The White Guns (1989) (14 page)

He stared dazedly at the table and the bottle, which was almost empty. All those letters he had written to her. The thoughts and hopes they had shared. And now she was letting that stranger, Ralph, use her like, like... he could not think of a suitable insult.

What would he do? There
was
nothing he could do. He had always depended on her. She had always been there. Suddenly there was a void. He shivered and thought he was going to throw up again. That brute, naked, like a savage.
In our home.

Lowes reached for the bottle and fell forward, his head hitting the table as oblivion temporarily offered him sanctuary.

He was still lying there when Fairfax returned.

He closed the door and rolled Lowes on to the bench seat and loosened his tie and jacket.

'Poor little bastard.' He wondered what must have happened. He would try and put him together again before the Skipper got back.

He realised what he had spoken aloud. Just two years difference in age, but a million in experience, he thought.

As he slipped Lowes's best jacket from his shoulders his wallet fell from the inside pocket.

As he stooped to pick it up a photograph fell out. It was of Lowes's mother; he had shown it to him several times. With pride as much as love.

Almost guiltily Fairfax replaced the photograph inside the wallet. Or rather the two pieces of it. Lowes must have torn it in half.

So that was it.

Fairfax went into the tiny pantry and shook the coffee pot.

If I had not insisted he took some leave instead of me, he might never have found out whatever it was.

Welcome home.

The bar was only half-filled when Marriott walked down to the Harrow to buy something for the evening meal.

Penny would be arriving at any minute and it seemed that there was nothing but two inches of sherry left over from Christmas to celebrate this reunion.

He felt his jaw tighten. Perhaps dear Chris didn't drink, either? He looked around the snug bar as all the lights went on, while outside the inn-sign was also illuminated by a miniature searchlight. It was what he had noticed most at Dover. All the houses with their windows glittering like tiers of eyes. But no street lighting. The authorities had reminded everyone that, because of the war, there was still a fuel shortage. As if they needed any reminding, he thought.

The landlord watched him thoughtfully. Marriott was a far cry from the cheerful and optimistic young subbie who had paused for a last drink on his way to Felixstowe to join his new flotilla.

He said, 'No Scotch of course, won't see any of that for years, I expect. Got a couple of bottles of red wine you might like.'

Marriott took out his pipe and filled it with care. 'Thanks. I'll have a gin –'

'Got plenty of brandy.' The man reached under the bar. 'Horse's Neck, that's what –'

Their eyes avoided each other.
What Stephen had had on that last reunion.

'It'll do me.'

As the landlord went to search for the wine Marriott looked around the comfortable room with its smoke-stained chimney breast and horse-brasses. Lines of regimental badges and shoulder flashes too. All along one wall. Each had a story to tell, he thought as he sipped his drink.

Welsh Guards; they had had a training battalion at Sandown Park racecourse for the whole war. Men had come and gone, many had been lost in North Africa and Italy. Canadian badges in plenty. How much at home they had been here, when so far from their own country. The same war. The local anti-aircraft battery, balloon barrage, military police, all had left something.

Like it said on the memorial at Dover.
To remind us to remember you.
There would be a hell of a lot more names on it soon.

Now all the servicemen who had trained or been billeted around this district had departed, seemingly overnight. The sandbagged barriers and camouflaged nets which had hidden the big guns, part of the ring of batteries which had defended the sky over London, were abandoned. The fat barrage balloons, which had dotted the skies like basking whales, were just a memory now, like the long, chilling nights in the shelters.

He looked at his glass. It was empty.
I'm getting morbid.

The landlord returned and placed the bottles on the bar. 'Here we go.' Then he looked at the door as if he expected to see the blackout curtain billow inwards to engulf another customer. But he grinned. 'Here she is, bless her!'

Penny ran across the room, oblivious of the few who were sitting around with their drinks, her eyes filling her face as she wrapped her arms round his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Then she clung there, searching his face, feature by feature.

She exclaimed, 'I was early. Thought I'd walk back with you! You look just great!'

She had altered in some way, he thought. The same rebellious hair which fought to escape her blue WAAF's cap, the same wide provocative eyes. He could feel her body against his own. That was the difference. She had become a woman.

With her arm through his they walked back past the green. She glanced at it, remembering her pony probably.

She said, 'I wanted to see you and talk with you.' He felt her shiver, then grip his arm more tightly. 'Everything's different, isn't it?'

'You feel it too.'

She nodded without looking at him. 'It's not just the creepy lodger.' She gave her wicked chuckle. That at least was unchanged. 'That's awful of me, but he is!'

'I agree.'

She said suddenly, 'I wish you could meet my Jack.'

'Is he
the one?'

She said in a quieter tone, 'Don't laugh at me. I've had a few affairs, nothing real. But when you serve alongside young men who you know are going to have their names sponged off the pilots' rota sooner or later, you can't help getting involved.'

'Tell me about Jack.' It was obviously very important.

'That's just it. I love him, I really do. I wish you had someone who–'

'Don't change the subject. If he loves you, where's the problem? They're bound to miss you when it happens but –'

She interrupted quickly, 'He asked me to marry him. I've got his ring in my pocket. Didn't have the nerve to bowl into the old home and display it like a battle trophy! I don't want anything to spoil it. It was important that you should know first.'

She put her head against his shoulder. 'What will you do when I've gone?'

So that was it. 'When?'

'He's been ordered back to Canada. If I marry him I can go with him.' She looked at him, her eyes shining faintly in the dying light. 'Three months at the most.'

'D'you
want
to go?'

She nodded. 'I shall be turfed out of the WAAF but I've done what I joined to do. Yes, I want to be with him. I don't care where it is. But I shall miss you most of all.'

He gripped her tightly so that the bottles clinked between them.

'Don't.
Please.'
He made another effort. 'I'm so glad for you.'

She studied his profile. 'Together then?' It was what the three of them had always said.

He smiled, suddenly glad for her.
'Together.'

Sub-Lieutenant Fairfax stepped into the wardroom and waited for Marriott to glance up from the makeshift desk. They had just completed the usual muster of requestmen. He was relieved that there were no defaulters. Not this time. Mainly, he suspected, because of a lack of opportunity.

'That's the lot, sir.'

Marriott leaned back in the chair and unbuttoned his jacket.

In Kiel again, the brief leave already slotted like an interlude into his memory. Except for Penny. Lots of things might happen. She might decide to break it off with her Jack, or his transfer back to Canada could easily be changed. Only the unlikely was certain in the services.

Beyond the confines of the hull he could hear the rattle of drills, and felt the occasional thump as an underwater explosion sighed against the keel. In the short time he had been away many more vessels had made their appearance here. Salvage craft and tugs, trawlers, dredgers and, standing aloofly in the background like elegant spectators, a pair of graceful destroyers. There were some merchant ships too, already being converted into offices and accommodation for the swelling numbers of naval personnel.

The stench was still very evident, and when they pumped out the heads the water which refilled the basins was as black as coal.

Marriott said, 'You did right not to make a big issue over Able Seaman Farmer's drunken spree at Dover. He's dipped his good conduct badge enough times already.'

Fairfax watched him, thinking of the men he had come to know so well who had just been up before the Skipper, like strangers in their best shore-going kit, their
tiddley suits,
resplendent in gold badges. It made a welcome change from overalls or oil-stained sweaters. Leading Seaman Arthur Townsend, the boat's 'core' in many ways, had been made up to acting-petty officer, while the keen-eyed machine-gunner Rae had been promoted to leading seaman. Both well deserved.

Fairfax said, 'I'm glad about Townsend.'

'Yes, get him to put up his rank today. It'll look right even if he can't change uniforms yet and get measured for his fore-and-aft rig. When he goes on his final course, we shall lose him, I'm afraid.'

Marriott looked up and added, 'Same applies to you.' He pushed an envelope across the table. 'Came aboard with the mail. Well done,
Acting-Temporary-Lieutenant'.'

Fairfax could not hide his pleasure. 'I'd like to buy you a drink, sir!'

Marriott closed his book. It was always a good feeling when there was no trouble at the table.

'There's one more thing. Fetch the cox'n, will you?'

Evans entered and stood very stiffly in the centre of the wardroom.

'I've had a request, Swain.' He watched Evans's impassive features.
Would you ever get to know him,
he wondered. 'From Commander Meikle.'

'Sir?'

'He has asked me to sound you out about transferring to his staff.'

'I see, sir.'

Marriott had expected surprise, even resentment, but there was nothing.

'The fact is, Swain, that all our resources are stretched to the limit. The Military Government is organising every town and garrison, but they need more interpreters than they can find. Schleswig-Holstein was the last major part of Germany to surrender, so we are at the end of the queue.' He smiled wryly. 'But we know that's nothing unusual.'

Evans's fingers were pressing hard against the seams of his trousers.

'I do not understand, sir.'

Marriott looked at an open scuttle as the topmast of a small vessel glided past like a lance.

'You have an excellent service record, with two decorations for bravery. You were with Special Services and the SBS and you are used to co-operating with the army when need be. You speak German, and of course French – you would be a real asset to the commander. However, you are not obliged to go, I have made that clear.'

Evans looked past him, his face controlled like a mask.

Marriott added slowly, 'Obviously I should miss you. But in this situation you must always remember the first lieutenant's prayer. Look after Number One!'

He saw Fairfax grin but Evans remained as impassive as before.

Evans said slowly, 'I will accept the commander's request, sir.'

'Very well. You can instruct our new acting-petty officer in your other duties.' What had he expected? Evans, no matter what his paybook proclaimed, was no more Welsh than he was. One of de Gaulle's Free French who, because of his life in the Channel Islands, had chosen to fight alongside the others who had escaped from their country to join in the war in their own fashion. And yet Marriott felt disappointment.

Evans said haltingly, 'I will say this now, sir. I have not met a better Englishman, nor have I served under a better captain.' He thrust out his hand. 'I belong here, sir. The boat will probably return to England, or be refitted for the Far East.' He nodded slowly, as if he had just felt the true conviction of his words. 'I will be of more use ashore.'

They watched him leave and Fairfax exclaimed, 'That's a turnup for the book, sir!'

He watched as Marriott put his signature at the foot of Meikle's formal request and wondered. Was it just a coincidence that Marriott had advanced Townsend's promotion? Or had he known in his heart that Evans was going to accept?

Marriott felt for his pipe. 'I'll miss the old bugger, all the same.'

Thuds echoed through the bulkhead and Fairfax said, 'I've got the hands hunting for leaks, sir. Not the hull this time but the deck. The mess was like a rain forest when we came through the Kattegat!'

There was a tap at the door and the gangway sentry called in, 'Visitor, sir.'

Marriott was still thinking about the coxswain.
Danger.
The word seemed to persist.

He made to leave. 'I'll see you later, Number One.'

But the sentry added, 'A visitor for
you,
sir.'

Marriott faced the door. It was nobody senior or the sentry would have alerted everybody in time to offer the welcome mat. Then who –

A slim and very tanned lieutenant stepped over the coaming, ducking his head as he did so. He glanced slowly around the wardroom and gave a gentle yawn.

Fairfax watched, fascinated, as Marriott strode across the worn carpet and threw his arms around the tall lieutenant.

'Beri-Beri! Of all people! Just what the
hell
are you doing here?'

Lieutenant John Kidd, known affectionately by his nickname because of the many injections and vaccinations he had endured, mostly it seemed without success, in his various outlandish appointments, smiled at the greeting.

'Got tired of Burma, thought I'd come and lend a hand, so to speak.'

'Have a drink?'

Beri-Beri tossed his cap into a corner. His hair was so bleached by the sun it looked like silver in the reflected glare from the scuttle.

'Thought you'd never ask.' He yawned again.

Marriott groped amongst the bottles. It was a tonic to see him. He had not changed much, still yawning. He had seen him fall asleep in a noisy mess or in the middle of a senior officer's speech. He knew he had been ill several times. Burma was the last place they should have sent him.

He asked over his shoulder, 'Have you got a command still? ML the last one, wasn't it?'

'No command.' He took the glass and held it to the light. 'I'm an explosives-wallah now.' He chuckled. 'They tell me.'

Fairfax knew he was sharing something special. He had seen the strain drop away from Marriott, the genuine pleasure these two men shared in finding each other.

Kidd was a strange one, he thought. He had already noted the DSC and bar, plus a decoration he did not recognise. Another veteran, and about Marriott's age, he decided.

Kidd looked at him suddenly, his pale lashes flicking open like a cat when it is suddenly awakened. There was no sleepiness there now. Blue eyes which seemed to look right through you.

He remarked, 'We go back a long way. Never thought we'd get this far.'

Again, Fairfax saw the exchange of glances. Each one remembering, accepting the truth of that last comment so casually uttered.

Marriott said, 'I know.' He looked at him directly. 'A lot of good blokes, eh?'

Beri-Beri held out his glass, one of the boxful which Ginger Jackson had 'come by' from somebody in the dockyard.

'When I get out of this regiment I'm going to find a place of my own. No sea, no more bloody ships, none of the bullshit either.'

Marriott asked quietly, 'What will you do?' Someone had once told him that people who had suffered like Beri-Beri rarely saw out a full span of life.

'Do?'
His face creased in a grin. 'I'm going to
fish,
and that's the closest I ever want to get to the water again!'

He tapped his head. 'You're sailing this afternoon, right?'

Marriott nodded. 'I'm taking a passenger round to Neustadt.'

Beri-Beri gave a lazy smile. 'S'right, chum.
Me.
I'm supposed to check with the army about some demolition there. Your Commander Meikle wanted to send me by road, but I pointed out the stability or otherwise of some of these explosives is somewhat in doubt. Especially on the knocked-about roads I've seen!'

Marriott nodded. 'Welcome aboard then!'

'I'll go and fetch my gear.' He looked at the shabby wardroom. 'Not much different from my old command.'

Marriott called after him, 'What happened to her?'

He considered it. 'Ran out of luck. You know how it is.'

They heard him clamber to the deck and pause to speak with Lowes who was O.O.D.

Marriott folded his papers and thought about Kidd. Like Cuff, he was one of the originals. The old gang at Felixstowe, and then down to the Med. In the navy you often lost touch with those who had seemed like brothers. You had to forget too. Especially those who would never come back.

To give himself time to recover from the unexpected and moving reunion he asked, 'What's the matter with Pilot?'

Fairfax had still been thinking and conjecturing on the meeting of these two. What had gone before. The warmth he had felt between them, that he could not share.

He replied, 'Oh, he's all right, sir.'

'You mean you're not going to tell me, is that it?'

Fairfax faced him warily. Even now he could not distinguish if Marriott was joking or in earnest.

'It's not that, sir –' He shrugged. 'He was upset about something when he came back from leave. He only took one day.'

Marriott heard the pipe,
Up Spirits!
Soon there would be the heady smell of rum. As much part of their routine as the answering cry to the pipe from some wag, 'And stand fast the Holy Ghost!' It never failed.

He remembered his own thoughts.
I should have stayed with the boat.

'I know we're not getting shot at every day, Number One, but we still have to depend on each other. Especially now that we're so short-handed.'