Trewin stared moodily from the taxi window to watch a small trudging group of Australian soldiers making their way towards the city. That was another thing. Perhaps the worst of all. When the time came, as come it must for Singapore, every soldier would be worth his weight in gold and more. Yet Trewin had been stunned, and then outraged to see that such soldiers were being treated with something like contempt by many of Singapore’s citizens. There appeared to be a rigid system of segregation. Officers were accepted in the homes of leading businessmen and the like, N.C.O.s and other ranks had to manage as best they could. On this very night, as Trewin had pushed his way through the jostling crowds he had seen some wounded British soldiers being given a firm dressing-down by a man in a dinner jacket outside one of the hotels. “This is out of bounds for you!” He had stared at each soldier in turn. “God, there are plenty of places for your sort!” Trewin had turned away, sickened, as the three soldiers had turned obediently back into the crowd. The man in the dinner jacket had called after Trewin, “Must keep up standards!” Trewin had not trusted himself to reply.
The taxi slewed to a stop and the Indian said with a yawn, “Here ‘tis.”
Trewin paid him and stood staring at the neat white house with its low wall and overhanging trees. This was the next phase in unreality, he thought.
Ever since the Porcupine had picked up her moorings Corbett had been restless and on edge. Trewin knew that the captain had been hoping to return to Singapore in time for Christmas. As that had been impossible it now seemed a New Year’s party was to be the next best thing.
Trewin had toyed with the idea of getting out of attending the party by standing in as O.O.D. Corbett had apparently foreseen this. “Beaver will be alongside while we’re here. I’ve arranged for her O.O.D. to cover both ships, Trewin.” He had rubbed his hands with a rare show of excitement. “I want all my officers to be there when the gin pennant is hoisted, eh?”
Pushing his gloomy thoughts aside, Trewin stepped through a porch and handed his cap to a Malay houseboy. He was shown into a wide, low-ceilinged room which was filled from wall to wall with people. Music was being provided by a large radiogram, but it was all lost in the din of conversation and laughter. They were mostly naval officers and their ladies, the latter making bright splashes of colour against the white drill tunics and the occasional khaki of the military.
A glass was thrust into his hand, and when he sipped it gratefully he decided it was almost neat gin. He would have to be careful.
He recognised a few of the faces around him. Some of the Beaver’s officers, dominated by Lieutenant-Commander Keates, her captain. He was a giant of a man with a shaggy, prematurely grey beard. As he stood surrounded by an intent audience of women he looked for all the world like an Old English sheep-dog, Trewin thought.
A houseboy took the glass from his hand and gave him a full one in exchange. Trewin loosened his collar and began to work his way through the press of figures towards the far corner. He would make his number with Corbett and then leave, he decided.
His heart sank as he caught sight of Fairfax-Loring’s massive shape beside a well-laden table of drinks and caskets of fresh ice. He tried to ease back into the crowd but the admiral boomed, “Ah, your number one, Corbett! Better late than never, what?” He looked flushed, and his fierce grin was fixed and unwavering.
Corbett stepped forward and looked at Trewin’s glass. “Glad you got here.” He shot the admiral a quick glance. “Keep it to yourself, Trewin, but Kuantan has just fallen to the enemy.”
The admiral stared at him. “It’s no secret now, Corbett.” He smiled knowingly. “This time I think we’ve done the right thing. We’ve got a firm line from east to west, and Kuantan or no Kuantan, our lads’ll hold ’em on the Pahang River.” He jabbed Corbett with his finger. “So don’t be so bloody pessimistic! This is what we should have done from the start!” He looked at Trewin. “Don’t you agree?”
Trewin pictured the admiral’s casual information as it would appear on a chart. He recalled the first visit to the Talang Inlet with the troops invisible but reassuringly close by in the jungle. He remembered Mallory waving his arm towards the north and telling him about the line of defence along the river and the carefully planned chain of stores and fuel dumps. That was only three weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime. He thought too of Kuantan itself, with its milling columns of refugees and the newly landed infantry singing as they marched away northward along that coast road. He shuddered inwardly. Now the Japs were there, less than twenty-five miles from the Talang Inlet.
He replied quietly, “They should never have been allowed to reach so far south, sir.”
Fairfax-Loring signalled to a houseboy. “Well, of course you can’t be expected to see the wider plan of things, Trewin. I have been at a conference most of the day. Believe me, things are starting to hum around here!” He became suddenly grave. “But we must all pull together as a team. No more going off at half-cock!” He stared into his glass. “Shrike and Squalus are gone now. It makes for harder effort all round!”
Trewin watched Corbett’s impassive face and wondered if he was remembering the sinking gunboat and the signal from base about lack of air cover.
The gin was burning his stomach and he toyed with the idea of finding something to eat. But he kept thinking of the small line of gunboats and the nursery rhyme which seemed to fit so cruelly and so aptly: “… Then there were four!”
He saw Corbett turn his head as a slim, bright-eyed woman with pale, sun-bleached hair and bare, tanned shoulders entered the room from a curtained door and moved towards them. Unlike the photograph on Corbett’s desk, she was smiling and she held her head and body as if she was used to being admired.
The admiral beamed. “Hello, Mildred!” He gestured at Trewin. “This is your husband’s first lieutenant.”
Her handclasp was warm and surprisingly strong. She had a direct way of looking straight into a man’s eyes which Trewin felt like an embrace. She said, “I’ve heard all about you. It’s very nice to meet a fresh man around here.” It sounded like an accusation.
Trewin replied, “You seem to have a lot of friends, Mrs, Corbett.” He wished that she would release his hand and that Corbett would stop staring at him.
She shrugged, tossing the pale hair from one shoulder. “You meet all sorts out here.”
A red-faced artillery major pushed through the crowd and asked plaintively, “You promised me a dance, Mildred!” He stepped closer to focus his eyes properly. “Mil-dred! You promised!”
She smiled at Trewin. It was a lazy smile, like a challenge, he thought. “Very well, Benjy. As you’ve been a good boy.” She added calmly, “See you later, Lieutenant.” She was still looking at Trewin as the major guided her tipsily towards the radiogram.
Corbett said tightly, “I don’t know where she gets the energy!”
The admiral grinned. “Well, you should know!”
Trewin felt like an uneasy onlooker. It was not just the drink. Every word, each gesture seemed loaded with private meanings. It was hard to imagine Corbett living easily with a woman like that. He said, “I suppose that most of the wives will be evacuated to England or Australia soon?”
The admiral stared at him in surprise. “What an odd chap you are! There’s no danger here. And as soon as we get more aircraft on the island it will be an even better fortress than before.” He shook his head. “There’ll be no running out this time, no more humiliating retreats!”
Hughes, his flag-lieutenant, appeared at his elbow as harassed as ever. “The brigadier has arrived, sir. You wanted to meet him.”
The admiral placed the glass carefully on the table. “Very well, Flags. I’ll come and see him right away.” He shot them a sad smile. “No rest for me, none at all.”
Trewin breathed out thankfully. To Corbett he said, “He sounds confident enough.”
Corbett did not reply directly. He was still staring towards his wife. She was dancing with her arms wrapped arou
nd the soldier’s neck while a circle of onlookers clapped in time with the music.
He said suddenly, “Come with me.” He turned on his heel towards the curtained door without waiting for Trewin to reply.
Trewin shrugged and followed him. He caught sight of Tweedie’s scarlet face beside the improvised bar, his eyes glazed, his chest heaving from drink and exertion as he tried to pour himself a further measure of gin under the anxious eye of a Malay steward. Mallory was sitting relaxed and unsmiling in a chair by the wall, smoking a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the clapping circle around the dancers. He looked very sober and alert, and strangely watchful, as if he was waiting for something to happen.
Corbett opened a door and led the way into a small bedroom. A dark-haired Chinese amah sat motionless by the window, her hands resting in her lap, and the room was in darkness but for a small shaded lamp beside the bed.
Corbett said quietly, “This is my boy, Trewin.” He stood aside watching Trewin’s face, his pale eyes shining in the lamplight. He repeated, “My boy, Martin.”
Trewin looked down at the child and wondered how many other sides he would see to Corbett tonight. Corbett’s son was small and rather delicate-looking, his face relaxed in sleep. There was a photograph of his father beside the bed, and standing on a chest of drawers a small model of the Porcupine.
Corbett saw his glance and said, “Petty Officer Dancy made it for him last year.” Then in something like his usual tone he asked crisply, “Well, what do you think of him, eh?”
Trewin replied, “A fine boy. You must be very proud of him.” He did not know how to react to this Corbett.
“Means everything to me, Trewin.” Corbett sounded distant. “Him and the ship. Everything.” He patted the sheet into place and touched the ragged teddy bear on the pillow. “A man needs an anchor. Must have one, you know!” He seemed to pull himself together with an effort. “Well, must get back to my guests.” He closed the door quietly behind them. “I’ve got his name down for Dartmouth, did I tell you?”
“Yes, sir.” Trewin felt uneasy. “That’ll be a few years yet.”
Corbett rubbed his hands. “Ah well, we must plan. Can’t just let life run all over you.” He added vaguely, “After the war I suppose you’ll settle down and be a journalist again, eh?” He smiled briefly. “Write a great novel perhaps?” It seemed to amuse him. “Well, God knows there’s enough material in this island to fill a damn library!”
The big room was as noisy as before and the air was heavy with smoke and perfume. Tweedie was sitting on a chair, his head lolling in sleep, some paper streamers wrapped around his neck. There was no sign of Mallory.
A hand caught Trewin’s sleeve and he turned guardedly, half expecting it might be Corbett’s wife. But it was Hammond. He looked very bright-eyed, and there was little trace of the fatigue and strain of the past few weeks. He said quickly, “I’ve been looking all over the place for you, Number One.”
Then Trewin saw the girl whose hand he was holding. She was tall and statuesque, and several years older than Hammond, he thought. She was a very striking girl, handsome rather than pretty, and her dark colouring and wide slanting eyes betrayed the mixture of blood and race which made her stand out from the women around her.
Hammond said, “This is Jacqui, Number One.” He looked from one to the other, both pleased and nervous. “Jacqui Laniel.”
They shook hands and the girl said quietly, “It is very noisy, yes?”
Hammond said, “Jacqui is an interpreter at Government House. We met when I was doing my course.” He grinned awkwardly. “We’ve become very good friends!” He looked at the girl and they shared the same smile.
At that moment someone started to ring a bell, and everyone crowded together singing and cheering. Hammond seized the girl’s shoulders and kissed her, forgetting Trewin and everyone else in the room.
“Happy New Year, darling!”
Trewin turned away, suddenly feeling very alone. All around him people were embracing each other, laughing and shouting, or staring at familiar faces as if for the first time.
Corbett’s voice cut through the din, and he turned to see him standing beside the table. He was holding a glass in one hand and offering him another. Corbett said, “Happy New Year, Trewin.” He was watching him strangely.
It was then that Trewin realised something else about Corbett. He was drinking. It was almost a shock to realise that he had never seen him take a drink before.
There were beads of sweat on his brow, and in the bright lights his hair looked very grey. He said, “Didn’t want you as my first lieutenant, y’know! Thought it was a damned dirty trick when they posted you to me. Never had much time for amateurs. All right in the Army, of course, but the Service is different. Quite different!”
Trewin did not know whether to show resentment or amusement. He replied evenly, “We do our best, sir.”
Corbett did not seem to hear. “No, I’m very pleased with you.” He nodded. “Very pleased, Trewin!” He lifted his glass and said suddenly, “And I hope you have better luck all round.” He looked across at Hammond and all the others. He might have been looking for his wife. “But you’ve got the ship, Trewin. It’s not every man who can say that!”
Trewin felt the drink burning away his reason. The overwhelming press of noise and heat seemed to force the words from his mouth. “I meant to ask you, sir. What is it between you and the admiral?”
For an instant he thought he had gone too far. But he no longer cared. In the middle of all this frenzy and excitement, seeing Hammond’s obvious happiness and Corbett’s faith in his son, he could no longer care about anything.
Corbett eyed him emptily. “He was my first lieutenant, too, Trewin. Away back when I commanded the destroyer Ariel. We were on manoeuvres in the Med and I rammed the Captain (D)’s ship. It was actually his fault, and everyone knew it at the time.” He shrugged wearily. “But in the cold light of a court of inquiry things appeared differently.”
Trewin frowned. He must have missed something. He tried again, raising his voice above the noise. “But I still don’t see…”
Corbett said sharply, “Fairfax-Loring gave evidence against me, Trewin. That tipped the scales and I took the blame!”
Trewin felt the anger rising like a tide. “That was a bloody terrible thing to do!”
“You think so?” Corbett’s tone was calm. “Well, I went on the beach after that. And Fairfax-Loring is a rear-admiral.” He stared at his empty glass with distaste. “So it wasn’t too terrible for him, was it?” He placed the glass on the table and then said, “I do not wish to discuss it further.”
Trewin saw him stagger slightly and was strangely moved.
Corbett walked towards the door adding curtly, “And don’t put it in that damned book when you write it either!”
Trewin watched the curtains sway back across the door and then heard the admiral’s booming laugh from across the room. With sudden determination he walked to the entrance and picked up his cap from the great pile beside the low porch. Outside it was very dark and cool without a trace of wind. Yet Trewin could smell the salt from the sea, and imagined the gunboat sleeping at her moorings, like the little model beside the boy’s bed. Well, it was a new year, he thought vaguely. And one thing was sure. It could not be worse than the last one.
Swinging his cap in one hand, Trewin started to walk back towards the town, and the sea.
APART FROM THREE DAYS in harbour the New Year brought little change or respite to the Porcupine. The coastal patrols continued, but whereas the proximity of danger left no time for relaxation, there were no direct attacks on the ship, and the news from the inland war remained vague and uncertain, so that officers and men came to accept their isolated role with patient forbearance. Then after a week at sea, broken only by a hasty dash to replenish the fuel tanks, Porcupine was ordered to take on a full cargo of ammunition and deliver it to the Army via the Talang Inlet.
At Mersing they had laid in the s
andy shallows beneath a blazing sun, immobile and vulnerable to any hostile aircraft, while long lines of sweating soldiers had trundled crates of grenades and ammunition down the beach where they stood in great, inviting piles of destruction, while the hard-worked sailors heaved them aboard and stowed them on and around every available piece of deck space.
Now in pitch darkness, rolling uneasily in a choppy offshore swell, the Porcupine pushed her way northwards once more, her bows throwing back arrows of spray as she maintained an unwilling ten knots. It was just past midnight, and some fast-moving clouds obscured the stars and left the sea’s face like black glass, unbroken but for the ship’s slow passage.
Trewin worked his teeth around the stem of his unlit pipe and tried to focus his glasses on the distant shoreline. Only an occasional garland of surf betrayed the line of crumbled cliffs, and in his mind’s eye he tried to remember that first visit to Talang. Then there had been no actual war. Just uncertainty and apprehension. He recalled the half-hidden entrance to the Inlet and the hump-sided hill which guarded the northern side of it. Now in the darkness there was very little to go on, and the gunboat’s top-heavy pitch and roll was made more obvious by the great weight of ammunition, and even Unwin, the coxswain, was having difficulty keeping her on course.
Within hours of backing away from the beach at Mersing they had received a signal. It had been brief but definite. “Do not, repeat not, approach Talang Inlet during daylight. Approaches are under fire from artillery.”
Corbett had listened to the signal in silence. Then he had jumped from his chair and paced the bridge in quick, angry strides, as if to work off his irritation. “Damn them! Why the hell can’t they knock out a few guns?” He had glared at Trewin. “We’re holding them on the Pahang River, so that means these guns must be firing about ten miles or so.” As Trewin had kept silent he had snapped, “So they must be big enough to see, eh?”
Trewin glanced sideways at Corbett’s hunched figure on the forepart of the bridge. His body was swaying in the chair in time with the unsteady motion but he could have been asleep.
Pride and the Anguish Page 11
