The New Collected Short Stories (75 page)

When the boat was at its highest point in the water, Robin wondered if he dare risk it. It was not something to spend much time thinking about. When the bow of the boat plunged into the next
wave, he leapt into the sea and with all the strength he could muster managed to grab on to the side of the yacht. He waited for the wave to rise again before he pulled himself up on to what was
left of the floating wreck. With the help of the next wave he hauled himself up on to the keel and somehow managed to smile at the two disbelieving faces.

‘Take my hand!’ he hollered to the girl. After a moment’s hesitation, she released her grip on the keel and clung on to Robin’s outstretched arm. For a moment he feared
she might panic and push him back into the sea.

‘You’ll have to jump when I give you the signal,’ screamed Robin above the noise of the wind. The girl didn’t look convinced. ‘Are you ready?’ he cried as the
next wave headed towards them. As the lifeboat reared into the air like a startled horse, Robin shouted, ‘Now!’ and pushed her off the yacht with all the strength left in his body.

Two arms grabbed her as she landed in the water by the side of the lifeboat and hauled her unceremoniously on board. Robin waited for the next wave before the young man obeyed the same
instruction. He was not as lucky as his companion, and cracked his head on the gunnel before he was finally dragged on to the boat. Robin could see blood pouring from his forehead. He knew there
was a first-aid kit in the cockpit but no one would be able to open it, let alone administer any succour, during such a storm.

Robin felt the yacht sinking beneath him and his thoughts switched from the young man’s problems to his own survival. He would only have one chance before the boat disappeared below the
waves.

He hunched up in a ball as he waited for the lifeboat to arch on the peak of the wave, then propelled himself towards it like an athlete bursting out of the blocks. But it turned out to be a
false start because he missed the grab line by several feet and found himself floundering in the sea. His last thoughts as he sank below the unforgiving waves were of Diana and his son Harry, but
then he bobbed up in a trough and a hand grabbed his hair while another clung to a shoulder and dragged him inch by inch, wave by wave, towards the boat. But the sea still refused to give him up,
and when the next wave hurled him against the side of the lifeboat, he felt his arm snap. As he was dragged on to the deck he screamed, but no one heard him above the storm. He would have thanked
the coxswain, but all he could manage was to unload a stomach full of seawater all over him. At least Poynton had the grace to laugh.

Robin couldn’t recall much of the journey back to port, except for the excruciating pain in his right arm and the looks of relief on the faces of the young couple he’d rescued.

‘We’ll be back in time for breakfast,’ said the coxswain as they passed the lighthouse and sailed into the relative calm of the harbour. When the crew finally disembarked, they
were greeted by a cheering crowd.

Diana was standing on the quay, her eyes frantically searching for her husband. Robin smiled and waved at her with the arm that wasn’t broken.

It wasn’t until she read a full report in the
Jersey Echo
the following day that she realized just how close she’d been to becoming a widow. John Poynton described
Robin’s decision to leave the boat to rescue the stranded couple, who undoubtedly owed their lives to him, as an act of selfless courage in the face of overwhelming odds. He had told Robin
privately that he thought he was mad, and then shook him by the hand. It was the wrong hand, and Robin screamed again.

All Robin had to say while he sat propped up in a hospital bed, one arm in plaster, the other attempting to handle a spoon and a bowl of cornflakes, was, ‘I won’t be able to play in
the final of the President’s Cup.’

A year later, Diana gave birth to a girl whom they christened Kate, and Robin fell in love for a second time.

Chapman’s Cleaning Services continued to flourish, not least because Robin had become such a popular member of the community, with some of the residents now treating him as if he were a
local and not a newcomer.

The following year, he was elected a vice-president of the local rotary club, and when the head launcher stepped down, the RNLI committee voted unanimously to invite Robin to take his place.
Despite these minor honours being bestowed upon him, he reminded his wife that he was no nearer to becoming a full member of the Royal Jersey, and as his handicap had begun to move in the wrong
direction, he’d probably missed his one chance to win the President’s Cup and automatically become a life member.

‘You could always join another club,’ Diana suggested innocently. ‘After all, the Royal Jersey’s not the only golf club on the island.’

‘If I were to join another club, the committee would strike me off the waiting list without a second thought. No, I’m just going to have to be patient. After all, it should only be
about another eight years before they get round to me,’ he said, not attempting to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Diana would have laughed if the klaxon hadn’t sounded for the ninth time that year. Robin dropped his paper and leapt up from the table without a second thought. Diana wondered if her
husband had any idea of the anxiety she experienced every time he was away at sea. It hadn’t helped when a few weeks earlier one of the crew had been swept overboard during an abortive rescue
attempt.

Robin kissed his wife before leaving her with the familiar parting words, ‘See you when I see you, my darling.’

When he returned, four hours later, he crept quietly into bed, not wanting to wake Diana. She wasn’t asleep.

Robin smiled after he’d read the letter a second time. It was just a short note from the club secretary, nothing official, of course, but he was confident that it
wouldn’t be too much longer before the committee was able to ratify his membership of the RJGC. What did ‘too much longer’ mean? Robin wondered. In theory he still had another
four years to wait, and he was well aware that there were several other names ahead of his on the waiting list. However, Diana had told him that several members felt he should have been elected
after he’d broken his arm and been forced to withdraw from the final of the President’s Cup.

Robin’s spell as head launcher on the lifeboat was coming to an end, as the job required a younger man. Diana couldn’t wait for the day when her husband would become more preoccupied
with propelling a little white ball towards a distant hole than with rescuing helpless bodies from a merciless sea.

The following year, Robin opened a second shop in St Brêlade, and was considering a third, on Guernsey. He felt a little guilty because his brother Malcolm was now running four
establishments on the mainland, and contributing far more to the company’s bottom line, while at the same time keeping an eye on his two children, who were at prep school on the mainland.

Robin was a contented man, and on his thirty-sixth birthday he promised Diana that he would serve only one more year as head launcher, even if he wasn’t elected to the Royal Jersey. He
raised his glass. To the future,’ he said.

Diana raised her glass and smiled. To the future,’ she repeated, unaware that another man on the far side of Europe had other plans for Robin Chapman’s future.

When Britain declared war on Germany on 3 September 1939, Robin’s first instinct was to return to England and sign up, especially as several younger members of his crew
had already found their way to Portsmouth and joined the Royal Navy. Diana talked him out of the idea, convincing him that he was too old, and in any case his expertise would be needed on
Jersey.

They decided to leave the children at school in England, and Malcolm and his wife unhesitatingly agreed to look after them during the holidays.

When the German army goose-stepped down the Champs-élysees nine months later, Robin knew it could only be a matter of weeks before Hitler decided to invade the Channel Islands. Thirty
thousand islanders had been evacuated to Britain, including his own children, and German bombs had fallen on St Helier and St Peter Port on Guernsey.

‘I’ll have to stay on as head launcher,’ Robin told Diana. ‘With so few young men available, they’ll never find a replacement before the war is over.’

Diana reluctantly agreed to what she imagined to be the lesser of two evils.

When Lord Trent phoned Robin at home and asked if they could have a private meeting at the club, he assumed the old man was at last going to confirm his membership of the Royal
Jersey.

Robin arrived a few minutes early and the club steward ushered him straight into Lord Trent’s study. The look on the President’s face was not one that suggested glad tidings. Lord
Trent rose from behind his desk, indicated that they should sit in the more comfortable leather chairs by the fire, and poured two large brandies.

‘I need to ask you a special favour, Robin,’ he said once he’d settled in his chair.

‘Of course, sir,’ said Robin. ‘How can I help?’

‘As you know, the ferries from Weymouth and Southampton have been requisitioned by the Government as part of the war effort, and although I thoroughly approve this decision, it presents me
with something of a problem, as the Prime Minister has asked me to return to England at the first possible opportunity.’

Before Robin could ask why, Trent took a telegram from an inside pocket and handed it to him. Robin’s heart missed a beat when he saw the address: ‘No.10 Downing Street, London,
SW1’. Trent waited until he had finished reading the telegram from Winston Churchill.

‘The Prime Minister may well wish to see me urgently,’ said Trent, ‘but he seems to have forgotten that I have no way of getting off this island.’ He took another sip of
his brandy. ‘I rather hoped you might feel able to take Mary and me across to the mainland in the lifeboat.’

Robin knew that the lifeboat was never meant to leave the harbour unless it was answering a distress call, but a direct request from the Prime Minister surely allowed him to tear up the rule
book. Robin considered the request for some time before he responded. ‘We’d have to slip out after nightfall, then I could be back before sunrise and no one need be any the
wiser.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Trent, command changing hands.

‘Would tomorrow night suit you, sir?’

The old man nodded. ‘Thank you, Robin.’

Robin rose from his place. ‘Then I’ll see you and Lady Trent on the quayside at nine tomorrow night, sir.’ He left without another word, his brandy untouched.

Robin was assisted by two young crew members who also wanted to reach the mainland, as they wished to join up. He was surprised by how uneventful the Channel crossing turned
out to be. It was a full moon that night and the sea was remarkably calm for October, although Lady Trent proved to be a far better sailor than his lordship, who never opened his mouth during the
entire voyage except when he leaned over the side.

When the lifeboat entered Weymouth harbour, a patrol boat escorted them to the dockside, where a Rolls-Royce was waiting to whisk the Trents off to London. Robin shook hands with the old man for
the last time.

After a bacon sandwich and half a pint of Courage in a dockside pub, he wished his two crew members good luck before they boarded a train for Portsmouth, and he set off on the return voyage to
Jersey. Robin checked his watch and reckoned he should be back in time to join Diana for breakfast.

Robin slipped back into St Helier before first light. He had just stepped on to the dock when the fist landed in his stomach, causing him to double up in pain and collapse on to his knees. He
was about to protest when he realized that the two uniformed men who were now pinning him to the ground were not speaking English.

He didn’t waste any time protesting as they marched him down the High Street and into the nearest police station. There was no friendly desk sergeant on duty to greet him. He was pushed
roughly down a flight of stone steps before being flung into a cell. He felt sick when he saw Diana seated on a bench against the wall. She jumped up and ran to him as the cell door slammed behind
them.

‘Are they safe?’ she whispered as he held her in his arms.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But a spell in prison isn’t going to help my membership application for the Royal Jersey,’ he remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Diana
didn’t laugh.

They didn’t have long to wait before the heavy iron door was pulled open once again. Two young soldiers marched in, grabbed Robin by the elbows and dragged him back out. They led him up
the stairs and out on to an empty street. There were no locals to be seen in any direction as a curfew had been imposed. Robin assumed that he was about to be shot, but they continued to march him
up the high street, and didn’t stop until they reached the Bailiff’s Chambers.

Robin had visited the seat of local government many times in the past, as each new bailiff required his dress robes to be spotless on inauguration day, a ceremony he and Diana always attended.
But on this occasion Robin was led into the front office, where he found a German officer seated in the Bailiff’s chair. One look at his crisp uniform suggested that he wasn’t going to
enquire about Chapman’s services.

‘Mr Chapman,’ the officer said with no trace of an accent, ‘my name is Colonel Kruger, I am the new commandant for the Channel Islands. Perhaps you could start by telling me
why you took Lord Trent back to England?’

Robin didn’t reply.

‘No doubt Lord and Lady Trent are enjoying breakfast at the Ritz Hotel while you languish in jail for your troubles.’ The officer rose and walked across the room, coming to a halt
when the two men were standing face to face. ‘If you feel unable to assist me, Mr Chapman, you and your wife will remain in jail until there is space on a ship to transport you to the
Fatherland.’

‘But my wife was not involved,’ Robin protested.

‘In normal circumstances, I would be willing to accept your word, Mr Chapman, but as your wife was Lord Trent’s secretary . . .’ Robin said nothing. ‘You will be sent to
one of our less well-appointed camps, unless, of course, one of you decides to enlighten me on the reason Lord Trent needed to rush back to England.’