The Last Wolf (15 page)

They returned to Lorient harbour at the end of the twelve-week patrol, their victory pennants fluttering aloft as they approached the quayside – one for each ship sunk. They had put on their grey leather uniforms so that everything was grey – the men, their faces, the boat, the sea. The same band was playing the same music, and top brass officers were waiting to shake their hands. Girls in service uniform – some pretty, some not so pretty – presented bouquets of flowers and gave them kisses, and people crowded round to offer beer, wine, cigarettes and congratulations. Reinhard noticed that Celeste was not among them. Later, he found out that she had been arrested on suspicion of supplying information to the enemy.

The seamen fell on the letters waiting for them – letters from wives, parents, sweethearts who would have no idea whether they were alive or dead. The Naval HQ always waited for six months after a U-boat was overdue before posting them missing. There was a letter from his father and one from Bruno who had joined the Luftwaffe and was training to be a pilot. His father, naturally, was deeply disappointed, but it was no surprise to Reinhard. He had known for years that his brother's heart was set on flying.

Having shaved off his beard and scrubbed away the accumulated filth of the patrol in a hot shower, he joined up with Friedrich Merten and another first officer from a different boat to visit Paris. The three of them had a very good time indeed. They saw all the tourist sights, dined at the best restaurants and went to the most disreputable nightclubs. The French were only too anxious to encourage them to spend money, even if their welcoming smiles concealed their hatred.

On the third day, he met Mathilde in a café. It was debatable whether he had picked her up, or she him. She was a widow, she told him, and a countess. He didn't believe a word, any more than he believed that she was only thirty-seven years old. At least forty-seven, he reckoned – old enough to be his mother. But she had French chic and elegance and she supplemented his lessons from the girls in the Reeperbahn, teaching him more subtle, sophisticated ways. He was acquiring a French polish, he thought, amused.

For the last few days of his leave, he went home to Hamburg to see his father, who was still upset with Bruno.

‘I tried to talk him out of it, to remind him of our strong family tradition, but you know how he is. He kept saying that we need pilots as much as we needed sailors.'

‘He's right, Father. I've seen some of the damage the Royal Air Force have done to Hamburg on their recent visit.'

His father was dismissive. ‘Nothing serious. I don't have a very high opinion of the British Bomber Command. It's all hit and miss with them – mostly miss. Even when they were dropping their ridiculous propaganda leaflets last year they fell in the wrong places.'

‘But they'll learn from that, so we shall need Bruno to help keep them at bay.'

‘Huh! I doubt they'll give you much trouble.'

He thought of the number of times they had been forced to crash-dive whenever an enemy plane was spotted and how close the bombs had always fallen, but he said nothing. Once his father had been in the thick of things and known all the secrets, but now it was impossible for them to discuss the subject.

The Reeperbahn girls had somewhat lost their appeal since France. Instead, Reinhard took a walk in the park, noting the early signs of spring – buds and fresh green shoots, grass growing, the weather improving. He now thought of it only in terms of U-boat operations. It would not be so vile out in the Atlantic, but not so vile for the British convoys either. The odds would probably remain about the same.

Back in Lorient at the end of his leave, he discovered that the Second Officer had been transferred elsewhere and that he was to take his place. He had been promoted to Leutnant zur See.

‘Think you're up to it?' the Old Man, who had almost certainly engineered the move himself, asked caustically.

‘Of course, sir.'

A grunt. ‘Well, we'll soon see. I'm not putting up with another scheissekopf.'

Three ace U-boat commanders had been lost – Prien and Schepke had been killed in action, Kretschmer captured. Fresh tactics and tricks were required to outwit the enemy if they were to escape the same fate.

When the summer term finished, Stroma went up to Craigmore alone. Grandfather had asked to see her. He had asked for Hamish, too, but Hamish was away serving on his corvette somewhere at sea.

The train journey seemed to go on forever. King's Cross was crowded with service men loaded with kitbags and using them as battering rams. There were long queues everywhere – to buy a ticket, to get a cup of tea, to fight through the barrier on to the platform. Trains had been cancelled or delayed because of air raids and bomb damage.

There had been no question of getting a sleeper for the journey to Glasgow and she was lucky to find a spare seat in a compartment with seven soldiers. The blackout blinds were down and the blue bulb gave such miserably little light that she could hardly see the men sitting opposite. The corporal on her left moved up a bit so that she had more room. Where was she going, he wanted to know? When she told him, he said how lucky she was. She asked where they were going. He grinned and tapped the side of his nose. Careless talk cost lives.

They started to fall asleep and some of them snored. Eventually, she fell asleep herself.

The train click-clicked slowly over the points as it came into Glasgow. The corporal took down her suitcase from the rack and carried it along the platform for her as far as the barrier. When she thanked him, he gave her a smile and a salute.

‘Look after yourself, sweetheart. And watch out for those wicked Jerries.'

She waved as he went back to join the others. His name was Denis – she'd learned that during the long journey – and he came from a place she'd never heard of in Kent. Just a village, he'd told her. A nowhere sort of place. She hoped he would watch out for the Jerries himself and get back home safely one day.

The rest of the journey went better. She caught the bus to Paisley and another to Gourock. Then she got a lift in the fishing boat to Dunoon and another one in the postman's bus which took her all the way up the glen and on to Portavadie. From there, she went by ferryboat to Tarbert where she stayed the night at the small hotel in West Lock Tarbert, as she and Hamish had always done, and caught the first bus in the morning to Kennacraig and then the paddle steamer
Lochiel
over to Islay. For once, and it was rare, the sea was very calm and towards the last part of the four-hour crossing she went up on deck and leaned on the rail, watching for the first sight of her beloved island. The faint smudge on the horizon grew steadily larger until she could begin to see the soft contours of the green hills, the purple of the heather, the jumbled line of the rocky shore. Her heart beat faster because this was the place she loved best.

The paddle steamer entered the sound and continued up to Port Askaig – an important-sounding destination that was nothing of the kind. Rather a grim and grimy little place, to be honest, with its weather-beaten cottages and shabby inn, but it was heaven in her eyes.

Normally, Grandfather would have been waiting for her with the old Humber, but this time it was Angus with a pony and trap. There was a deference when he climbed down to greet her that had not been evident before.

‘Ye've grown, lassie. I dinna know ye.'

She understood that she was no longer a child in his eyes and that, from now on, he would treat her differently. It made her sad.

From Port Askaig they took the road across to Bridgend and turned south through Bowmore and Port Ellen, clip-clopping along at a good pace.

‘How's Grandfather?'

‘Nay so guid, but nay so bad,' was the enigmatic answer.

She said anxiously, ‘He's not ill, is he?'

‘I wouldna say that.'

‘What would you say then?'

‘That he's nay so guid.'

She knew that she'd get nothing more out of him.

As they passed the Laphroaig distillery it started to drizzle. Angus flicked the whip and the pony went faster, trotting along the long track that led from the road to Craigmore, the cart bumping and swaying over potholes and stones, past the peat bogs and down through the woods, until they came out above the house. When they drew up outside the front door Angus handed her down. In the old days he would have swung her to the ground in his arms.

Logan opened the door, the worse for whisky, as usual, and more unsteady on his feet than ever. She found Grandfather sitting beside a peat fire in his study, and saw at once that he had lost weight and looked very thin in the face. But the hug he gave her was reassuringly strong and so was his smile.

She went to see Ellen, who was busy cooking supper on the range: a rabbit stew with a damson pudding to follow. There was no proper wartime rationing at Craigmore – they had plenty of fish and meat and eggs and milk and vegetables and fruit. But there had been changes, according to Ellen. Several men had been called up and left the island. Sally, the timid little kitchen maid, had gone to join the ATS – there was a disapproving sniff from Ellen about that. Meg still came daily to clean but – more sniffing – with her rheumatics she was getting as useless as Logan. Mack – the loudest sniff of all – was still as stubborn as an old mule, and ruder than ever. Even Angus wasn't the man he used to be.

‘He's gettin' on, just like the master. It comes to us all in the end.'

She and Grandfather ate their supper on a small table in the library, beside the fire. Outside, it was still drizzling and drab – ‘dreich', as the islanders called such weather. But inside the peat fire and the oil lamps gave a lovely warm glow to the room – to Grandfather's desk, topped with worn green leather, to the shelves of books lining the walls and to the giant map hanging on the wall, marking every detail of the estate, every loch and burn and wood and hollow, croft and dwelling, every bay and inlet. And Glas Uig.

After supper, Grandfather lit a cigar and sipped at his whisky.

‘I've written a letter to Hamish to tell him what I'm going to tell you, Stroma. I wanted you both to know now, not later.'

‘Know what, Grandfather?'

‘I'm leaving Craigmore to you and Hamish in my will. Your grandmother and I talked it over before she died, and she agreed completely. When I'm gone, the two of you will own the whole estate together. What you do with it is for you and Hamish to decide. For one reason or another, you may think it best to sell, but I hope you will prefer to keep it and look after it, at least for some years. Your parents don't wish to be lumbered with Craigmore, and I don't blame them for that. It's a time-consuming responsibility far away from London, and your mother doesn't care for it here. But you and your brother are another matter. You both love the place and you're young with all the energy needed. What do you think about the prospect of owning it?'

She was trying not to cry.

‘I don't know what to say.'

Her grandfather went on. ‘You can't speak for your brother, of course, Stroma, but you can speak for yourself. I'd like to know how you feel.'

‘Craigmore belongs to you, Grandfather. I can't imagine anything different. That's what I feel.'

‘Life always moves on, Stroma, as you'll discover. I can't be around forever, nor would I wish to be. Craigmore isn't the same without your grandmother, and I haven't the same strength or purpose to look after it. I'm rather depending on you and Hamish to take over my burden when the time comes. Do you think you could do that?'

She said unhappily, ‘If that's what you really want.'

‘It is. I'm very glad that's settled between us. Nothing more to be said.'

To her relief, he changed the subject and they talked for a while about the war. Her grandfather was unusually pessimistic.

‘The Germans seem to be having most of the luck in Europe and Africa at the moment, and especially so in the North Atlantic. We may have sunk their
Bismarck
but their U-boats are sinking far too many of our convoy ships bringing us food and supplies; if we're not very careful we could be starved into submission.'

‘That would never happen, Grandfather.'

‘You sound very certain, my dear, but we have to find some way to stop the U-boats, and that won't be so easy – as I dare say Hamish would tell us if he were here. At the moment, the Germans seem to be holding all the cards. There have been sightings of U-boats off the island, you know. We're not far from one of their favourite gathering grounds where they lie in wait for the convoys to approach Glasgow. The RAF are bringing some of their Coastal Command flying boats to Bowmore to try and hunt them down, but the sea's a very big place. They're going to have a hard job finding them.'

She was silent for a while.

‘Do you remember those Germans who sailed their yacht into Glas Uig years ago, before the war, Grandfather? You and Grandmother invited them to dinner.'

‘I think so. A naval family – father and two sons.' Grandfather chuckled. ‘Hamish was quite convinced they were spies, wasn't he? The father had been a U-boat commander in the Great War and had taken his boat through our sound. Some nerve!'

She said, ‘The elder son, Reinhard, wrote to me afterwards.'

‘I seem to remember forwarding a letter from him to you. You must have made a big impression. Did you answer?'

‘Yes, we went on writing for quite a long time. After school, he went into the German Navy and was sent to serve on U-boats.'

‘Keeping up the family tradition, I imagine,' Grandfather said drily.

‘Then the war started, so we stopped writing to each other.'

‘Well, there was no choice, was there? He was very charming, though. Did you fall in love with him?'

‘I was only twelve.'

‘Your grandmother was just fourteen when we first met and I was eighteen. It only took two looks – one from me and one from her.'