, but even that seemed quiet.

He picked up the telephone, noticing that the ashtray was back in its place.

The operator answered immediately, as if he had been waiting for a call from this office. He did not ask him to repeat the number.

“Putting you through, sir.”

No clicks or voices this time. There was nothing.

“I’m sorry, sir. There seems no one …”

Then she said, “Hello? Hello, Bob—is that you?”

“Glynis. I just got your message. I wanted to explain.” He paused; she sounded out of breath, as if she had been running.

“I thought I’d missed you. That you might ring and wonder what had happened.” He heard the quick breathing. “I wanted you to know I was leaving. I was on the road when I heard the phone.” She gasped, “Out of condition!”

“Leaving?” Like a door slamming. “Is something wrong?”

“I knew you’d be busy.” She halted, but there were no warning clicks; the line remained silent. “I have to move some things from the old address.” She paused again, and he heard the breathing. “You know the one. It’s not so far … and I thought it might be easier for you. I’ll have some friends with me. Helping me … I’ll understand if you can’t make it.”

He thought he heard a car door, and the sound of an engine.

She had covered the mouthpiece but he heard her call, “I’m just coming!” Then, “Are you still there?”

The folded window blind rattled suddenly; the outer door had just opened.

He said, “Can I come
now
?” She would know exactly where he was.

“If you’re sure?” Then, “Yes. I’d like that.” Another pause. “A lot.”

The line was dead, or she had hung up, perhaps already regretting the impulse.

The outer office was still empty, but not for long. He could hear Brice holding the fort.

He was at the top of the stairs, comparing notes with one of his staff, but he waved a sheaf of papers and called, “All OK?”

Kearton looked down the stairs and saw the driver waiting patiently by the entrance. There were so many things he wanted to know, should have asked, if only to put her mind at rest.

“I hope so. Thanks for your help.”

Brice watched him leave.

For your sake, I hope so, too
.

He pushed open the door; the telephone was ringing. Ten minutes exactly. Most people in Malta would give anything to
be
connected to a telephone, even an official line like this one. He thought of the voice, her voice. He had met her several times in one building or another, and had spoken to her once or twice; he had thought her attractive, but wary. She needed to be round here, married or not. He wondered if the Boss knew anything about it. No shred of gossip was likely to slip past Garrick.

Brice stifled a yawn. He felt as if he had not slept properly for weeks, but when Garrick eventually returned from the reception, the booze-up, as he had heard the yeoman of signals crudely call it, he would, as usual, want all the answers.

He reached for the telephone, pausing as he heard the car drive away, and was surprised to find that he cared.

“Operations. Brice here.”

“He’s on his way.”
That was all, but it was enough. Garrick was returning earlier than anyone had expected. They could be in for some fireworks.

“Many thanks.” He put the phone down gently. It was good to have friends. Especially now.

Kearton climbed out of the car and stood for a few minutes to regain his sense of direction. It was all much as he remembered, but some effort had been made to tidy, if not actually repair, the damage. A few windows were boarded up; others were in use again. One roof was partly covered with a canvas tarpaulin, but the area adjoining it had been left jagged and open to the sky, a grim reminder.

There was fresh white paint around the checkpoint, and an imposing wall of sandbags where he had last seen debris.

Two armed patrolmen were observing from their little hut but made no attempt to question him. It jarred another memory: the car said it all.

There was a small van parked inside the barrier. Nothing else.

He said to the driver, “Can you wait?”

He nodded, surprised. “Forever, if need be, sir,” and indicated the checkpoint. “I can have a mug of tea, or somethin’.” Then he grinned rather shyly. “Cap’n Garrick said I was to wait, so ’ere I’ll be.”

“I’ll not be long.” The driver probably knew that, too.

One of the patrolmen threw up a smart salute as he approached.

“Can you find your way, sir?” He pointed at a pile of rubble. “It’s round the other side now, sir. New door since you last came.”

Kearton thanked him. The patrolman must have a very sharp memory to recall him, with all the comings and goings he must have to check throughout the course of a watch.

He saw the garden. There was a big crack in the wall, where someone had painted a number, for repair or demolition was anybody’s guess. Thousands of houses must have been destroyed or severely damaged during the siege. One more crack would hardly count.

The door opened and she was facing him. Surprised, one hand going to her hair, the other still clutching a sack. “It’s
you
! I didn’t want you to see me like this!”

He reached out.

“Here, let me. I’m early—I’m sorry.”

She held on to the sack. “It’s just junk. The last of it, I hope.” She threw it on to another pile. “And you’re not too early. Far from it.”

He took her hands, and held them. “You look wonderful.” She did not resist as he pulled her closer, and turned her face so that he could kiss her cheek.

She said, “Not too close. I’m all sweaty after that!” Then she smiled. “You know, you’re staring again.”

They both laughed and walked together into the house. She was wearing khaki slacks and a pale green shirt, and her eyes and her hair were exactly as he remembered.

“You’re worth staring at,” he said.

She turned, quite suddenly, serious again.

“Are you really all right, Bob?” There was a slight hesitation, as if hearing his name again, on her own lips, could still surprise her. “We heard so many stories—rumours—one begins to doubt everything.”

“I’m fine, Glynis. I had to see you. You see, I was worrying about
you
.” He felt her flinch as he held her, without moving, almost touching. She did not look up.

“Remember, I’m all sweaty …” He could see her lashes, lowered to shield her eyes. Feel her breathing.

She said quietly, “Please, Bob, I’m only human.” Then she lifted her chin, her eyes steady, determined. “And … I’ve got friends here.”

There was a thud in the adjoining room, where he had seen the bed, and he heard voices. His hand was still on her waist. She did not attempt to remove it; all he heard was one word, barely audible.

“Please.”

She moved away, and he saw the desk behind her. The same basket, empty now.

Then the room seemed crowded, although there were only two of them. Both Maltese, a dark-haired, athletic man with a ready smile which displayed a glinting gold tooth, and a pretty young woman, with the lilting laugh he had heard on the telephone. She wore a gold crucifix hanging between her breasts, and was heavily pregnant. They stood side by side, like children waiting to be introduced.

“Mr and Mrs Falzon.” It seemed to break the tension. “Joseph and Stella.” She took the man’s arm. “Joseph used to work with my father.”

He half bowed and displayed his gold tooth again.

“
For
your father, if you please!”

“And this is Lieutenant-Commander Kearton.” She smiled, but did not look at him. “Bob Kearton.”

Falzon gave a quick salute. “I know.” He took Kearton’s hand. “Much of my work is at, and for, the docks.” He nodded slowly, his eyes serious. “I hear many things which I am not supposed to hear.” He released his hand. “I am proud to know you,
the man
.” He did not smile now, but repeated, “Proud.”

Glynis said, “Sit down, Bob.” She had turned, so that her face was hidden from the others. “You must be feeling bushed, if half the rumours are true.” She laughed, but kept her eyes on him. “I can’t even offer you a proper drink. There’s only some sherry.” She walked to the desk, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder as she passed. “Just sit there and I’ll see what I can find. I’m so sorry—everything’s been in turmoil …” She broke off as he reached up and covered her hand with his own.

Falzon said, “There is a car outside.” His dark brows lifted only slightly. “You are still,” he hesitated, “still in demand?”

Kearton grinned.

“I shall have to ask my superiors before I know that!”

They all laughed, but he saw her eyes flicking around the room. Remembering? Regretting?

She said, “Joseph and Stella are sharing rooms with me. So many people have had to be rehoused or evacuated because of the bombing, and the shortages. But I shall still have my office.” Her hand moved slightly on the desk, near the telephone in its military-style container. “When
I
am in demand.” The others laughed again, but Kearton saw something else. Disappointment, pain? It was neither.

He said, “At least I’ll know my way next time.”

The girl named Stella had been stooping over a low cupboard, and straightened, gasping, “Almost forgot!” She held out a bottle triumphantly. “The sherry, Glynis! All is not lost!”

Her husband hurried over to steady her, wagging a finger as a warning. But Kearton was looking at Glynis as she whispered, “There will be a next time, Bob? So much I wanted to say. To know …”

“I’m the same.” She did not hear him.

“Two different lives, different worlds. I don’t want you to think I’m one of ‘those women’. It’s not like that.”

He reached out and took her wrist; she did not move or resist.

“I’d kill anyone who suggested it!”

Joseph Falzon was holding the bottle to the light.

“Too late. It has had its day, I fear.”

He almost dropped the bottle as someone rapped loudly on the door. Glynis reached it first. It was the Royal Marine.