String of Pearls

by Madge Swindells

  It should be him she was concerned about. ‘Be careful. He might panic again,’ Mike warned her.

  ‘He’s thoroughly beaten. You took care of that,’ she muttered, cold and angry. Neither of them noticed that the planes had fled out to sea until the All-Clear siren sounded.

  Mike stroked the shuddering beast, wondering what he had done wrong.

  ‘That horse is too damned dangerous. We should have got rid of him months ago,’ John called from behind Mike. ‘That was a most amazing performance, young man. Well done and thank you. I’m John Cooper. You seem to know my granddaughter.’

  ‘Yes, sir. She was at the dance,’ he muttered, relieved to have got out of that without lying.

  ‘It’s Dad’s horse, so there’s no way we could have “got rid of him”,’ Daisy snapped.

  A group of GIs were running into the yard with searchlights and fire hydrants and Mike realized that only a few minutes had passed, yet it had seemed so much longer.

  ‘Remember the blackout. Better put those lights out,’ Mrs Conroy called.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am.’ The searchlight went off and the torches came out.

  ‘My God! That was unbelievable. Well done. Who are you?’ She asked Mike. ‘And who are these men?’

  ‘Sergeant Mike Lawson, ma’am, from the camp . . . my friends are helping out. We’re used to horses, so we came over to give you a hand, but they had to fetch the fire equipment.’

  ‘Thank goodness you came! It was like a rodeo performance. I’ve never seen anything like it. Thank you, again.’

  ‘My pleasure, ma’am. Back home we have rodeos about once a month. I usually take part when I’ve got the time. That’s a great stallion. I’ve noticed our captain riding him.’

  ‘You can ride him if you’d like to. I can see you’re a superb rider.’

  ‘I sure would like to, ma’am. I miss my horse.’

  ‘Well then. Captain Johnson likes to ride him in the mornings if he’s around. So check with him for the timing. Daunty could do with more exercise. Your captain is billeted here.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, ma’am.’

  ‘Come inside and have a drink. Invite your friends, please do.’

  ‘That would be great, but we’d better make sure that there are no more fires first. I’ll see you after that. See you later, Daisy,’ he called.

  She ignored him and Mike bit his lip. She was a strange girl. He didn’t want to get involved in yet another fight. He was in with the mother which was a step in the right direction, but why couldn’t Daisy give way and be a bit friendly? She was acting as if he had started the blaze. He stood still, feeling perplexed and wondering what he could say to make things right. Just look at her now, her lovely eyes blazing with anger.

  ‘What is it with you?’ he asked, walking towards her. ‘What’s wrong this time?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, so I won’t waste my breath.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Mike caught sight of Miro who was clearly eavesdropping. He was standing by the piles of earth with a spade, but doing very little. He gestured in his direction.

  ‘Why don’t you leave that until it’s light, Miro.’ Daisy called.

  ‘The fire’s out,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘Miro,’ he heard John call. ‘Can you get up there to assess the damage? We’ll use asbestos for a new roof in case the bastards drop a few more of their damned incendiaries.’

  Miro disappeared around the corner leaving them alone.

  ‘You’re high and mighty for a schoolgirl,’ Mike said softly.

  ‘I’ve finished school. I told you at the dance.’

  ‘Your mother has invited us in for drinks. Is that all right with you? Or would you rather I went?’

  ‘If Mum invited you, then you must go,’ she said, evading the question.

  ‘See you soon.’ She wasn’t easy, but he liked her a lot. What was it his mother had drummed into him? ‘Don’t go for looks, Mike, my boy. Find yourself a good woman and you’ll lead a happy life.’

  That was all very well, but Mike knew when he was beaten, and Daisy had the beating of him. She provoked his ire and his desire. He wanted to be her adoring slave, but on his terms. He felt the need to show his male power, but she was determined to ignore all that he had on offer which wasn’t much since he was far away from home, and in uniform, without his ranch, his horse or his car, or any damned thing that seemed to provide a reassuring part of his personality. Here he was hardly better than a number. So what if he’d hung in there slightly longer than necessary. He was trying to show her who he was, who he would be, that he was strong enough to look after her, and now she was provoked into fury. Women were too damned weird for words, he decided, as he sauntered off to find her mother.

  Once in the house, Helen was immersed in gloom. She had difficulty coming to terms with the reality of war, but her fears were hidden as safely as her handgun and bullets, which she had bought when they feared an invasion. Raids were rare around this area, but she had not lived through three blitzes unscathed. Something had changed deep inside her. She only became aware of this altered perspective during the Southampton raids. Every evening she had taken the children to the new public shelter in the centre of town, which was claimed to be indestructible, although it was wrecked now, she reminded herself with a spasm of fear. With their flask of tea, bottles of water, sleeping bags and sandwiches, they would settle themselves along the wall, as near as possible to the exit in order to leave quickly at dawn. From here the noise was deafening. One night, on a particularly heavy blitz, when the shelter rocked with blasts and the noise was unbearable, she had tried to pray for their survival, but she found that she could not. Whatever she had once believed in had entirely vanished. There was nothing, but herself. And what was she really? An intelligent primate. Everything else was a lie. When she saw people praying she was overcome with compassion for them. They existed by some fluke of nature and that was that.

  The doorbell was ringing, thank heavens. She’d had enough of her morbid introspection. The GIs trooped in as polite and sweet as one could wish. They had one drink each, made it last, talked about their impressions of England and then left. Well brought up, helpful boys, but so young. The thought of them going to war was terrible. As for Mike, she could see what an asset he would be to the riding school. He’d already offered to shoe their horses, and she had quickly accepted what with the blacksmith having been recently called up.

  Mike found Daisy in the stables. A lantern hung on the wall and for a moment he stood there unnoticed, entranced by the scene. She was standing beside Daunty, stroking his neck and talking softly to him. Mike walked down the aisle, leaned over the barrier and said, ‘Hi,’ softly. There was no answer. How lovely she was, but somehow frail looking, yet she was a strong girl. Perhaps it was her nose, a pinched, small European nose sloping to a full mouth. Her blue eyes looked so serious and secretive and when he spoke she looked down, so that her long lashes brushed her pale cheeks.

  She’ll still be beautiful when she’s old, he thought. Her bone structure is fine and delicate and I shall look at her and remember how she looked when she was sulking in the stables. He noted the dull flush of temper scarcely concealed, the virginal lips pursed. Those candid eyes, which were so expressive, told him that he was absolutely in the dog house. He wanted to explain how he felt about her, how he had wanted to impress her by showing her who he really was and a little of his background, but shyness blunted his wits.

  ‘There’s a place in the village where they teach you to dance your sort of dancing . . . old fashioned and boring. I’ve had a few lessons although I felt a fool,’ he said.

  One side of her mouth twisted into a lurking smile, but a frown still hovered between her thick, pale brows. ‘Oh, lessons, is it?’ Then she giggled.

  Mike frowned. For two pins he’d leave, but he knew he didn’t want to. ‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asked moodily.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘T
ch! You’d better come out. It’s not safe there. The horse is still uptight. Look how he’s showing the whites of his eyes.’

  ‘He doesn’t like you. He’s frightened of you and no wonder. He was fine until you came.’

  ‘Hey, Daunty, I just saved your life, you ungrateful hack.’

  Daisy stood up and dragged the sack of straw towards the door.

  ‘For God’s sake keep away from his back hooves.’

  ‘You seem to think horses are your enemy. Daunty loves me. I’m only coming out because Daunty doesn’t want you in his stable. Oh, Mike,’ she said with a sudden change of heart. ‘You didn’t have to show off so. You could have left him to calm down by himself. Why did you have to beat him into a state of total submission?’

  ‘I guess I wanted to show off to you.’

  ‘I’d be more impressed with kindness. Daunty lost face.’

  ‘Well, he’s not Japanese, is he? So he needn’t worry.’

  She smiled despite herself. ‘I’m glad you’re taking lessons. What are you learning . . . the waltz?’ She began to circle around in the aisle between the stalls. The mares were watching her and whinnying. ‘They all want to dance,’ she said.

  He caught her hands and pulled her close to him and kissed her quickly on the lips. He felt embarrassed by his passion. He was sure she would feel it, so he stepped back and swirled her round in the sawdust, singing, ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do . . .’

  He pulled her closer, which caught her off balance, but he held her up, hugging her close against him. The top of her head reached his chin, so he tilted her face back and bent over to press his lips upon hers.

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped, pulling her face away. Suddenly she felt feverishly hot.

  ‘You’re my girl, Daisy,’ he said hoarsely, feeling as flustered as she. He caught hold of her tighter and crushed her against his chest.

  ‘You’re hurting,’ she said, but now she was acutely aware of his body pressed against hers. Stubble scratched her forehead, and the sheer bulk of him took her breath away. She slid her arms round his waist, hugging him closer, feeling the muscled back and hips hard against hers. Something strange was growing and pressing against her.

  ‘Oh Mike,’ she whispered. ‘Go away. Leave me alone. I can’t stand this feeling.’

  Mike was feverishly exploring her breasts in clumsy, hurried movements. He tugged at her sweater and slid his hand under her bra, pushing it up.

  Suddenly they heard footsteps on cobbles. Daisy was overcome with shame. She thrust him roughly away and pulled down her jersey.

  ‘Daisy . . . Daisy?’

  It was Miro calling her. Gramps echoed him.

  ‘Oh God! Hide. Just stay out of sight.’

  She fled out of the door. Mike stood up and switched off the lantern. He heard the stable door bolt being slid across, footsteps faded and then he was alone.

  ‘Oh shit!’ he muttered.

  It took him half an hour to painstakingly ease back the bolt using a nail file pushed through the crack. The house was in darkness as he crept across the yard and vaulted over the fence.

  Seventeen

  The underwater engineering course was scheduled to start on the first of March, but the first class was delayed by gale force winds from the Arctic buffeting the oceans on both sides of Britain, resulting in a mighty collision of currents off the coast of southern England. Breakers smashed against boulders, mounted the sea walls and drenched the flats and hotels along the sea front. The storm lasted for ten days and then the wind fell and Simon awoke to a glorious winter morning and a calm sea.

  They needed two launches to propel the divers and their gear to the wreck, but soon they were bobbing on the calm sea, staring down at the dark shadow fifteen feet beneath them. Simon scanned the sky anxiously. Clouds were gathering as if from nowhere as a cold front moved in. The sea turned from turquoise to navy with frothy white spray tipping every wave. He felt anxious and undecided whether or not to go ahead.

  Recently, Simon’s class had grown in numbers. He had established fifteen scuba diving teams in the various camps around the coast. Every team had a leader who joined them in Mowbray for each new course of instruction. When they returned they passed on the training, but they were not as skilled as his own guys.

  ‘Be back on board in fifteen minutes,’ he told the guys. ‘Keep an eye on your watches.’

  The scuba divers were keen to get down and get on with their class. They adjusted their gear, strapped on the ungainly tanks and the additional weights they needed, checked the spotlights strapped around their heads, and strapped their knives to their shins before tumbling backwards into the sea.

  Twenty-two men sank out of sight around the wreck and Simon followed them, leaving one man on each boat. They stayed in pairs, each man communicating with his buddy every few minutes while watching the instructor patch a hole. On the second dive, they would do it themselves. A sudden strong backwash sent the guys swirling off into deeper water. They hung on to the reef, watching the backwash swirling the seaweed out to sea.

  Simon wondered if he should recall the guys, but after that one strong wave, the sea remained calm. Seven minutes into the lecture, the wreck gave a long shudder and slipped at least two feet to starboard blocking the main gaping hole completely. Now he could see that the ship was swinging like a pendulum, impaled on rocks, but not held tightly enough to remain stable in strong tides. He felt uneasy, but he did not know why. After a few minutes, he decided to go by his instinct and evacuate the class. He gave the signal and the students adjusted their alternators and rose slowly towards the boats. His guys looked pretty embarrassed at their boss’s decision to quit.

  ‘Sorry, but I have a feeling something’s wrong,’ Simon explained to them. ‘Is everyone back? Check each boat please,’ he called out.

  ‘Sir,’ a voice called from the next boat. ‘Mike Lawson is still down there. Has anyone seen him?’

  ‘Get a fresh tank on,’ Simon said to his second-best student, as he exchanged his used tank for another. ‘Where was he last seen?’

  ‘Sitting right next to me, sir. We were at the extreme right of the semi-circle, closest to the wreck. He chose that place. I didn’t notice him leave.’

  Simon’s stomach lurched. ‘Was he your buddy?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was no time for recriminations right now. ‘Let’s go. He’s got six minutes left,’ he told his buddy. ‘The wreck shifted so the main hole is now against the reef. He could be trapped inside, or even squashed between the rock and the hold. I’ve been down there often. I know another way into the hold. It’s very dark so stick close to me.’

  Twenty feet below, Mike was clambering over the debris in the hold, kicking his feet to frighten the eels and crabs, but with each step he stirred up a big black cloud of sediment that obscured his vision. The spotlight seemed to lessen visibility because the light reflected on the debris. It was like walking in a narrow tube of light and beyond was only darkness. If there were another way up to daylight, he wouldn’t see it like this. He switched off the beam and stared around trying to see a glimmer of light in the Stygian blackness, but he could not see his hand in front of his face. He tried to push his way through a mass of debris, but it seemed to keep pace with him. He knew that there must be another way out, but he had only five minutes to find it. The wind was strengthening, the wreck shuddered and swayed as wave after wave smashed against it. There was a clamour of grinding and cracking, huge floating objects swirled around, threatening to pulverize him. Another glance at his watch showed that he had only four minutes of safe air left. He made another attempt to swim towards the stern where he might find another hole, or even the hatch to the deck.

  ‘Keep going,’ he muttered. ‘There has to be a way out.’ Reality was receding, but a minute later he thought he saw two lights moving in unison far ahead of him, in another part of the hold. He switched his spotlight on and off, on and off. Praying that he wasn’t hallucinating,
he forced his way towards the lights. Suddenly they altered direction – they were zooming towards him. He was saved and his relief was so great he gulped great mouthfuls of air. Now his head was hammering, his body felt limp and exhausted, his movements were shaky and he was only dimly aware of being propelled to the surface. Moments later he was hanging on to the side of the boat gasping.

  It had been a near disaster, Simon thought grimly as the boats sped back to the shore, surfing on the waves. He had been so close to losing Mike. The weather had worsened, so Simon called it a day and summoned the men to an impromptu lecture in the canteen where he tried to instill in them the vital, life-saving system of working in pairs – the buddy system – and keeping an eye on each other.

  Later he called Mike to a meeting in the canteen. ‘You of all people, Mike. I could have you court-martialled for this. What the fuck did you think you were doing, crawling into the hold alone? Disobeying orders! You know the rules. And what about the demo you were missing?’

  ‘I’ve been doing that sort of thing often enough, sir. Dad and I had to repair our bridges underwater . . . I wanted to look around. Then the wave came and the wreck shifted, blocking my exit.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Sir, Daisy feels that her father is dead. She claims that when she last saw him, which was on her birthday in June last year, he told her he was intending to explore the wreck and find out what the big attraction was for the so-called photographers. She is sure he would have contacted her, were he alive.’

  ‘You were looking for his corpse?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I guess I thought it sounded a bit fanciful, sir.’

  On Sunday morning the family were gathered around the breakfast table for scrambled eggs, from their own fowls, and bacon supplied by Simon, when they heard the echo of a loudspeaker from the bay below.

  ‘What on earth . . .?’ Helen began.

  ‘Rabble-rousing, that’s all,’ Miro said. ‘A crowd of rowdy youths scrambled across the rocks and some of them came in by sea. They are marching up and down with home-made placards reading: Yanks, keep off our beaches.’ I think that is their only message.’