“None at all,” Big Mike said, understanding. “I guess part of the roof or some of the furniture must’ve hit him on the head. We just didn’t know. We were so busy wrestling with Meggie…”
“Belle blames us,” Babs said. “She doesn’t actually say it, but she does.”
“But… it could’ve happened to any of you,” Jo said.
“Sure,” Big Mike said. “But it happened to Lawson. And then…” he sighed.
“She wanted the men to go back and look for him, right away,” Babs explained. “But they couldn’t, really. They’d have been killed too.”
Jo gained a small insight into the traumas these people must have experienced during that dreadful night.
“Neal and Meggie blame us too,” Babs said. “For persuading them to go down there in the first place.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Jo protested. “They’re adult human beings. They vacationed with you and loved it there…”
“I know. But all that money, just washed away… Neal hadn’t yet taken out insurance.”
“And Lawson got drowned saving their goddamned lives,” Big Mike growled.
Another fall-out from Faith, Jo thought: the end of a forty-year friendship. “How bad is the house?” she asked. “Your house.”
“There are a couple of walls standing,” Big Mike said.
“Oh, then you can rebuild it,” Owen Michael suggested.
“Rebuild that? Shit! I am never setting foot on that goddamned island again if I live to be two hundred.”
“What about McKinley?” Babs asked.
“He can keep the hundred grand,” Big Mike said. “So I made a mistake.”
Jo had no idea what they were talking about.
“Where’s Michael?” Big Mike asked.
“As far as I know, he left Bermuda last night, for Newport.”
“You been in touch?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been in touch.”
“But isn’t that storm now heading for Bermuda?” Babs asked.
“Oh, I’ve told him that, twice. And got a ‘silly little woman’ reply.” She didn’t tell them about the abuse she had also received when she finally got through to the yacht and apparently dragged Michael out of his bunk to speak with her: the lack of interest he had shown even in Lawson’s death, once she had told him Tamsin was safe. “He reckons he’ll be home long before Faith can catch up with him. Anyway, they’re travelling in different directions: he’s making north-west, and the storm north-east.”
“Michael will be all right,” Big Mike said. “That boy knows what he’s doing. No goddamned hurricane is gonna bother him.”
Park Avenue — 10.00 pm
Jo refused an invitation for supper, although Marcia decided to stay; presumably to tell them of her pregnancy. Jo opted to drive the children back to town. She wanted Tamsin all to herself, and she wanted the little girl to sleep in her own bed that night. And every other night for a long time to come.
Besides, staying out at Bognor would have meant re-living the storm, over and over again, entering into Belle’s angry anguish, Big Mike’s sense of failure, Babs’ bewilderment that such a thing could have happened to them. Only Dale had accepted what had happened, and was prepared to look forward rather than back. Jo wanted Tamsin to forget about the whole ghastly episode just as quickly as possible.
It was drizzling, although there was no wind, and it was past eight when she regained the apartment; she fed the children and put them straight to bed. She had been tempted, as soon as she realized that she and Owen Michael were definitely not going to Eleuthera this year, to reclaim Nana. But the dog was booked in for another week, and with Florence also away she felt she had enough on her plate with just the two children. For that reason too she had not yet informed Ed that she was still in New York, although obviously he must now suspect that she had returned: according to her answer phone he had called twice that afternoon, and wanted her to get in touch. Well, she thought, like Cal Palmer, he could wait at least until tomorrow. Richard had also called, but she knew by now he would be in the studio and working up his ten o’clock forecast; she’d call him back after that.
She poured herself a glass of milk, fixed a plate of salad and cottage cheese, and sat herself in front of the TV. She didn’t really care what she was watching, knew she was merely waiting for ten o’clock; and there he was, outlining Faith’s position, which had moved only a little north of her midday fixing. She was taken aback when the forecast ended and the anchorman said, “In view of the importance we attach to the matter, and the amount of interest the broadcast has aroused, we are now going to repeat Richard’s comments of earlier this evening.” Richard promptly reappeared on screen, but wearing a different tie; this was a recording.
“There is no doubt,” he was saying, “that from her present position Faith can do anything and go anywhere. There is no human habitation within five hundred miles of her center at this moment where the utmost precautions should not be being taken… now! That includes this city of New York. With winds of approximately 150 miles an hour round the center, she could do unimaginable damage were she to move west and come ashore here. Try to envisage that force. A man finds difficulty in walking against a 25-mile-an-hour breeze; Faith represents six times that power.
“Now, we all hope and pray that such a catastrophe never occurs, but it would be a serious dereliction of duty on the part of the authorities, all the way up to the Mayor, not to have a comprehensive plan for dealing with such an emergency, should it ever happen, and not to make that plan known to the public. Our experiences of the past years, particularly along the Gulf Coast and in Florida and the southeastern states, have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that human lives, at the very least, can be saved by systematic evacuation of low-lying areas, if those evacuations are undertaken early enough. We all understand what an immense task it would be to evacuate Manhattan, Staten Island, Long Island, and Atlantic City, just for examples, but it must be understood too that any land below 30 feet above sea level could be at risk in the event of a major hurricane making a landfall in this vicinity, and even areas as high as 50 feet could be seriously affected in the event of a Category Five storm. And there is no use waiting for the hurricane to arrive before ordering such an evacuation. The greater the number of people to be warned and moved, the earlier it should happen. The plans for such an evacuation, street by street, with each street knowing the exact route to take, should not only be ready and known, but should be up-dated annually.”
He leaned forward. “Now I must tell you that at the time of taking to the air this evening, we at NABS have been unable to discover the existence of any such plan, either from the police or from the Mayor’s Office.” He paused significantly. “We now invite the city authorities to accept our offer of free air time, either tomorrow morning or evening, so that you folks sitting out there may be given the vital details of their plan for your safety, should the need arise — always supposing such a plan exists. This is Richard Connors, for the National American Broadcasting Service.”
Jo switched off the set, and mixed herself a drink. Coming on top of everything else that had happened today, she felt numbed. Richard hadn’t given her a hint that he was planning to go outside the realm of weather forecasting and get involved in city politics. Presumably he had been ordered to do so by J. Calthrop White. She wondered what the official reaction was going to be.
Ten minutes later the phone buzzed, and she knew it would be him, so she took it in the study. “Hi! Who’s a big bad bear, then?”
“What did you think of it?”
“Richard Connors, ace reporter, straight from the shoulder. It was great, but you’d better not apply to City Hall for a building license in the near future. Or any kind of license, come to think of it — even a marriage one. And haven’t you missed the boat? Faith seems to be spending her energy on empty ocean.”
“You could be right, although she actually seems to be re-stocking her energy from
that ocean. But it’s a fact: right this minute she isn’t posing a threat to anyone. When I made that statement at six o’clock, she was still stalled and could’ve gone anywhere. Now she’s on the move again, still very slowly, only ten knots, but more north than east. She’s now definitely missed Bermuda, and is going straight up the Gulf Stream into the North Atlantic. Actually, she could pose less of a threat than Gloria did. All we’re likely to get is some more of this rain, which everybody is enjoying.”
“Oh, gosh. Did you know that when you repeated your attack on City Hall?”
“Yeah. I suggested it might be a good idea to hold the repeat until tomorrow, but JC has the bit between his teeth, I guess. Anyway, you know, whatever Faith does, the city does need an evacuation plan, because if it doesn’t happen this time, it’s going to happen some time. And she could still turn nasty. We know she’s a maverick, and she’s still one of the biggest storms in history. Certainly the biggest we’ve seen this far north this century. She’s on the verge of becoming a Category Five. We don’t have anything bigger than that. When you have something that big sitting out there only 400 miles away, virtually on our doorstep, you have to regard it as a threat.”
“Makes sense to me. Let’s hope the Mayor agrees with you.”
“Who’s sounding all cheerful, then?”
“Of course I’m cheerful. Oh, sure, I should be in mourning for poor Lawson, and Big Mike seems to have lost just about his shirt, financially as well as literally… but I have my little girl back, safe and sound and tucked up in bed just behind this wall. Richard, do let me know next time Mark is coming up. I want to thank him personally.”
“I’ll do that. What news of your husband?”
“Oh, he’s somewhere… oh, my God!” What Richard had told her was only just registering. “Between Hamilton and Newport.”
“Holy Christ! How far out?”
“Well, he left last night, say at seven, and he was going to motor if he couldn’t sail. Supposing he could maintain seven knots, I suppose he’d be just about two hundred miles from Hamilton.”
“Then he has time to turn back. He’s about three hundred miles east by north from the storm… but if he keeps on he’s going to enter the dangerous semi-circle.”
“He left because he thought the boat would be in more danger in Hamilton than out at sea.”
“Christ, what does he think will happen to his precious boat if Faith catches up with him? Jo, we’re talking about lives, not boats. The point is that Faith is already just about past Bermuda. Unless she makes a sharp right turn they’re not going to get anything but a swell. It’s up to you, but…”
Jo looked at her watch. It was nearly 11.00 pm. “I’ll raise him, just as quickly as I can. But when do I see you?”
“Just as quickly as I can get away from here,” he promised.
The Gulf Stream — Midnight 30
Sam Davenport climbed through the hatch of the racing yawl Esmeralda, sniffed the air. It was utterly dark with the moon and stars obliterated by the cloud cover, from which intermittent drizzle had turned everything on deck clammily wet. But the wind remained light, and the sea calm, although with a big swell out of the south-west; Esmeralda had all sail set, but she was also motoring.
“That forecast wasn’t so good,” Sam remarked.
Michael Donnelly sat aft, just visible in the glare of the binnacle lamp, one hand resting on the wheel. He wore orange oilskins over bathing trunks, but the hood was thrown back to make room for his cap — at the moment he was only seeking protection against the rain. “She’s close, eh?”
“350 miles.”
“That figures. We must just about be crossing the top edge.”
“Not according to the forecast,” Sam said.
“Eh?”
“She’s altered course, heading more north than we are. She’s still south-west of us.”
“How fast’s she moving?”
“About ten knots.”
“And we’re making a steady seven. She won’t catch us. Nothing more than a gale, anyway.”
“Yeah. Well I hope you’re right. I got the news before the forecast. Some of what happened in Eleuthera was horrendous. They’re talking of several hundred dead, and damage running into millions.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “Including my brother-in-law and one hell of a big property deal.” He shrugged. “That’s the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. You ready to take over?”
“Sure.” Sam swung his leg out of the companionway, then checked. “Hello, somebody’s calling.”
“Don’t tell me,” Michael groaned. “It’ll be Jo again. She’s a pain in the ass, sometimes.”
Sam gave his skipper a curious glance; he had never heard Michael speak to Jo as he had done last night, or refer to her in such terms, before.
He ducked back into the cabin, thumbed the handset. “You’re right,” he called. “It is Jo.”
“Well, take the helm,” Michael said, and went below. “Esmeralda,” he said. “What’s the trouble now? Over.”
“There could be a lot of trouble,” Jo said. “What’s your position? Over.”
“Will it mean anything to you? We’re chugging along, mostly under power. We’re…” He switched on the chart table light and squinted at the chart. “I won’t give you the co-ordinates, because you wouldn’t understand them. Let’s say we’re approximately 220 miles northwest of Bermuda, right on track. And that there are four guys trying to get some sleep. Over.”
“Have you enough fuel to get back to Hamilton? Over.”
“Sure, we have enough fuel to get back to Hamilton. We have enough fuel to motor into Newport. Why should we want to go back to Hamilton? Over.”
“Faith is coming your way again, Michael. Didn’t you get the midnight weather forecast? Over.”
“Sure we did. She’s over 300 miles away from us, and only making a couple of knots more speed. So she’s altered course. We still have time to beat her in. Over.”
“Not if she increases speed, and the experts here think she may do that. Listen to me, Michael. This could be the biggest storm this century. I have spoken with a weather forecaster here and he says your only safe course is to go back to Hamilton. The storm is already past Bermuda and is very unlikely to turn back now. But she’s going to cross directly over your route to Newport. Over.”
“I know what Faith is doing,” Michael said. “And I know we can beat her in. Going back to Bermuda is out. I’m coming home. If Faith gives us anything, it’ll be a little wind so we can quicken up. Now tell me, did the folks get in? Over.”
“Yes,” Jo said. “Yes, they got in. Over.”
“And Tamsin’s okay? Over.”
“Yes. She’s fine. Michael, for God’s sake, will you listen to me and go back. Over.”
“Look, you go back to bed and let me run this ship, eh? We’ll be in Newport Sunday night. You be there to meet us, right? Esmeralda over and out.” He replaced the handset, looked at the four anxious faces peering at him from their bunks. “So what’s eating you guys?”
“Maybe she’s right,” Larry remarked. “And we should turn back.”
“And if Faith alters course easterly again, as she’s most likely to do, we run slap into the middle of her,” Michael told him. “This baby has been altering course more times than a ship with a broken rudder. We know we’re ahead of her now. We are going to stay ahead of her.”
“But if she does quicken up…” Pete said.
Michael shot him a glance. “That’s supposing Jo and her tame weather forecaster have it right, which I doubt. Say, what’s gotten into you guys, anyway? You scared of a little wind? Listen, this ship is damned near hurricane proof, because I made her that way. And we’re gonna make even more sure. If you don’t want to sleep, there’s plenty for us to do. So, all hands turn out.”
They grumbled, but grinned as well; they had the utmost confidence in Michael as a skipper — and he knew the best possible way to stop them from worrying w
as to keep them busy.
“Okay,” he said. “Switch on the deck lights, Sam. Now, let’s get organized. Larry, I want lifelines strung, from pulpit to pushpit; make sure they’re secured to strong points, both masts, and the winches — if they’re needed, they’ll have to take the weight of a man. Jon, break out the deadeyes and prepare to screw them over the ports the moment I tell you. Pete, I want every possible vent plugged, ventilators taken out and their caps screwed down tight. Stow the anchor below and remember the hawse pipe. If water gets in anywhere it’ll be there and we could wind up with half the ocean in our chain locker; use rolled up towels and dirty clothes. All deck lockers are to be padlocked as if we were leaving the ship in Nassau. Mark, I want you to cook just about everything we have, in one vast stew, then break it up into say six meals, and store each one in a separate container — if we’re caught in the storm for any length of time we’re going to need regular food and there’s going to be no time to cook. And I want every man to check his personal safety harness. So let’s get to it.”
“I’d like to call Newport and tell Sally what we’re doing,” Sam said. “Especially as I reckon we’ll be out of radio range in another couple of hours. Can you take her again for half an hour?”
“Sure, if you reckon she’ll want to hear from you in the middle of the night.” Michael returned on deck. “And when you’ve done that, carry extra lashings over the battery boxes and the radio gear — if we should get knocked down they could just come loose.”
He took the helm, settled himself, thought of Jo working herself up into a fuss, and grinned. Silly bitch. Then he frowned. Jo had been behaving badly the last couple of months. Something was happening, or had happened, to change her personality. His frown deepened. Or someone. Just where the hell was she getting all this weather information from, anyway?
His fingers tightened on the wheel. There was going to have to be some very straight talking between them, when he got home.
FRIDAY 28 JULY
Her Name Will Be Faith Page 24
