by Linda Harrel
Having safely disengaged his charge from the dock, the pilot ordered a course. 'Full speed ahead,' he ended.
'Aye, aye.'
The bubble of tension that had enclosed all of them broke. There would be no beaching of the ship on a hidden sandbar, no scraping of the fresh, unblemished paint. The burden of authority shifted once more.
'Nicely done, Mr Danner!' said Captain Price, pouring coffee for both of them.
'She's a responsive vessel, Captain. I hadn't thought she would be.'
'She was designed by the greatest naval architect in the world,' said Tony, coming forward to join them. 'I for one am not surprised that she handles beautifully.'
Mr Danner's shoulders lifted in an expressive shrug. 'Still, I don't know that I would like to be in your shoes,' he said, shaking his head. 'Moving through a well-charted port is one thing—but snaking your way through ice fields with a cargo like yours will be quite a challenge for you I think, Captain!'
'It will indeed,' conceded the Master cheerfully. The prospect didn't appear to daunt him in the slightest.
The harbour traffic thinned and the sea opened out before them. The captain ordered 'dead slow'. Gravely, he and the pilot shook hands, bringing down the curtain on their ticklish relationship. While the ship's horn sounded a goodbye, the Jacob's ladder was lowered over the starboard side. Saluting jauntily, Mr Danner vanished over the side and into a waiting launch.
Their last link with land was gone. They were isolated now in their own floating community. With signal flags and house colours rippling from the bridge halyard, and the sky and sea as blue and beautiful as anyone could have wished, the bow was pointed towards the English Channel. Behind them, the coast was receding quickly into a thin, smoky line.
'We're on our way!' cried Patrick, charged with the sheer joy of setting off on an old-fashioned adventure.
Yes! thought Sarah, it's wonderful. She felt a little shiver of pleasure pass over her thin arms and hugged herself.
It was a single room, not the luxurious suite of the owner. But it conveyed the same sense of snug comfort. Sarah sank gratefully into the armchair and kicked off her shoes. 'Delicious!' she sighed, relishing the sudden hush and privacy after the bustle of the last few hours.
She glanced about her at the built-in bed, the crisp white sheets, the teak desk set thoughtfully beneath a porthole with a perfect view of the sea. Someone—she had yet to see who—had set her typewriter up on the desk, a pristine stack of paper and long, freshly sharpened pencils beside it. On the coffee table sat a jug of ice water, two sparkling glasses, and a dish of plump purple grapes. A reading light by her pillow glowed invitingly.
It was a perfect hideaway in which to order her thoughts and set down her impressions while they were still fresh. During her tour of the ship, which took several hours to complete, she had dutifully jotted down an avalanche of figures enthusiastically reeled off to her by Tony and the crew.
But the Enterprise's statistics, impressive though they were, were not what intrigued her. It was the spirit of the people who lived and worked on her. To a man, from the highest officer to engine room cadet, they had a pioneering sense of dedication and pride. And she did not think that it was just a dutiful response to being questioned in front of the owner. No, Tony was someone who awed them, she could tell. But they didn't seem particularly bound to him personally.
She had been nothing short of staggered by the fittings of the Enterprise. She had all the amenities of a small city, with individual cabins for the crew, game rooms, a library, movie theatre and hospital.
The officers had their own restricted section that reminded Sarah of a smart private club. The wardroom boasted a polished mahogany bar, studded leather sofas, lush carpeting and curtains.
In the depths of the steel-banded hull, specially reinforced to withstand the stresses of the icefields through which they would soon labour, Sarah saw engine-rooms and pump-rooms that looked more like space ship control centres than the sweaty boiler-rooms of the past.
The tour had ended on an odd note.
'I've worn you out,' Tony had said when they were finished and leaning lazily against the polished wood rail that swept around the flying bridge.
Sarah tilted her chin to the sun and shook her hair in the breeze. 'My feet, yes,' she admitted. 'But this air is exhilarating—so clear and brilliant! You're incredibly lucky, Tony, to have rooms waiting for you on each of your ships. If I were you, I'm afraid I'd spend all my time sailing to exotic places.'
Her head was just level with his shoulder. Tony smiled down at her and shrugged. 'I hate to disillusion you, but the novelty tends to pale after a while. I'm the sort who likes less confined comforts, and a nice fast jet.'
'It's a waste,' Sarah pronounced. 'All those Freeland liners crisscrossing the globe with those huge—and empty—owner's suites.'
'I'd never thought of it like that,' he said. 'But you're right. I detest waste of any sort. So— they're yours. Any time you want.'
'Just like that?'
'Just like that. All you have to do is pick up a telephone and I'll arrange it… Japan, India, South Africa, any place in the world you want to go.'
Sarah pulled her sweater over her head and shook her red-brown hair back into place. Tony Freeland had not laughed when he said that to her. He had meant it. She stripped off the rest of her clothes and considered what sort of a man he was.
So far he had given her virtually nothing to complain about. He was open, helpful, almost eager, really, to make her job easy. And he was delightful company. Even her father, she thought wryly, would find him thoroughly acceptable company for his only daughter.
But this offer of a suite on his ships—surely that was unnecessarily extravagant. Still, she reasoned, Tony was probably accustomed to dictating his own terms in everything he did. Grand gestures could be made with careless ease by a man like him.
She stepped into the shower and let the hot water run in rivers down her tired body. One thing seemed certain: she was not going to have to dig and pry and cajole for every scrap of information. No one was going to be able to hint that her story was just a whitewash of this part of the L.N.G. project. Her respect for the Enterprise's owner was beginning to grow.
She rubbed herself briskly with a thick towel, urging life back into her still throbbing legs. Fortunately, Freeland's home office had efficiently conveyed to Trish that the tradition of dressing for dinner was alive and well aboard their ships. Trish's typed clothing list had noted the need for what they called an 'afternoon dress' Typically, Trish had added, in her own hand, a string of enthusiastic and approving exclamation marks.
Sarah had packed two—enough was enough, she thought—and besides, she planned to take as many meals as possible alone in her cabin, pounding on her typewriter. Planned, that was, before she met Tony? a small voice inside her asked.
She gave a final tightening to the belt of the scarlet wool shirtwaister that flamed against the pale skin. Just right, she decided, twirling before the full-length mirror: soft and covered, but with a touch of dressiness in the colour and sling-back heels. She snapped tiny gold clips on her ears, grabbed her clutch bag, and headed for the officers' wardroom.
'I just love it. I mean, all the men looking so distinguished, and the talk of a storm that's brewing or a ship we passed on the last watch. And it means Patrick and I can have such a nice quiet time together—as if we were in our own living room!'
Her name was Katie McQuade. She looked not a day over nineteen and she was as pretty as a picture, with cornflower eyes under a froth of copper curls.
'This has always been my favourite time of the day too, Katie. Of course, I was a much older woman than you when I finally went to sea. John and I had raised our children by then.'
'I expect when Patrick and I start our family I'll have to give up these trips, too. In fact, this will probably be the only voyage I'll make on the Enterprise. Patrick says it may be rough once we get up to the Arctic Circle. Have
you ever been across it, Emily?'
'Not once, my dear. This is an adventure I wouldn't miss for the world!'
Emily Price was a little brown wren of a woman, and just as friendly and charming. Her appealingly plump figure was almost swallowed up by the armchair in which she sat.
She turned and smiled at Sarah who sat next to her. 'John and I take most of our meals in our rooms, Sarah,' she said, 'but we always dine with the officers on the first night out.'
'And they appreciate it, Emily, they really do!' chirped Katie. 'It always seems so special—just like a party—when you and the Master eat with us. Patrick served under Captain Price on his last command, too,' she explained to Sarah, 'although that was on the Middle East run.'
'Captain Price sounds as if he's very much loved by his men,' Sarah observed, sipping her gin and tonic.
'Oh gosh, yes,' agreed Katie. 'I swear they'd walk the plank for him. Patrick always says if he develops into half the Master Captain Price is he'll be satisfied.'
Emily Price laughed delightedly, her pink cheeks dimpling. Sarah was utterly charmed by the Enterprise's two other passengers. They were a generation apart, but they shared a common bond, a deep and obvious devotion to the two men who commanded the great ship.
Katie was touchingly young, glowing with the same idealism that illuminated the pleasant features of her husband. Emily possessed a natural wisdom and endearing warmth. Together, the women provided a circle of cheer and kindness that was relished in an otherwise hard and demanding man's world. Somehow, thought Sarah, she must find a way of weaving their feminine strand into the fabric of her story.
Just as the dinner chimes were trilling, the men appeared, brimming with high spirits. Captain Price himself extended his arm to Sarah and escorted her into the dining room.
'I've been hearing nothing but praise for you today, Captain,' she said.
'A loyal crew,' he quipped. 'I've trained them well!'
'You're too modest,' she teased. 'I didn't detect a hint of coercion. They seemed to speak from their hearts.'
The Master pulled back a chair for her. 'The hearts I leave entirely to my wife, Miss Grey,' he said, and Emily beamed shyly at him.
He took his place at the head of a long table set with a damask cloth and fine china. Tony sat at the foot with Katie and Sarah at either side. Shop talk was goodnaturedly banned, but the conversation returned to the voyage time and time again anyway. Toasts were raised repeatedly to its success.
Katie had joked to Sarah that Tony terrified her at their first meeting, with his urbane, almost haughty manners. But now, as he turned his considerable charm on to the women, and Katie's tinkling laughter rose above the hum of conversation, it was evident that she was captivated by him.
Sarah felt the spell, too. It was difficult not to believe they were caught up in a fairy-tale world. Even the food, from the fine consommé and grilled sole to the rich pastries for dessert, contributed to the feeling of privilege and fantasy.
Coffee was being poured and a silver platter of cheese and fruit passed when a cadet appeared and apologetically approached the Master.
'A radio communication from London, sir,' he said, standing stiffly at his side. 'It's from head office, for your attention only.'
Tony elevated a dark brow and shot a quizzical glance the length of the table. Conversation was politely muted as Captain Price accepted the sheet of paper, read, and nodded his dismissal of the messenger. His face was expressionless, betraying no hint of what he was thinking.
'Patrick,' he said, 'perhaps you would be good enough to read this aloud for the benefit of the officers… and Mr Freeland, of course. It will affect all of us in the days to come.'
Patrick took the paper, cleared his throat selfconsciously, and read. 'To the Master, Arctic Enterprise. Prepare to accept the arrival by company helicopter, out of Southampton Harbour, of Captain Guy Court, for the purpose of carrying out safety inspection procedures. Please radio harbour authorities when you are passing within range. Signed, Julian Freeland.'
Patrick pursed his lips as if to let out a long, silent whistle, then laid the paper neatly before him and looked quickly left and right. After a stunned silence, a reaction grew and rippled around the table. The men shook their heads and exchanged quiet, alarmed comments. Only the Master seemed unruffled and calmly sliced a wedge of cheese for his biscuit.
Tony's response, however, was immediate and a good deal less restrained. Crumpling his napkin roughly and scraping his chair back, he was visibly disbelieving and angry.
'This is damn poor judgement on someone's part, Captain!' he snapped, pulling the gold lighter out of his breast pocket with an irritable gesture. 'You and the men don't need any more problems right now—were you aware that this kind of nonsense was going to happen?'
'I was not, Mr Freeland,' the Master replied easily, sipping his coffee. 'It's as much a surprise to me as it is, I take it, to you.'
'My uncle said nothing to me,' Tony retorted, his lips thin with anger. 'Perhaps he himself didn't know until now. This sort of shabby tactics is more Guy's style than his.'
'You may have something there, although I don't think I would have characterised it in quite those terms.'
'Whatever,' said Tony dismissively. 'But since I estimate we must be just about below Southampton now, may I suggest that you do something quickly to put a stop to this?'
The Captain folded his hands before him and looked steadily at Tony. 'I'm sure I don't need to point out to you, Mr Freeland, that your uncle himself established the office of Safety Master as an independent authority within the company. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't prevent Captain Court's arrival.'
Tony shook his head vehemently. 'But it's insanity on a maiden voyage of this complexity!'
'Perhaps,' said Captain Price, shrugging, 'this is the very time when we should be welcoming Captain Court.'
Their Master's comments seemed to inspire debate among the officers, and whispered arguments broke out around the table.
Captain Price's tone became more conciliatory. 'I'll grant you,' he said, raising his hand for silence, 'that I hadn't been expecting Guy to appear until our second trip. But perhaps there's some method in his madness.'
He smiled, but it was not returned. The atmosphere in the room had altered irretrievably. The men sat silent and ill at ease. Emily tactfully busied herself with refilling coffee cups from the silver service in front of her. Katie was wide-eyed.
Sarah was fascinated by the dramatic change that had been wrought by one brief radio message. She stared at her companions with undisguised curiosity. Who was it who could so easily snarl the smoothly purring operation of the Enterprise and provoke such intense disagreement among its previously harmonious crew? The others obviously shared Tony's shock and disapproval.
She took a deep breath and plunged bravely into the awkward silence around her. 'Would I be out of line,' she began, 'if I asked just who this person is who's coming aboard?'
It was Patrick who found his tongue first. 'Guy Court,' he explained, 'is Freeland's Executive Director for Marine Safety. He visits all our ships, from time to time, to run drills, give seminars on the latest developments. Other companies use him as well as a consultant and trouble-shooter. He's a naval architect and engineer by training—in fact, he designed the Enterprise. He usually schedules his inspections in advance, but he also… drops in, as I guess you've gathered.'
'But I still don't understand,' Sarah persisted. 'If his presence will be so disruptive, why doesn't someone from Freeland's management forbid it just this one time?'
'Captain Court has complete freedom of movement on all our ships—he doesn't really report to anyone. It was felt that in this way he could maintain complete objectivity and the highest standards. And anyway, Captain Court is…' He looked up, distressed, and his voice petered out.
'What Mr McQuade is trying so tactfully to say,' cut in Tony, 'is that Guy is Freeland management, although his name is different from mine. He'
s my cousin. His mother, Diana, is Uncle Julian's youngest sister. Aunt Diana never took an active role in the company, the way Julian and Charles, my late father, did. Guy assumed her position, just as I did my father's.'
'Oh,' said Sarah quietly, 'I see… I see.'
Darkness had blanketed the sea. Only the running lights, twinkling in the distance, indicated the point where the bow sliced steadily through the water. The bridge was lit by the pale red of the night lights. Sarah leaned back against the chart table and watched as the navigation officer studied the quivering blips that moved ceaselessly across the radar screen.
Suddenly he turned to the Master. 'Radar shows aircraft approaching from the north, sir,' he said.
'Very well. Dead slow, helmsman,' Captain Price ordered. And to the duty officer: 'Floodlights on the landing pad, please, and prepare to assist the pilot.'
Sarah straightened and walked to the windows. In the distance, a pinpoint of green light blinked. If she hurried, she could make it to the deck that hung over the circular pad. Pulling her raincoat about her, she slipped out on to the open bridge and quickly scampered down the steps.
On the lower deck, she stopped and went to the rail. In the intense white glare of the lights the helicopter grew large, its lights flashing and jet engines screaming. For a brief moment it hovered above the giant bulls-eye, then dropped with amazing gentleness and precision to the deck.
Sarah clung to the rail as a blast of air from the throbbing rotors pushed her back, whipping her hair wildly about her face. With the jets still whining, the side door slid open. A figure jumped out and, bent low to avoid the slicing of the blades, ran quickly off the pad. He clutched a briefcase under one arm and was followed by a scurrying crewman carrying a suitcase and duffle bag.
As soon as the two were safely clear, the motors rose again to a deafening wail. The helicopter climbed steeply, swung sharply away from the Enterprise, and was rapidly swallowed by the night.
