by Linda Harrel
'Why must you always assign blame? Tony didn't cause this storm!'
'And why must you always defend him? No, forget that I asked. I'm sick to death of the merry-go-round you and I are on. I couldn't care less about what you do or why you do it. I used to wonder, but it hardly seems important at a time like this.'
Tears of frustration sprang to Sarah's eyes. It had all turned out so badly. She hadn't wanted it to be like this between them.
He bent down to her, shouting against the wind's howl. 'She's a great ship, and she'll get us through this! You remember that. Now, go below. Stay in your cabin—we don't need you wandering about and getting a leg broken. And keep your life-preserver by the door, just in case. Do you remember your lifeboat station?'
She nodded, pulling back the veil of hair that had whipped across her face.
'Go on,' he said, pushing her towards the door. 'That's an order!'
She didn't delude herself that his concern for her safety sprang from any feeling for her. No, Guy Court would do as much for anyone. It was simply his duty. As she turned to yank the door shut after her, she took one last look at the waves that loomed like walls above them. Yes, she thought, it had come true. The Arctic Enterprise really was standing into danger.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dutifully, as if by acting sanely she could impose order on a situation that seemed to be rushing headlong out of control, Sarah had gone to her cabin. The steward was cheerful and solicitous, leaving words of reassurance along with a tray of sandwiches and hot chocolate, but she was unable to eat.
The dishes did a shuddering dance across the table, jangling her already raw nerves. The deep lunges of the ship, combined with the thrumming vibration of the giant screws made her head throb unbearably and her vision blur. She tottered to the washroom and swallowed the pills the medical officer had delivered. They took the edge off the pain and nausea, but did little to ease her concern.
She slept, but only briefly. A titanic wave jolted the Enterprise, tossing her almost off her bunk. She struggled upright, rubbing the shoulder that stung painfully from its collision with the bedside table. She switched on the wall light. Four a.m. It was still coal black outside her porthole. Sleep was out, and so was writing.
Cautiously, she padded barefoot to the washroom and splashed cold water on her face. Perhaps if she looked bright and confident, she might feel it, she reasoned. Defiantly she applied make-up and brushed her hair back into the shining, swinging perfection that was her trademark. In her best cable knit pullover and pants, she wended her way up to the bridge.
They were all there—still. There had been a change in the secondary crew, but Captain Price, Patrick, and Guy stood watch as before, exhaustion ringing their eyes. Guy saw her, showed momentary surprise, then turned his attention wordlessly back to his work. But just that single flashing glance was enough to make her giddy.
Patrick sat slumped over a pile of charts, cradling one of the many mugs of coffee that had brought him through the night. His smile was wan but welcoming, and Sarah joined him.
'Excuse me for saying this, Patrick,' she said, perching on the stool across from him, 'but you look dreadful. Didn't you get any rest?'
'No,' he laughed, rubbing his palms wearily over his face. 'But that comes with the territory, I'm afraid.'
'There's not much change in the weather, is there?' she noted, looking at the spray-lashed windows. Dawn was beginning to break, staining the horizon a malevolent blood red more suggestive of hell than a new day.
She rested her chin on one hand and sighed. 'I wish I could be braver, but frankly, I'm scared silly.'
Patrick grinned and patted her hand. 'Well, you don't look scared silly. In fact, I'll wager you've delighted every bleary pair of eyes on the bridge.'
Not every pair, thought Sarah, glancing at Guy's broad back. 'How's the steering holding up?' she asked, dragging her eyes off him.
Patrick shrugged. 'So far, so good. If we can just hang on another hour… two at the most, I think we'll be home free.'
The outside door slid open, admitting the screaming fury of the wind. A lookout, in oilskins stiff with frozen spray, lurched in, binoculars swinging from his neck. He headed straight for the Captain.
'We picked it up when the light started to break, sir,' she heard him say. 'We're getting wave damage to one of the valve covers near the bow.'
'Are you absolutely certain?'
'As much as we can be. One of the covers seems to be hanging askew, but I couldn't send a man out there for a closer look—it would be sure death, sir.'
'Yes… yes,' the Master agreed, rubbing his hand wearily over his brow. The crew exchanged appalled looks over this latest blow.
When the Master finally spoke, his voice was very quiet. 'This is a bad business, men. If that cover goes and the valve is exposed to these waves, I don't have to tell you what it could mean. And in our present circumstances, I don't see how we can effect repairs.'
'But those covers shouldn't go!' Guy said firmly; his fist slamming down on the rail. 'I designed them to withstand anything so that the valves would never go unprotected!'
Sarah watched, eyes wide, as he detached himself abruptly from the huddle of officers and strode over to the chart table. Was he responsible for this latest calamity? 'If you need me,' he said grimly to Patrick, 'I'll be in Tony's suite.'
Sarah leaned across the table and placed a hand urgently on Patrick's arm. 'What's all this about?' she demanded.
Patrick hesitated, as if assessing her. Then, 'On L.N.G. tankers, there's an awful lot of piping exposed on the deck. Crucial things, like the tank valves, are under protective shields. Apparently one of them is giving way under all the water that's crashing down on the decks. If it goes before the storm lets up, then it's conceivable that some of the L.N.G. might escape.' He broke off and his eyes were suddenly far away, as if imagining the unthinkable.
'We could break up, then,' said Sarah simply.
Patrick started, and brought his attention back to her. 'Oh, look, Sarah—that's the worst that could happen. It's a one-in-a-million possibility! The gale is peaking right now, and in an hour or so it'll be like a millpond out there.' He winked playfully at her as he stood to join the other men, but Sarah was not deceived. He was worried.
She slipped down off the stool and went to the sideboard, where she poured herself some coffee. She had missed two meals, and decided she should at least make a stab at keeping up her strength. She selected a warm biscuit from the fare the steward had provided and wandered to the windows.
Far ahead, the bows were now visible in the cold grey light. She could understand why there was no hope of a repair crew venturing out there. As the Enterprise punched through the swells, unable to ride on top of them the way a smaller ship would, walls of water were being driven relentlessly down the length of the deck. The tons of water that could buckle steel and wrench open welds would surely crush bones and flesh.
It was a chastening sight, and Sarah turned her back on it. Cupping her mug under her chin and inhaling the reassuring aroma, she leaned back against the rail and listened to the officers.
'We have to try,' one of them said. 'I just don't see that we have any choice.'
The Captain turned his eyes questioningly to his First Engineer. 'He has a point,' agreed Angus reluctantly, 'but I still say you'd be throwing lives away for nothing. None of my men could sort through that maze fast enough in that whirlwind. I say we gamble that it holds!'
'Who have you got who really knows that equipment?'
The men looked at each other. 'Guy,' said Angus. 'No question about it.'
'Where is he?' the Captain demanded, his keen dark eyes raking the room.
'With Mr Freeland, sir,' answered Patrick.
'What's he doing there—get him up here, man!' he snapped, for the first time displaying the effects of unrelenting pressure and hours without sleep.
Patrick went to the phone and dialled the stateroom, drumming his fingers im
patiently. 'Come on… come on…' he muttered under his breath. 'Why don't they answer!' he snapped at last, slamming down the receiver.
Sarah spoke up without hesitation. 'Let me go and get him. Then you won't have to take anyone away from his duty… please, Patrick, I feel so useless!'
'All right, Sarah—and tell him to hurry!'
A knock on the broad double door brought no reply. She pressed her ear to it, positive she had heard muffled voices. When a second, louder knock still brought no one, she opened the door and stuck her head in. The sitting room was empty, but beyond it, the door to Tony's bedroom stood open and the sound of raised, angry voices was clear.
Alarmed, Sarah let herself in, her footsteps silent on the thick broadloom.
'This is no coincidence—if you know something, Tony, you must tell me!' Guy's voice was tight with barely controlled anger.
'You're out of your mind,' Tony scoffed. 'I haven't the slightest idea what you're ranting about.'
'Those bolts that sheared off the steering mechanism, and now the valve cover: I'd stake my life that the steel in them is less than the tensile strength my design specs called for!'
'Nothing on this ship is substandard. Every single piece of equipment on it meets the minimum legal requirements!' Tony shot back. .
'For ordinary ships, maybe. But the Enterprise's not an ordinary tanker, and she doesn't sail through ordinary waters. There was a reason for every safety standard I set for her. Look out of the window, for God's sake! Can't you see with your own eyes why I didn't want her compromised in any way?'
Sarah stood rooted to her spot, unable to move forward and make her presence known, and equally unable to retreat. I can't be hearing this! she thought, her heart thudding painfully. Did Guy realise what he was accusing his cousin of?
'No one could fathom how we were able to get this contract. How we were able to bid so low for such high quality. What else did you have the builder cut costs on, Tony?' Guy's voice cut across the air like a whip.
For the first time, Tony icy control showed signs of slipping. 'I'm only going to say this once more, Guy. I ordered everything exactly as you engineers specified. I have no knowledge of any discrepancies!' His voice had risen and a thin note of desperation had crept into it. But at the same time there was something flatly honest about it.
'No…' said Guy slowly, 'you probably don't. You didn't want to dirty your hands, did you? There's nothing on paper, nothing that I'll be able to trace back to you and your bloody greed and ego. How did you do it, Tony? A glance… a sentence left unfinished… a "gentlemen's agreement" over brandy in your town house?'
'You'll never prove a thing,' Tony spat out. 'Everything I've done is perfectly legal. You've lost, Guy. Face it! When we get back to London, when the Enterprise is acclaimed the success it's going to be, you'll no longer be Uncle Julian's fair-haired boy! The company will be in the hands of one strong leader, the way it was years ago and ought to be now. I'm going to see to it that you won't even get a job on a tramp steamer after this!'
There was a crash and Sarah was galvanised into action. She lunged for the bedroom door and found them sprawled across the bed, Guy's hands gripping Tony's collar, Tony's knee knifed into the other's groin.
'Stop it—for heaven's sake, stop it!' she shrieked, pulling futilely at Guy's sweater. 'Do you want me to get the stewards?'
The two men stared at her, stunned by her sudden appearance. She seized advantage of their momentary distraction. 'Captain Price wants you on the bridge immediately, Guy. It's an emergency—hurry!'
He took a last, contempt-filled look at Tony, then shook him off like something foul. Raking his hair back off his brow, he strode from the room.
Tony watched him disappear, his eyes narrow with loathing, and dabbed at the blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. 'How long have you been standing there?' he demanded, his chest rising and falling from exertion.
'Long enough to hear some very ugly charges,' Sarah retorted, her jaw tight.
He tossed his stained handkerchief on the bed and took her slender shoulders in his hands. 'My poor Sarah,' he said. 'I'm so sorry you had to see that. Guy's become completely unhinged, making those wild accusations. His own design errors have put us into this mess, and the man's casting about for someone else to blame.'
'Really?' said Sarah coldly. 'It didn't sound that way to me.'
'Don't you see, darling? He was in way over his head when he designed the Enterprise. Now he can't bear to face up to his own incompetence.'
Sarah stood very still, staring at the man whom she had so recently defended. 'I'll make it all up to you, I promise,' said Tony, fawning over her. 'As soon as we're together in England, we'll put all this behind us and things will be perfect again.'
'I was part of it, wasn't I?' she said in wonder. 'Sympathetic press coverage was something you needed badly if your scheme was going to work. I was the mindless little twit who would be so overwhelmed by all this wealth and dazzle that I'd write the most glowing story… why, it would be positively worshipful! And just to make sure I'd help set you up as some kind of hero, you decided to dangle all sorts of rewards in front of me. The poor, provincial girl who would be beside herself with joy at being noticed by the glamorous Anthony Freeland!'
She saw the shift in his eyes and knew she had hit the mark. 'Sarah, that's absurd. You're becoming hysterical!' He reached out to touch her cheek, but she slapped his hand away.
'Oh, no, Tony… quite the opposite. For the first time in days I'm seeing our situation very clearly. But the thing is, Tony, that it wouldn't have worked. Even if I had fallen in love with you—which I didn't, by the way—I would never have written the story you wanted me to. Because whatever else I may be, I'm honest. Your mistake was in thinking I was more woman than journalist. Unfortunately for you, the two aren't mutually exclusive.'
A sullen anger began to play about his mouth. 'Guy's got to you, I see,' he said stiffly.
'Guy… that's why he was so hostile to me, isn't it?' she said, understanding suddenly lifting her voice. 'He saw through your plan from the start and thought I was your accomplice, either through design or ignorance. Either way, he couldn't help but feel contempt for me.'
The mask of affection and concern fell completely from Tony's face. 'You can think what you will,' he jeered. 'But can you write such drivel? It's sheer supposition. And a very unattractive picture of you, I might add: an ambitious reporter, struck silly by a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, throws herself at a wealthy man. When she's put in her place, she writes a false and malicious story in revenge.'
'That's not true!' she seethed.
'Isn't it? It's your word against mine, my dear, and I doubt very seriously whether anyone would believe you. Think about it for a moment, Sarah. You haven't got a single fact to back up any of your ravings. There's a word for that, Sarah— slander.' He jabbed a finger warningly in her face. 'If you print a word about these theories of Guy's—or these fantasies of yours about me trying to seduce you—my lawyers will break both you and your newspaper.'
They faced each other, anger snapping like an electric current between them. The harsh jangle of an alarm cracked the silence. 'Now what!' barked Tony, his eyes darting about the room in panic.
'It's the lifeboat call,' said Sarah, her voice a strangled whisper.
He burst past her, almost knocking her off her feet. He jerked open a closet door, pulled out a coat and lifejacket, and fled without a glance at her.
'Well,' she said, following after him, 'so much for the beautiful manners of the well-bred Mr Freeland!'
Stiff and awkward in their life jackets, Katie, Emily and Sarah huddled in the shelter of a stairway, beneath a fringe of dagger-sharp icicles. The officer in charge of their group had done his best to reassure them that the alarm was only a precaution, but they all sensed that the crisis had reached a critical point.
Katie's eyes were bright with unshed tears, her voice wistful. 'I haven't had a chance to say goodby
e to Patrick, you know, Emily,' she said almost apologetically. 'I haven't seen him alone once since the storm hit.'
'Katie,' said Sarah brightly, 'this isn't the end for us—no one has given up! This is just some silly rule. Guy told me so!'
Astonishingly, Emily's voice held no fear. 'I don't see any point in fooling ourselves, Sarah. A person has a responsibility to face something like this squarely. I only wish I could have had one moment with my husband. But I won't, you know… he'll do his duty to the last second. That's just the way he's made.'
'Maybe we can't always say our final goodbyes, my dear,' said Emily. 'But I believe with all my heart that where there's love between a man and a woman, it's not really necessary. Patrick knows your heart and thoughts are with him now, just as John knows mine are with him. The words don't have to be spoken aloud.'
Katie looked gratefully at Emily, one small tear sliding unheeded down her cheek. How lucky these women were, thought Sarah. Even now, faced with the possibility of their deaths, they found a transcending strength in the bonds of love they shared with their husbands.
She and Guy had spoken no words either. At least, none of the right ones. For too long her stubborn pride had kept her from admitting the truth. It was Guy who had commanded her respect and admiration; Guy to whom she had been instinctively drawn. And it was Guy whom she loved.
I love him, she thought, astonished. Yes… I love him, I love him. She said it over and over to herself, at once intrigued and enchanted by the Tightness and simple beauty of it.
The door slid open and a group of men, bulky in oilskins and lifejackets, crowded the deck. Sarah's heart rose squarely to her throat as she picked out his profile.
'Patrick,' said Captain Price, 'you and your men do everything within your power to help Guy.' Then, turning to Guy and laying a hand on his shoulder, he said simply, 'Good luck, son.'
'I can't believe it,' breathed Katie. 'He's actually going out there to try to make that repair!'
