Winter Song (24 page)

‘The
Torsa
line. That's very easy—they're right in front of you.'

‘Thank you.'

She crossed the pavement, then stood looking up at the huge building. The windows, caught by the morning sun, shone like thousands of eyes.

‘Why, I remember these steps,' she said, and began to mount them, but stopped again as she reached the top. ‘And those doors too. They always frightened me, the way they used to swing round and round. But I must go in.'

Again she found herself hesitating, the same sudden uncertainty, as though there had risen in her some cold wave of disbelief, the hundreds of journeys here had suddenly lighted themselves in her brain. The city was in her brain, whirling round and round. This hesitating held up traffic at the great glass doors, and held up the movements of men, who, without doubt, and judging by the air with which they carried themselves, were on important business.

‘Do you wish to go in or out, madam?'

She saw an arm waving, a swinging umbrella, a red face looking at her.

‘In,' she said.

‘Then, will you please go in, madam, I'm wanting to do the same thing myself.' He elbowed her through the door, then hurried away to a lift, leaving her standing in the long marble corridor. She knew this place—she knew every bit of it, but now she stood, looking bewildered until a lift attendant came up and asked whom she wished to see.

‘The Marine Superintendent of the
Torsa
line.'

‘This way,' he said.

She stepped into the lift as into a dream. The lift shot up. It stopped at the third floor. ‘Room six hundred and thirty-four,' the lift man said.

‘Thank you.'

The lift shot down.

She walked down a corridor that seemed to be endless, muttering, ‘six hundred and thirty-four'.

Then she saw it. She read on the frosted window ‘Marine Superintendent'. She knocked. There was no answer. She opened the door and went in; she found herself in an outer office, standing before a small window on which she read ‘Enquiries'. There was a bell. She did not at once ring this, but sat on a chair to rest. She wanted to get her breath, she wanted to regain that feeling of confidence, she wanted to experience again that lift of the heart as when she talked to the woman with the pretty child. After a while, she pressed the bell. A girl of about fifteen came in answer to the ring.

‘Good-morning.'

‘Good-morning, I wish to see the Marine Superintendent,' she said.

‘Yes, have you an appointment?'

‘No, I have no appointment. I came about my husband who has served in the
Torsa
line since …' she paused—she wanted to be able to give them the exact date, ‘since … this fifty-one years,' she burst out.

‘I see … but you can't see him without an appointment,' said the girl. Somewhere a telephone bell went on ringing, and the girl had a sudden worried expression on her face, as though she were terribly anxious to run off and answer it. Mrs Fury leaned towards the window, ‘Even though I haven't an appointment I feel sure he'll see me if you tell him who I am. I've often come here—is it Mr Lake?'

‘That's right,' the girl replied.

‘Well, if you'll tell Mr Lake a Mrs Fury wishes to see him. Many a time I called here to see him in the old days.'

‘I don't think he will just the same—he has to see so many people.'

The woman drew herself up. ‘Would you be kind enough, please, to ask him. I'm sorry I haven't an appointment. I never had to have them before …'

‘You have to have them now.'

‘I shan't keep him longer than ten minutes.'

After some further hesitancy, the girl said, ‘Oh, all right, I'll see,' and vanished from the window.

‘The fuss,' thought the woman, ‘the fuss there is these days. I must see him. He knew Denny in the old days. He'll be able to give me all the information I want.'

A side door had opened.

‘You can come this way, please. Mr Lake can spare you five minutes—he's got an appointment over coffee at eleven o'clock.'

Mrs Fury got up, she brushed down her coat, settled her hat, walked slowly after the girl. Ushered into the office so suddenly, she had once more that feeling of being lost, of being out of place, in the way.

‘Good-morning, sir—you are Mr Lake?'

The figure behind the desk looked up. ‘I am Mr Lake.'

‘I knew you were, sir, soon as I saw you. I remember you very well.'

He said brusquely, ‘But I don't remember you,' he lay back in the swivel chair, he looked at his watch. ‘Yes?'

Mrs Fury was standing just inside the door. He did not say, ‘Come in,' or indeed, ‘Go out,' but left her standing there—she certainly seemed miles away from where he sat.

‘Yes?' he said again.

‘You may not remember me, sir, but I do you, many a time I've called here to see you on business about my husband—Dennis Fury the name is—he has been with the company, sailed on many of their boats—I'm sure you'd remember, sir.'

‘A good many people sail on our boats, Mrs … what did you say the name was?'

‘Fury.'

‘Oh yes, yes, of course.'

‘I recognized you at once, sir, though you've gone quite grey.'

Mr Lake looked down at his boots. He was quite indifferent about such a small matter. ‘What is your business?'

They faced each other across the room; he said suddenly, ‘Yes, what is it?' and said to himself, ‘Just another woman'

She saw Mr Lake glance at his watch again. ‘He's in a hurry,' she thought. ‘My husband's last boat was the
Ronsa
, as you know, she was torpedoed in the Pacific Ocean, and only a few men were saved. My husband was reported lost, and then the other day he came back to me. It was the mercy of God. He had been picked up out of the sea, him and a little boy, but the boy was dead. They were taken to another ship and that was torpedoed too, and then another boat took them in, and that boat took them to Bahia. My husband was in hospital there a long, long time—he had no memory at all then. Then he was sent to New York with two other sailors, and these three men came all the way back to Gelton. My husband was very, very ill, but he's getting better now …'

‘I'm glad to hear that—what do you want me to do?'

‘Well, sir, I haven't come about compensation or anything like that, he lost all his clothes, but I know about the twenty pounds—that comes from the Government, all sailors get twenty pounds when they lose their bags.…'

‘The
Ronsa
was a Government chartered ship,' Mr Lake reminded her, ‘any claims you wish to make would, of course, have to go through Government channels …'

‘But I don't think you quite understand, sir,' Mrs Fury saw at once that the Marine Superintendent was restless—he looked at his watch more often—she realized that she should have had an appointment—and she realized, too, with a sudden horror, that this matter must be settled to-day. She did not think that she could ever come here again—the whole thing came out in a flood, it held Mr Lake up, who was anxious to be off to his coffee.

‘No, sir, what I came about was a pension for my husband.'

‘What's that?'

‘Well, sir, my husband served all his life in your line—I know you pension captains, so we thought …'

‘I'm terribly sorry, Mrs—er …, but I'm sure you've made a mistake here. The
Torsa
line does not give pensions to seamen. It's never been heard of. No shipping line, I may add, gives pensions. We do give employment to thousands of men, thousands of men—and we like men to stay by us, but we never give pensions.'

‘After all his life working for you?'

He saw she had gone dead white.

He sat there, silent, drumming fingers on the desk.

‘No, I'm sorry—a terrible mistake has been made,' he said.

‘I'm afraid a terrible mistake
was
made, sir,' she replied, with bitter dignity.

‘We're going away soon, back to where we came from. I just came down about that.' There was nothing more she could say, except, ‘I always thought they did,' half rising from the chair.

‘But they don't and never did, Mrs Fury. I'm sorry you've had this journey for nothing.' Suddenly his face lighted up. ‘One moment,' he said, ‘just one moment.' He went to a steel filing cabinet, he fished about in the bottom drawer, he took out some papers and stood perusing them, his back to the woman.

‘I think,' he said, turning to face her, ‘I think I can help you. It's a private matter, it has nothing to do with this Company. I'll write you a note. Take this note to the address I give you. I think something will happen for you.'

He sat down, scribbled a note. He sealed it in an envelope, came forward.

‘Take this note to that address,' she was only conscious of the hairy finger, tapping on the white envelope, ‘and you may hear of something to your advantage.'

She got up. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘I'm sorry to have bothered you about a broken man.'

He followed her to the door, opened it and, as she went out, he pressed money into her hand. ‘I believe I do remember that old warrior. Tell him to have a drink on me,' but she let the note fall to the floor, did not look at him and went quickly out.

In the corridor she took out a handkerchief, dabbing it to her mouth. ‘The way I feel,' she said, ‘the way I feel now.'

‘I could tell that gentleman anywhere, if I saw him in a street in a crowd—yes, he didn't know me, and I used to see him so often in the old days. He
has
changed, gone quite grey, and very stout. I remember when he first went to that office—why, he used to be an outside man for the
Torsa
line, used to be always on the docks.'

She mused as she went down the corridor—she felt bitterly disappointed, but was not resentful. ‘I suppose he's only doing his job—strange you never see the ones at the very top of that building—never. It must be like a church somehow, you never catch sight of them.' She came to the lift, it was engaged, but she did not immediately ring the bell. ‘I think that pound he shoved into my hand was well meant, but why should I touch his pound?'

For the first time she was looking at the envelope, reading the name, the address: Miss E. Biddulph, Room 309, Britannic Buildings.

‘Now where's Britannic Buildings?' she found herself mumbling. ‘I'll ask the lift man, he's bound to know. Well, that's one thing settled anyhow, and the
Torsa
line are out of it. Now I must see the Regional Officer of the Ministry of Transport.'

The lift came up, the gate slammed back. The liftman recognized her, his smile was formal, robot-like:—‘Ground floor?'

‘Please,' and she entered the lift.

‘Found your man?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘Everything all right, Ma'am?'

But she wasn't interested in his confidences. ‘Can you tell me where that place is?' She showed him the envelope.

‘Oh,
that
place,' he said, he waved an arm, ‘right across the road—opposite this building.'

She did not answer him—she put the note in her purse. The lift shot down. ‘I believe the Regional Officer of the Ministry of Transport is on this floor.'

‘First right,' the liftman said, he had already forgotten her—two men and a girl were already hurrying towards him. They were laughing, gay, the girl wore a violent green dress, a flowery hat.

‘Fifth floor.' The lift shot up.

‘Regional Officer, Ministry of Transport.'

She paused outside the door. ‘When I've seen this man, I'll go and get myself a cup of tea. I do hope they're not worrying about me—I hope that man is all right.'

‘Yes?'

Without realizing it, she found herself standing inside the room. A young man and woman were flirting with each other. They leaned towards each other across the big desk, they had not heard the door open, nor did they see the woman. But Mrs Fury suddenly rapped on the counter. The young man blushed, the young woman disappeared behind a glass partition.

‘Yes?'

Something about the young man fascinated her, he leaned forward, he was smiling, she always remembered his smile—she saw his teeth, his clear eyes, his hands pressed on the desk. It made her think of her youngest son—the seaside.

‘Excuse me. I wish to see the Regional Officer?'

The smile went. He said in an off-hand way, ‘What is your business, madam?'

‘It's about my husband. He was torpedoed …'

‘You want form L.B.X.,' he called ‘Miss Ronson! One L.B.X. please.'

He took the form from her and turned to the woman. ‘It's compensation for the loss of personal effects?'

‘That's right.'

‘Well, take this home, fill in the form and return to us.'

Watching her, he noticed something—he saw her become suddenly lifeless, leaning heavily against the desk.

‘I can't come again, really, it's been a long journey and my husband is very ill. I must go back. Could I fill in the form here?'

‘Of course, I'll get you a chair,' his sudden burst of consideration touched her. ‘Thank you very much.'

‘If you like,' he said, leaning over her, ‘I'll fill in the form for you.'

‘That's very good of you,' she said.

He spread out the form, took out his fountain pen.

Looking up at him she gave him a smile, ‘You're not the Regional Officer?'

‘Good Lord, no—I wish I was. Right.'

Name, address, age, rating, name of ship, name of Company, where sunk, date, value of belongings—he rolled it off his tongue like water, and the pen flew.

‘You know the maximum sum?'

‘I do.'

‘Good! Sign here. Wait—your husband should sign this by right—never mind;' he was looking at the grey head, ‘Here, just sign there. You have personal documents, his discharge book.'