Forget it. It was fantasy and guesswork building on – on what? On jealousy?
Annabel’s voice like honey in his skull: Why d’you call me ‘Sarah’ all night long?
Such nonsense, all of this. The mind played tricks – if one allowed it to… He got up, walked to the scuttle, stared out over the harbour and the stone breakwater to the sea’s grey-green swell. He made himself think about his father… Out of the fighting now, in a safe job. But still a command, of sorts; and to do with horses, so he’d consider it honourable enough… Might he have wangled it – or been shunted into it, out of the way? What it boiled down to was he’d survive, he’d return eventually to Mullbergh and to Sarah.
Gladwish raised his glass. ‘Your ’ealth, Number One!’
He nodded. ‘And yours, Mr Gladwish.’
‘Good news from ’ome, I trust?’
‘Oh – yes…’
* * *
He walked eastward along Marine Parade. It was cuttingly cold still, but there was hardly any wind. This morning the flag on the castle had fluttered strongly: now it drooped, hardly stirring, and the clouds were high and static. So Mackerel should be on her way soon, as intended; the thing was, would he go with her?
She’d have only a skeleton crew for the tow round. A third of the ship’s company had gone off on home-leave this morning; and more would be left in hospital beds… He saw motor-cars drawn up outside the Admiral’s headquarters, and officers were hurrying in and out of the main door in the centre, where a sentry was constantly springing to attention and then standing at ease again. It was between the three adjoining buildings that the to-ing and fro-ing was taking place; the first house contained offices, the middle one – called Fleet House – was the Admiral’s official residence, and the third held the secretariat. Including, apparently, this man Reaper, to whom Nick had been summoned. Room 14… But he had time in hand; he walked on past, on the sea side of the road, looking the place over. Sandbags round the doors and windows stopped one seeing much. He wondered which great man would be in there at the moment – the usurper, or the evacuee?
He thought again, Poor old Bacon… ‘Fred Karno’ was his nickname amongst the destroyer men, on account of the ragbag collection of ships, establishments, aircraft and so on that comprised the Patrol. ‘Fred Karno’s Navy’… With, behind the scenes, such backroom wizards as the redoubtable Lillicrap; and Wing-Commander Brock, of the famous firework family, who was in charge of flares – the flares that lit the minefield at the Varne, for instance. Brock had a lot to do with Bacon’s smoke-laying experiments, too; and a column of smoke rising now from the end of the naval pier showed that experiments were still going on. Testing the new burners that Bacon was so keen on, probably. The difficulty with the existing type, which were used in MLs, motor-launches – it was from Wally Bell that Nick had heard all this – was that at night the flames from the burning white phosphorous showed up through the smoke. They were trying out various kinds of baffle in metal funnels, trying to find a way of baffling flame without baffling smoke as well; and Bacon’s inventiveness had devised a way of water-cooling the troughs in which the burners rested, thus thickening the smoke with steam. Cooling was desirable in any case; at a bombardment of the enemy coast during the summer the great man had had smoke-burners placed in rowing boats that were towed by the MLs, and two men in each rowing boat to ignite the burners and keep them burning properly, but the machines had become red-hot, and their attendants had had to swim for it as an alternative to roasting. Now there was a new plan, to hang burners from kites, to blind enemy spotter-aircraft… One wondered whether Admiral Keyes might yet appreciate the full scope of his inheritance!
But it was time to turn back, face his own problems.
He doubted whether Wyatt’s new report on him would make much odds. At the time of the pub riot he’d stood aside and washed his hands like Pontius Pilate; and it was that incident, in its own context and circumstances, that was to be considered now. The fact that one had carried out one’s duties at sea in a satisfactory way needn’t come into this at all – any more than the fortuitous success at Jutland had lessened official rancour over that other, comparatively trifling misdemeanour. This one was not trifling. For an officer to become involved in a public brawl, and with members of his own ship’s company – and at that, fighting (as they’d see it) over a woman who—
Who what?
In retrospect, he didn’t know what to make of Annabel. There were certain possible conclusions from which he ran away when he thought about her. He liked to see her in his mind as she’d seemed to him in the early part of the evening, at first sight: and in any case she’d been kind, sweet to him. He liked her.
Then there was another image of her in his memory: she leant over him, soothing his injured head, sponging it; she was naked and so was he, and her breasts swung, nipples brushing his chest. There was this enormously appealing warmth – and the concern, the anxiety in her eyes. It was a sexually stimulating memory but there was innocence in it too, a balancing degree of affection, of – using the word plainly, not in a hearts-and-roses sense – of love.
And he’d called her – dreamt of her as – Sarah?
He pulled his thoughts together. He was about to be hauled over the coals: and with good reason. He might, or might not if he was very lucky, face a court-martial after this, and be formally dismissed from his ship.
Wyatt had been looking after his own interests, not Nick’s. He’d tried to ensure that Nick wouldn’t speak out of turn and upset his apple-cart, but at the same time his commendation of Nick over his usefulness at sea didn’t in any way imply that he’d condoned or would want to condone this sort of behaviour.
A sentry shouldered arms, slapped the butt of his rifle. Nick returned the salute as he walked up the steps of what had been – and would one day be again – a seaside lodging-house.
In Room 14 a young paymaster with a rather supercilious expression stared at him from behind a desk. A coal-fire smouldered in a grate close to his chair, but here, ten feet away, the room was icy.
‘May I help you?’
‘Everard. Mackerel.’
‘Everard?’ He was checking in an appointment book. ‘Oh, yes.’ He didn’t smile. ‘I’ll tell Commander Reaper you’re here.’
‘Hang on a moment.’ Nick stepped closer. ‘Tell me first – who is he, or what is he?’
The ‘paybob’ raised his eyebrows. It seemed he didn’t much like the question. Or perhaps he didn’t like any questions, from an officer who was on the carpet. He had a handkerchief tucked into his left sleeve, Nick noticed – a flag lieutenant’s affectation. Was that how the fellow saw himself?
It looked as if he wasn’t going to satisfy Nick’s curiosity about the mysterious Commander Reaper. He was glancing downwards, now, at an elegant half-hunter that had materialized in his palm.
‘I’ll see if he’s ready for you.’
He was getting to his feet, coming out from behind the desk. Nick moved, placing himself between the smooth young man and the door. ‘I asked you a question. I’d like an answer, please.’
The paymaster’s eyebrows practically vanished into the roots of his hair.
‘Commander Reaper is seconded temporarily from the Plans Division at the Admiralty.’ He frowned. ‘Would you be good enough to step aside?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all.’
* * *
Reaper was a man of medium size; he had a narrow head, a beak of a nose, deep-set eyes and a quiet, pleasant tone of voice.
Nick sat facing him across a littered trestle-table. On the far side of the room was a desk which presumably belonged to its more permanent occupant, and from that unoccupied swivel chair whoever it was would have a view down on to the harbour with the destroyer moorings in the foreground. He found that by turning his head and leaning back in his chair he had part of the same view. He could see several destroyers at their buoys; some were d
oubled-up, moored in pairs. The ship just entering now, with her whaler pulling like mad for the buoy to get there before the destroyer herself nosed up to it, was Zubian. She’d been put together from the bows of Zulu and the stern half of Nubian, after each of the two tribals had suffered appropriate damage. It had been Bacon’s idea, to make one new ship out of the remains of two.
Reaper muttered, ‘I shan’t be long.’ He was studying a file, frowning as he turned its pages. The invitation to sit down had surprised Nick; he’d expected to have to stand to attention, the accepted attitude for a junior officer being verbally flayed by a senior one. He waited; the whaler’s bowman was on the buoy now, shackling Zubian’s cable to its ring.
‘Well, then.’ Reaper’s eyes were on him. ‘Everard…’ He nodded. ‘The name is not unfamiliar to me.’
He’d paused, and seemed to be inviting comment. Nick asked him, ‘You know my uncle, sir?’
Reaper nodded.
‘But it is highly unfamiliar in terms of any possible connection with fisticuffs in back-street bars.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m very sorry it happened, sir.’
‘Such behaviour, Everard, does not become an officer of the Royal Navy. It does not become a gentleman. It does not become anyone you, I imagine, would wish to be taken for.’
‘No, sir.’
‘And it is particularly, totally unbecoming – ’ Reaper pushed some papers about, then located and held up what looked like the original of the report Wyatt had read out to him – ‘totally so to the officer whose abilities and qualities are referred to in this statement.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Reaper leant back in his chair, but his eyes still rested hawkishly on Nick’s.
‘I have no disciplinary responsibilities here, Everard. And permit me to add that I thank God for that circumstance – ’ he leant forward, and his voice rose slightly as he tapped the file he’d been reading – ‘since this kind of squalid time-wasting is utterly beyond my comprehension!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It is also beyond my capacity to tolerate!’
‘Sir…’
For the last few seconds, he’d been feeling hopeful, but this last remark produced the reverse effect. There was a silence now; he raised his eyes, endured again that unrelenting scrutiny. He was at a loss to understand Reaper’s position, attitude or purpose, and he suspected that this was precisely the effect the man was aiming at.
‘Well. I presume, Everard, that there were circumstances which might throw a less harsh light on your conduct than the one which – er – shines from the report?’
‘Only that I had no intention of getting into any sort of scrap, sir. I was there, and it sort of blew up all around me, and while I was – ’ he paused, searching for the word: ‘while I was withdrawing, sir, I got knocked on the head.’
‘Were you drunk?’
‘I – well, not knowingly or intentionally, sir. But I think someone spiked my beer with rum.’
Reaper hit the table with the flat of his hand.
‘Then you’re a colossal fool, boy!’ Nick frowned, watching him. Reaper blew out his cheeks. ‘You enter the lowest drinking den in Dover, and don’t keep your eye on your own glass of beer?’
‘I hadn’t imagined driftermen would be so keen to chuck their rum about, sir.’
‘A chance to make a prize idiot out of a young pup with gold braid on his sleeve and the King’s commission?’
‘Oh.’ He nodded, still frowning. Skipper Barrie, he wondered: would it have been his idea of a joke? ‘Yes. I see, sir.’
Reaper took a deep breath, and let it out again. He asked him, ‘You left the place with a girl. Is that correct? One of the town’s – ’
‘Girl, sir?’
Reaper stared at him thoughtfully. Then he tapped the file again. ‘According to the military police report – ’
‘My memory’s none too clear on some points, sir. I suppose the rum in my beer… ’ He stopped talking. He could see that Reaper didn’t believe him. But Reaper, extraordinarily, smiled.
‘Quite.’ He looked down, taking his eyes off Nick’s face for the first time since he’d started the interview. ‘Quite…’ The smile faded as he glanced quickly through Wyatt’s letter. Nodding slowly as he read. Now he looked up again.
‘I have a certain function to perform here in Dover, Everard. So far as your own case is concerned, it so happened that this – this – ’ he poked at the file – ‘degrading and time-wasting affair came up when your name was mentioned in another quarter – came up as something which had to be dealt with, decided somehow – and it fell to me to – er – kill several birds with one stone. This one is now – dead.’
He saw Nick’s joy. He added quickly, ‘Except to point out to you that your – your lack of wisdom, shall we say – has let down yourself, your uniform and a distinguished name. It has also wasted the time of quite a number of busy men. You’ll see to it in the future, Everard, that you do not become associated with incidents of such a kind: and understand this, too: we are busy here, we are extremely busy and we have important, very important matters in our minds; we have an enormous amount to think about and to get on with. We cannot, cannot possibly, have our time wasted on such squalid trivialities. Were we less busy, and had the matter been referred to some different quarter for decision, you might very easily have found yourself facing a court-martial. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. Completely, sir.’
‘You’d better not see that girl again.’
Nick stared at him. He hadn’t admitted there’d been a girl, or anyway that he remembered one.
Besides…
‘Very well, we can regard that unpleasant episode as concluded, I think.’
‘I’m extremely grateful, sir.’
‘What you mean, Everard, is you’re extremely relieved.’ Reaper nodded. ‘Understandably. In your place, so’d I be… However – in all the circumstances, I hardly think we could leave you in Mackerel now.’
Nick waited.
‘She’ll be months in dockyard hands, in any case. You won’t be missing anything worthwhile. D’you mind leaving her?’
‘No, sir, I – ’
‘No… ’ He murmured as much to himself as to his visitor, ‘And if you stayed in her, you might miss a great deal.’
‘Sir?’
Reaper shook his head. ‘It happens there’s a job of work we want done. It’s suggested you could be the man to do it.’ The hawk’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘Know much about CMBs?’
‘I’ve been out in one on engine trials, sir, and handled her a bit.’ Harry Underhill’s boat, that had been, on an occasion when Mackerel had been boiler-cleaning. He added, ‘An RNR called Underhill has told me most of what I know about them.’
‘That’s the fellow you’ll work with. Only – ’ Reaper pointed at him with a pencil – ‘only for a short while, just this one – er – errand.’ He got up, walked over to the window. Nick stood up too. Reaper said, staring out at the destroyers at their moorings, ‘CMB officers are rather thin on the ground, at this moment. Experienced chaps, that is. Some are down at Vernon being told about the new mines we’re getting, and the rest are up at Osea Island, the new base that’s being built there. So there it is. I want you to take command of one of the forty-footers – I’m told CMB 11 is available and operational and suitable. Your second-in-command is an RNR midshipman by the name of – ’ he put his hand to his eyes, concentrating – ‘Selby.’ Turning from the window now. ‘Have your gear sent over to Arrogant. I’ll make a signal immediately, appointing you to her for special duties. It’ll only be for a few days, though.’
‘What after that, sir?’
‘I don’t command the Sixth Flotilla, Everard.’
‘You mean it’ll be decided by Captain (D), sir, after I do this – well, whatever this – ’
‘As it happens, a Captain Tomkinson will be arriving shortly to take over the destroyer command.’ Reaper shook his head
. ‘Look, I’ve no time for chit-chat… I want you to spend as much time as you can in that CMB. Get the feel of her, and to know her crew, and Underhill can exercise his boat with you. There’s still a swell running, but we’re promised a period of calm. You’ve got two days to prepare yourself. Night after next should be right for our purposes, from the weather point of view; there’ll be a moon, and that might be the one thing that stops us; but with any luck we’ll have cloud to cover it.’ He’d spoken fast, disjointedly; now he went to his table, picked up some papers, dropped them, turned to Nick again. ‘My reasons for offering you this, Everard, are that you’ve been in the straits for some while now, and as a navigator – so you know your way about. With the high speed of the CMBs, plus the fact you’ll be carrying out the operation on a low-water spring tide, that’s vital. Second, your ship’s out of action, so you’re available immediately. Third, you’ve shown you know how to keep your head in action. I need these qualities, and the CMB officers who have ’em aren’t here, and it’s not a thing that can wait. So – you’ll command the operation.’
‘Command it, sir?’
Reaper nodded.
‘But Underhill’s an experienced CMB officer, sir – and he can certainly navigate – and I’m coming in as an outsider – ’
‘He hasn’t your experience of action.’ Reaper was impatient suddenly. ‘Look here, Everard – the nursery days are finished, you’re fledged now, you can expect to be given quite considerable responsibility at any time… If you shirk your opportunities, you’ll never amount to anything!’
He’d seemed more genuinely angry, in that outburst, than he’d been during the discussion of the Fisherman’s Arms affair. Now he shrugged.
‘I know it’s – unorthodox. The job has to be done, that’s all. And you’re damn lucky to get the chance of it!’
‘Sir.’
‘You’ll have an ML with you as well as the two CMBs. A launch will be allocated by Captain Edwards, and her CO will be told to report to you. Tonight, probably. I’ll brief you and the other officers tomorrow evening aboard Arrogant, and that’ll leave you part of the following day to decide how to set about it.’
Sixty Minutes for St George Page 15
