Only Time Will Tell

by Jeffrey Archer

  At least his death would solve problems for so many people he loved. Emma would be released from her pledge to forsake all others for the rest of her days. Sir Walter would no longer have to worry about the implications of his father’s will. In time, Giles would inherit the family title and all his father’s worldly goods. Even Hugo Barrington might survive now that it would no longer be necessary for him to prove he wasn’t Harry’s father. Only his dear mother …

  Suddenly there was an almighty explosion. The Devonian split in two and seconds later both halves reared up like a startled horse, before the broken ship unceremoniously sank to the bottom of the ocean.

  The captain of the U-boat watched through his periscope until the Devonian had disappeared below the waves, leaving in its wake a thousand brightly coloured cotton dresses and countless bodies bobbing up and down in the sea, surrounded by potatoes.

  54

  ‘CAN YOU TELL ME your name?’ Harry looked up at the nurse but couldn’t move his lips. ‘Can you hear me?’ she asked. Another American accent.

  Harry managed a faint nod, and she smiled. He heard a door opening and although he couldn’t see who had entered the sick bay, the nurse left him immediately, so it had to be someone in authority. Even if he couldn’t see them, he could hear what they were saying. It made him feel like an eavesdropper.

  ‘Good evening, Nurse Craven,’ said an older man’s voice.

  ‘Good evening, Dr Wallace,’ she replied.

  ‘How are our two patients?’

  ‘One’s showing definite signs of improvement. The other’s still unconscious.’

  So at least two of us survived, thought Harry. He wanted to cheer but, although his lips moved, no words came out.

  ‘And we still have no idea who they are?’

  ‘No, but Captain Parker came in earlier to see how they were, and when I showed him what was left of their uniforms, he wasn’t in much doubt they were both officers.’

  Harry’s heart leapt at the thought that Captain Havens might have survived. He heard the doctor walk over to the other bed but he couldn’t turn his head to see who was lying there. A few moments later, he heard, ‘Poor devil, I’ll be surprised if he survives the night.’

  Then you obviously don’t know Captain Havens, Harry wanted to tell him, because you won’t kill him off that easily.

  The doctor returned to Harry’s bedside and began to examine him. Harry could just make out a middle-aged man with a serious, thoughtful face. Once Dr Wallace had finished his examination, he turned away and whispered to the nurse, ‘I feel a lot more hopeful about this one, although the odds are still no better than fifty-fifty after what he’s been through. Keep fighting, young man,’ he said, turning to face Harry, though he couldn’t be sure if the patient could hear him. ‘We’re going to do everything in our power to keep you alive.’ Harry wanted to thank him, but all he could manage was another slight nod, before the doctor walked away. ‘If either of them should die during the night,’ he heard the doctor whisper to the nurse, ‘are you familiar with the correct procedure?’

  ‘Yes, doctor. The captain is to be informed immediately, and the body is to be taken down to the morgue.’ Harry wanted to ask how many of his shipmates were already there.

  ‘And I’d also like to be kept informed,’ added Wallace, ‘even if I’ve turned in for the night.’

  ‘Of course, doctor. Can I ask what the captain has decided to do with those poor devils who were already dead when we pulled them out of the water?’

  ‘He’s given an order that as they were all sailors, they are to be buried at sea, at first light tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Why so early?’

  ‘He doesn’t want the passengers to realize just how many lives were lost last night,’ the doctor added as he walked away. Harry heard a door open. ‘Goodnight, nurse.’

  ‘Goodnight, doctor,’ the nurse replied, and the door closed.

  Nurse Craven walked back and sat down by Harry’s bedside. ‘I don’t give a damn about the odds,’ she said. ‘You’re going to live.’

  Harry looked up at a nurse who was hidden behind her starched white uniform and white cap, but even so, he couldn’t miss the burning conviction in her eyes.

  When Harry next woke, the room was in darkness apart from a glimmer of light in the far corner, probably from another room. His first thought was of Captain Havens, fighting for his life in the next bed. He prayed that he would survive and they’d be able to return to England together, when the captain would retire and Harry could sign up with any Royal Navy vessel Sir Walter could get him on.

  His thoughts turned to Emma once again, and how his death would have solved so many problems for the Barrington family, that would now return to haunt them.

  Harry heard the door open again and someone with an unfamiliar step walked into the sick bay. Although he couldn’t see who it was, the sound of their shoes suggested two things: it was a man, and he knew where he was going. Another door opened on the far side of the room and the light became brighter.

  ‘Hi, Kristin,’ said a man’s voice.

  ‘Hello, Richard,’ came back the nurse’s reply. ‘You’re late,’ she said, teasing, not angry.

  ‘Sorry, honey. All the officers had to remain on the bridge until the search for survivors was finally abandoned.’

  The door closed, and the light softened once more. Harry had no way of knowing how much time had passed before the door opened again - half an hour, an hour perhaps - and he heard their voices.

  ‘Your tie’s not straight,’ said the nurse.

  ‘That won’t do,’ the man replied. ‘Someone might figure out what we’ve been up to.’ She laughed as he began walking towards the door. Suddenly he stopped. ‘Who are these two?’

  ‘Mr A and Mr B. The only survivors from last night’s rescue operation.’

  I’m Mr C, Harry wanted to tell her as they walked towards his bed. Harry closed his eyes; he didn’t want them to think he’d been listening to their conversation. She took his pulse.

  ‘I think Mr B is getting stronger by the hour. You know, I can’t bear the thought of not saving at least one of them.’ She left Harry and walked over to the other bed.

  Harry opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see a tall young man in a smart white dress uniform with gold epaulettes. Without warning, Nurse Craven began to sob. The young man placed an arm gently around her shoulder and tried to comfort her. No, no, Harry wanted to shout, Captain Havens can’t die. We’re going back to England together.

  ‘What’s the procedure in these circumstances?’ asked the young officer, sounding rather formal.

  ‘I have to inform the captain immediately, and then wake Dr Wallace. Once all the papers have been signed and clearance has been authorized, the body will be taken down to the morgue and prepared for tomorrow’s burial service.’

  No, no, no, Harry shouted, but neither of them heard him.

  ‘I pray to whatever God,’ continued the nurse, ‘that America doesn’t become involved in this war.’

  ‘That’s never going to happen, honey,’ said the young officer. ‘Roosevelt’s far too canny to get himself involved in another European war.’

  ‘That’s what the politicians said last time,’ Kristin reminded him.

  ‘Hey, what’s brought this on?’ He sounded concerned.

  ‘Mr A was about the same age as you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he also had a fiancee back home.’

  Harry realized that it wasn’t Captain Havens in the next bed, but Tom Bradshaw. That was when he made the decision.

  When Harry woke again, he could hear voices coming from the next room. Moments later, Dr Wallace and Nurse Craven walked into the sick bay.

  ‘It must have been heart-wrenching,’ said the nurse.

  ‘It wasn’t at all pleasant,’ admitted the doctor. ‘Somehow it was made worse because they all went to their graves nameless, although I had to agree with the captain, that’s the way a sailor would have wante
d to be buried.’

  ‘Any news from the other ship?’ asked the nurse.

  ‘Yes, they’ve done a little better than us. Eleven dead, but three survivors: a Chinaman and two Englishmen.’

  Harry wondered if it was possible that one of the Englishmen might be Captain Havens.

  The doctor bent down and unbuttoned Harry’s pyjama top. He placed a cold stethoscope on several parts of his chest and listened carefully. Then the nurse placed a thermometer in Harry’s mouth.

  ‘His temperature is well down, doctor,’ said the nurse after she had checked the vein of mercury.

  ‘Excellent. You might try giving him some thin soup.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Will you need my help with any of the passengers?’

  ‘No, thank you, nurse, your most important job is to make sure this one survives. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’

  Once the door had closed, the nurse returned to Harry’s bedside. She sat down and smiled. ‘Can you see me?’ she asked. Harry nodded. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

  ‘Tom Bradshaw,’ he replied.

  55

  ‘TOM,’ SAID DR WALLACE once he’d completed his examination of Harry, ‘I wonder if you can tell me the name of your fellow officer who died last night. I’d like to write to his mother, or his wife if he had one.’

  ‘His name was Harry Clifton,’ said Harry, his voice barely audible. ‘He wasn’t married, but I know his mother quite well. I’d planned to write to her myself.’

  ‘That’s good of you,’ said Wallace, ‘but I’d still like to send her a letter. Do you have her address?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Harry. ‘But it might be kinder if she heard from me first, and not from a complete stranger,’ he suggested.

  ‘If you think so,’ said Wallace, not sounding at all sure.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Harry, a little more firmly this time. ‘You can always post my letter when the Kansas Star returns to Bristol. That’s assuming the captain is still planning to sail back to England, now we’re at war with Germany.’

  ‘We are not at war with Germany,’ said Wallace.

  ‘No, of course we’re not,’ said Harry, quickly correcting himself. ‘And let’s hope it never comes to that.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Wallace, ‘but that won’t stop the Kansas Star making the return journey. There are still hundreds of Americans stranded in England, with no other way of getting home.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit of a risk?’ asked Harry. ‘Especially considering what we’ve just been through.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Wallace. ‘The last thing the Germans will want to do is sink an American passenger ship, which would be sure to drag us into the conflict. I suggest you get some sleep, Tom, because I’m hoping that tomorrow the nurse will be able to take you for a turn around the deck. Only one lap to begin with,’ he emphasized.

  Harry closed his eyes but made no attempt to sleep as he began to think about the decision he’d made, and how many lives it would affect. By taking Tom Bradshaw’s identity, he had allowed himself a little breathing space to consider his future. Once they learnt that Harry Clifton had been killed at sea, Sir Walter and the rest of the Barrington family would be released from any obligations they might have felt bound by, and Emma would be free to begin a new life. A decision he felt Old Jack would have approved of, although the full implications hadn’t yet sunk in.

  However, the resurrection of Tom Bradshaw would undoubtedly create its own problems, and he would have to remain constantly on his guard. It didn’t help that he knew almost nothing about Bradshaw, so that whenever Nurse Craven asked him about his past, he either had to make something up or change the subject.

  Bradshaw had proved very adept at deflecting any questions he didn’t wish to answer, and had clearly been a loner. He hadn’t set foot in his own country for at least three years, possibly more, so his family would have no way of knowing of his imminent return. As soon as the Kansas Star arrived in New York, Harry planned to sail back to England on the first available ship.

  His greatest dilemma was how to prevent his mother from being put through any unnecessary suffering by thinking she’d lost her only son. Dr Wallace had gone some way to solving that particular problem when he promised to post a letter to Maisie the moment he arrived back in England. But Harry still had to write that letter.

  He had spent hours going over the text in his mind, so that by the time he’d recovered enough to commit his thoughts to paper, he almost knew the script by heart.

  New York,

  September 8th, 1939

  My dearest mother,

  I have done everything in my power to make sure you receive this letter before anyone can tell you I was killed at sea.

  As the date on this letter shows, I did not die when the Devonian was sunk on September 4th. In fact, I was plucked out of the sea by an American ship and am very much alive. However, an opportunity arose for me to assume another man’s identity, and I did so, in the hope it would release both you and the Barrington family from the many problems I seem to have unwittingly caused over the years.

  It is important that you realize my love for Emma has in no way diminished; far from it. But I do not feel I have the right to expect her to spend the rest of her life clinging on to the vain hope that at some time in the future I might be able to prove that Arthur Clifton and not Hugo Barrington was my father. This way, she can at least consider a future with someone else. I envy that man.

  I plan to return to England in the near future. Should you receive any communication from a Tom Bradshaw, it will be from me.

  I will be in touch with you the moment I set foot in England, but in the meantime, I must beg you to keep my secret as steadfastly as you kept your own for so many years.

  Your loving son,

  Harry

  He read the letter several times before placing it in an envelope marked ‘Strictly private and confidential’. He addressed it to Mrs Arthur Clifton, 27 Still House Lane, Bristol.

  The following morning, he handed the letter over to Dr Wallace.

  ‘Do you think you’re ready to try a short walk around the deck?’ asked Kristin.

  ‘Sure am,’ Harry replied, trying out one of the expressions he’d heard her boyfriend use, although he still found it unnatural to add the word ‘honey’.

  During those long hours he’d spent in bed, Harry had listened carefully to Dr Wallace, and whenever he was alone, he tried to imitate his accent, which he’d heard Kristin describe to Richard as east coast. Harry was thankful for the hours he’d spent with Dr Paget learning voice skills that he’d assumed would only be of use on stage. He was on stage. However, he still had the problem of how to deal with Kristin’s innocent curiosity about his family background and upbringing.

  He was assisted by a novel by Horatio Alger and another by Thornton Wilder, the only two books that had been left behind in the sick bay. From these he was able to conjure up a fictional family who hailed from Bridgeport, Connecticut. They consisted of a father who was a small-town bank manager with Connecticut Trust and Savings, a mother who was a dutiful home-maker and had once come second in the town’s annual beauty pageant, and an older sister, Sally, who was happily married to Jake, who ran the local hardware store. He smiled to himself when he recalled Dr Paget’s remark that, with his imagination, he was more likely to end up a writer than an actor.

  Harry placed his feet tentatively on the floor and, with Kristin’s help, pulled himself slowly up. Once he’d put on a dressing gown, he took her by the arm and made his way unsteadily towards the door, up a flight of steps and out on to the deck.

  ‘How long is it since you’ve been home?’ asked Kristin as they began their slow progress around the deck.

  Harry always tried to stick to the little he actually knew about Bradshaw, adding a few snippets from the life of his fictitious family. ‘Just over three years,’ he said. ‘My family never complain, because they knew I wanted to go to sea from a
n early age.’

  ‘But how did you come to be serving on a British ship?’

  Damn good question, thought Harry. He only wished he knew the answer. He stumbled, to give himself a little more time to come up with a convincing reply. Kristin bent down to assist him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, once he’d taken Kristin’s arm again. Then he began to sneeze repeatedly.

  ‘Perhaps it’s time to take you back to the ward,’ suggested Kristin. ‘We can’t afford to have you catching a cold. We can always try again tomorrow.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said Harry, relieved she didn’t ask any more questions.

  After she’d tucked him up like a mother putting a young child to bed, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

  Harry managed eleven laps of the deck the day before the Kansas Star sailed into New York Harbour. Although he couldn’t admit it to anyone, he was quite excited about the prospect of seeing America for the first time.

  ‘Will you be going straight back to Bridgeport once we’ve docked?’ asked Kristin during his final lap. ‘Or are you planning to stay in New York?’

  ‘Haven’t given it a lot of thought,’ said Harry, who had in fact given it a great deal of thought. ‘I suppose it will depend on what time we dock,’ he added, as he tried to anticipate her next question.

  ‘It’s just that, if you’d like to spend the night at Richard’s apartment on the East-side, that would be swell.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to put him to any trouble.’

  Kristin laughed. ‘You know, Tom, there are times when you sound more like an Englishman than an American.’

  ‘I guess after all those years serving on British ships you’re bound to eventually get corrupted by the limeys.’