Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  Julie found herself laughing with him. ‘Then how do you turn round?’

  ‘Ah, you turn into the wind. That’s called tacking.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid it’s all beyond me. In future I’ll leave the sailing to you.’

  He didn’t say anything but stared at her, searching her eyes. She glanced quickly away, angry with herself. He had taken her remark as an indication of interest; he had thought she was staking a claim. Well, she’d have to make it quite clear that she hadn’t meant anything of the sort. What a pity. The day had been going so well.

  He was talking again and she saw that he was serious now. ‘Sailing is a wonderful freedom, you know. You can just set off for who-knows-where whenever you please. I keep Dancer stocked up with food and water all the time. Then I can go whenever I have the time.’

  ‘Isn’t it enough to be in the Navy?’

  ‘Oh no, it’s not the same at all. Being at sea with three hundred other people in a tin ship is … well, it’s my job. I enjoy it, but it doesn’t compare with setting off on your own. I love the excitement, you see, and the challenge of making for a new place, and exploring it. There’s nothing like it.’

  ‘But why on your own?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Well, I don’t always go on my own. I often sail with my father – Dancer’s really his boat, not mine. But half the trouble is I haven’t met a crew who wants to do the same kind of sailing as I do. So … there’s no other solution. You see, I believe you’ve got to go out and do what you want to do.’

  Julie stared at him. She admired him for his certainty and his self-assurance. It must be wonderful to be so sure of what you wanted and to have such confidence in your ability to succeed. But most of all she admired him for his ability to make his own decisions. She thought: Why can’t I be like that? Why am I so bad at deciding? It was easier when you were a man, of course; somehow men had fewer people to consider. But all the same, she should be able to do it, to decide things for the best.

  As they sailed back across the open sound the wind increased again and Dancer pulled away, cleaving a straight path through the waves. Julie stared ahead, trying to enjoy herself but feeling the unhappiness closing in on her again. The day was almost over. Soon she would have to decide whether to return to the wardroom and risk the dreadful humiliation of seeing Bill, or give up and go home to face her mother. What a choice!

  Dancer drifted slowly into the creek and Richard Ashley sprinted forward to lower the sails. As soon as he’d finished he ran back and pushed the tiller hard over so that Dancer turned in a neat semicircle. Then he picked up a boathook and, running forward again, used it to fish a bright red buoy out of the water. He was breathing hard. He called back, ‘You see, nothing to it! You could learn in no time!’

  She smiled. Sailing was as much a mystery to her as it had been at the beginning of the day. The only thing she could say was that the experience had been less unpleasant than she’d thought. But the sea still terrified her. She decided she had no desire to try it again.

  By the time they got back to the bright blue car it was six o’clock. On the journey back to the officers’ quarters Julie hardly spoke. Then he asked, ‘Well, what do you want to do? Shall we see if Bill’s there? Or do you want to give me the book to pass on?’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, shall we see if he’s there then?’

  Julie was frozen with indecision. Whatever she did would be wrong. And now there was the added complication of this man – he must have guessed what the situation with Bill was: boy gives girl brush-off, girl can’t take hint. He must think she was cheap, to be chasing after a man like this.

  Suddenly she made up her mind. ‘No, I’ll go straight home, thanks. The book really isn’t important. I can catch a bus outside the dockyard.’

  ‘No, I won’t hear of it. The least I can do is to drive you home. Where do you live?’

  She told him and leant her head back on the seat, happier than she had been for days. It was lovely to have made a decision, and now she had taken it she knew it was the right one. It would have been dreadful to go cap in hand to a man she didn’t love and certainly didn’t respect. Bill had made it plain that the affair was over. It was up to her now, to make the best of a bad situation.

  She would go away and make a fresh start.

  She glanced across at Richard Ashley. His face was set in lines of concentration as he negotiated the narrow streets of Plymouth. She was thankful to him. He was right about reaching out for things and leading your own life. If you didn’t, it seemed to her that everyone else used you to lead theirs. Her mother meant well, but she had always pushed Julie into doing things she wanted her to do. And Bill, he had used her too.

  Yes she would definitely go away.

  But not to anywhere in England: here there was nowhere to go and no-one to help her. It would have to be France then. The thought was rather frightening. She had never met any of her father’s immediate family. All she knew was that her grandparents must be very old by now – perhaps dead even – and that she had an uncle and an aunt. And possibly some cousins, though she wasn’t sure about that either.

  She would have to tell them she had been married, of course, and that it hadn’t worked out. They probably wouldn’t believe her, but it wouldn’t matter as long as appearances were kept up. She would go out and buy a wedding ring. The thought gave her a curious thrill. She would call herself Mrs something – but not Crozier, that was for sure – no, it would be another name. She would have to think up a good one.

  She would need a passport, she hadn’t thought of that before. She wasn’t sure, but she seemed to remember that when you were under twenty-one you had to have parental permission. That would lead to problems with Mother. Julie sighed at the thought of yet more battles ahead.

  ‘Anything the matter?’ He was looking at her, concern on his face.

  Julie realised she must have sighed out loud. ‘Oh no, nothing. I was just thinking, that’s all.’

  He nodded and looked back at the road.

  The little car drew up outside Number 34 Radley Terrace. Julie had no doubt her mother would be peering through the curtains, but she didn’t care. She turned to him. ‘Thanks so much. It’s been a lovely day. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.’

  ‘It was my pleasure entirely!’ He glanced down at his hands then said, ‘Look, it would be super if you could come again some time. Would you like that? I could do with a first mate.’

  ‘Oh, I … I’m very honoured to be asked. But, well … I’m going away soon, you see. Very soon.’

  ‘Ah!’

  He was taken by surprise, she could see that, and she tried to smooth the moment over. ‘I’m going to live with my relatives in France for a while, to work there and learn the language. I’ve always wanted to go.’

  ‘To Brittany?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, I hope you have a good time there. I’m sure you will. The Bretons are wonderful people.’ He sounded disappointed and a little puzzled. He must think her devious for not having mentioned the trip before.

  Julie wished she could explain about having to go, but there was no point in starting explanations she couldn’t finish. It was best as it was.

  She opened the door and said, ‘Goodbye, and thank you again.’

  He smiled at her and the kindness was back in his eyes. ‘Bye. I hope it all goes well!’

  What a nice man you are, she thought.

  She closed the door and walked up the path. The sound of the noisy little engine faded down the road. She turned to wave, but the bright blue car was already out of sight round the corner.

  She paused at the front door, the key in her hand, and thought: Brittany. Yes, I’ll definitely go to Brittany.

  It was easy to say now, surprisingly easy … but would she ever be able to go through with it?

  She thought: I’m going to have to.

  And she opened the door and
went quickly into the house before she changed her mind.

  Chapter 3

  THE BAY OF Lubeck is wide and open. On its southern shore lies the busy port of Travemunde and beyond that, some miles up the broad Trave River, is the city of Lubeck. On the north-western shore of the bay, some twenty miles from Travemunde and well away from prying eyes, is the small harbour of Pelzerhaken. It was here that the German Navy had built one of its principal research establishments, a group of low, ugly buildings surrounded by barbed wire.

  On this September day a blustery north-easter was blowing in from the Arctic, bringing a cool foretaste of the winter ahead. Out in the wide bay short steep seas bowled in from the open Baltic, throwing angry white surf on the holiday beaches lining the shore. At the single wharf in Pelzerhaken Harbour the trials ship Welle tugged uneasily at her lines as the strong wind pulled at the mass of aerials and strange dish-shaped objects sprouting from her superstructure.

  David Freymann shivered and pulled his jacket tighter round his neck. He felt the ship move slightly and hoped that, once they got under way, he wouldn’t be seasick. He usually was, even in a rowing boat.

  Ellen said he was stupid even to consider coming on this trip because he was bound to disgrace himself. She also said that the only reason he got seasick was because he was overweight and didn’t take any exercise. Ellen had a way of implying that everything was somehow David’s fault, but he didn’t mind. In most ways she was a good wife and she wasn’t having an easy time of it at the moment. She complained about being neglected and she was absolutely right. His work was taking up more and more time. He had tried to explain to her how important it was and how much it meant to him, but she didn’t understand. That, he thought fondly, was women for you.

  He realised with a shock that, come October, they would have been married fifteen years. On their anniversary it would be a good idea to spoil her a bit; he would take her out for a meal in Berlin, to a good restaurant on the Unter den Linden. Fifteen years: he could hardly believe it. Little Cecile must be almost eight. It was strange how the time flew so quickly, yet one remained young inside. He’d be forty-five this year, almost middle-aged.

  Still, as long as you achieved something lasting, then age didn’t really matter. He looked up at one of the dish-shaped objects above the Welle’s bridge. Now there was something lasting, something that really mattered. An achievement that any man would be proud of.

  David walked across the deck to where Hans Rathenow was standing. Hans had been David’s colleague for a year now, ever since they had joined the new Gema Company together. Hans was a good sort: hard-working, straightforward and kind. David liked him a lot. There was a bond of fellowship and camaraderie between them which came from working on the same project. Together they had solved the problem of range measurement. It had been a hard one to crack but somehow David had known they would do it.

  Hans inclined his head in the direction of the land. ‘The brass are late.’

  David laughed. ‘That’s their privilege.’

  ‘How many are there going to be? Do you know?’

  David shook his head.

  ‘Well, I hope there aren’t too many, otherwise we’ll never be able to deal with all their questions.’ Hans liked to have plenty of time to consider questions, so that his answers could be as precise and complete as possible.

  The two men watched a lorry bump along the wharf and stop in front of a warehouse. Hans turned and said, ‘By the way, have you heard the rumour about Telefunken?’ David looked blank and Hans continued, ‘Evidently, they’re to be given a government contract like ours, but to develop a device for aircraft.’

  ‘Oh.’ David frowned and tried to hide his surprise. ‘I thought we were to do the work on small devices. I … I’ve been working on the programme scheduling.’

  ‘Yes.’ Hans gave David a sympathetic glance. ‘I know. And I know you are right in your approach. But I fear that Schmidt does not see it your way.’

  David stared into the distance, and sighed. Schmidt, head of the research programme and recently appointed Chief Scientist of the Third Reich, had long been a thorn in his side.

  David touched the other man’s arm. ‘I tell you something, my friend – not only am I sure that it is possible to develop small devices for aircraft, but I am certain those devices could be made incredibly powerful. Can you imagine what definition and detail could be achieved by using exceptionally short waves?’

  Hans smiled kindly. ‘Yes, but David, no valve exists which is remotely capable of such a thing. Where is your power to come from?’

  ‘I have an idea; I believe it could work. It would take less than six months to prove either way. All I need is two people, a bit of space and some resources.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But this new contract … Now Schmidt will have the perfect excuse to refuse me permission. And I’ve no doubt he will refuse.’

  Hans nodded solemnly.

  The wind gusted across the deck and David stamped his feet to ward off the cold. He said, ‘I could offer my services to Telefunken, I suppose. Perhaps they might be prepared to follow my idea in spite of Schmidt.’

  ‘I doubt it, I doubt it very much.’ Hans paused, deep in thought. When he finally spoke, it was very quietly and David had to turn his head to hear. ‘You must think very carefully about your position, David. I worry about you.’

  ‘What do you mean? Schmidt cannot eat me, you know. He is stupid and arrogant, certainly, but he knows my worth. He won’t throw me out or anything. Why should he?’

  ‘It is not Schmidt himself I worry about. It is the … the official policy.’

  David began to understand. ‘My friend, you mean I will be pushed out because I am Jewish?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘First, I don’t believe this silly campaign will go on. Second, they will never interfere with work like mine; it’s too important. They aren’t stupid, you know.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, but I think you’re being too generous. I fear it will get worse, not better.’

  David shrugged. The events of the last year had been … unfortunate, even – yes – deplorable. The Nuremburg decrees had been a shock. Most Jews had been deprived of their citizenship and intermarriage with Aryans was now forbidden.

  Too late for Ellen and me, David thought. They can’t unmarry us after all these years.

  There were other things, of course. A number of Jews had been arrested and never seen again. But then the same was happening to others: leftists, intellectuals, troublemakers. It wasn’t only the Jews. It was just a question of keeping your nose clean. Keeping out of trouble.

  David shook his head. ‘No, Hans. I honestly don’t think it’ll get any worse.’ He thought of adding: anyway, not for me. But it sounded too selfish and uncaring, and he kept silent.

  A fleet of cars appeared at the end of the wharf and there was a flurry of activity around the ship as sailors stood to attention. The two men began to walk slowly along the deck towards the group already waiting at the top of the gangway. David could see that Hans was still frowning and he said softly, ‘So the Jews are excluded from the professions, but that is nothing new. It was the same before the Great War. Anyway, I am more German than Jewish. I’m only half Jewish, in fact. I haven’t been inside a synagogue for years, my wife is gentile, my daughter goes to a nice Christian school. I am no threat!’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Hans persisted. ‘You are officially Jewish. You have your scientific status – at present – but you are not safe where you are. Why don’t you think about working in this place?’ He indicated the complex of stone buildings that made up the research establishment.

  David stood still, astonished. ‘Here? Why?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? The Navy is refusing to throw Jews out of the service. Old Raeder is defying Hitler. As a naval scientist you would be safe. Hitler will never take on the whole Navy: he’s too frightened of it.’

  David walked on slowly, shaking his head. Hans meant well, there was no
doubt about that, but come and work here? No, it was impossible. Very little original work was done in the establishment. He would die of frustration.

  The two men joined the rest of the scientific and naval personnel standing silently in a knot by the rail.

  David stroked down his windswept hair and watched the group which was making its way up the gangway. He recognised the well-known figure of Grand Admiral Raeder, Commander-in-Chief of the German Navy, but he was not certain about the others. He was no expert on rank or uniforms, but he guessed there were at least five other admirals in the group. Behind the Grand Admiral was Schmidt, looking as officious and self-satisfied as ever. David sighed inwardly. How simple life would be if the Schmidts of this world were not allowed to poke their noses into the real work. The problem with Schmidt was that he was not overblessed with brains. He had never been a good scientist, let alone a great one. Perhaps that was why he had grabbed an administrative job: it was the only thing he could do.

  David stood back as Schmidt started to introduce the managers of the Gema Company to the naval officers. David thought how strange official protocol was, when the organisers came before the people who actually did the work. Still, as long as he was allowed to get on with his project, he didn’t really mind who took the glory.

  When it was David’s turn to come forward he tried to concentrate on the name and rank of each man as he shook hands with him but, apart from Raeder, he managed to memorise only about half of them. After the introductions one name – Doenitz – stood out in his mind and he tried to think why. Then he remembered: it had just been announced that Doenitz was to command the new submarine arm of the Kriegsmarine.

  U-boats: now there were vessels in need of a really small high-definition apparatus. If the opportunity arose it would be interesting to talk to Doenitz. David looked at the rings of Doenitz’s sleeve to make sure that his rank was indeed no higher than that of captain. There was a chance, then, that David would be allowed to talk to him without Schmidt interrupting. Schmidt did not like anybody talking to really senior officers without him being present. He said it was a matter of protecting his scientists from outside interference, but David knew better. Schmidt just hated anything going on without his knowledge, particularly when a scientist had views which differed from his own.