A glass rolled unnoticed as Chesnaye pulled her to him. He could feel the desperate urgency of her kiss, and felt himself swimming in an uncontrolled desire.
With a jerk she freed herself and moved behind the sofa. Then with slow deliberation she pulled the dress over her head and threw her small shadows of underwear into the corner of the room. She walked across the room and knelt against Chesnaye’s knees. He was still staring at her, wanting her, yet unwilling to break the spell.
`You see, you can’t go now?’ She looked up at him, her eyes misty.
Chesnaye could still feel the intensity of their love and the perfection of her body.
Afterwards, in an even smaller room, he had lain pressed beside her in the narrow bed below an open window. In the filtered moonlight he propped himself on one elbow to look down at her relaxed body and the deep shadows below her breasts and across the silky smoothness of her thighs. It was at that moment she had reached out and touched the scar which he had carried through the years. Her eyes were still closed, but he could see the quick movement of her breasts as the contact reawakened desire.
Down, down … that other world which excluded all else but the love of two persons. Once she cried out, but their mouths found each other to stifle the delicious pain, and her hands locked behind his back to complete their bond.
When the first faint light of dawn cut through the narrow street Chesnaye prised himself away and knelt beside the bed to look at her face. It was relaxed and still, like a painting, and he wanted more than anything to hold her just once more.
jHe passed through the other room and paused to pick her clothes from the floor and switch off the lamp which had been left unnoticed. Down the hill, through the gates guarded by drowsy sentries, and out on to the long wide etty which had hardly changed since Roman soldiers had mounted a similar watch. The fresh, early scent from the sea, the querulous gulls nodding and grumbling on the dockside sheds as the solitary figure passed. Then the Saracen and the startled Quartermaster springing to life at the head of the gangway.
The decks felt damp and friendly, and in the pale light the tired ship looked almost beautiful.
He thrust his hands behind his head and stared up at the deckhead. How quickly those seven days had passed, and how wretched had been the parting. Saracen had been required to slip and proceed to sea under cover of darkness. On that last day he had spent only an hour with Ann Curzon, an hour of brimming happiness verging on despair.
To leave her was bad enough, without the growing suspense of the convoy. It seemed as if she should still be in her little room above the harbour and not at this moment lying in some over-crowded cabin aboard a darkened, hurrying ship.
Chesnaye was beginning to fret again, and with an impatient movement swung himself off the bunk. Slinging his jacket across his bare shoulders like a cape, he walked quietly on to the bridge his unlit pipe in his mouth.
The two midshipmen were just going below, their lesson completed. `Learnt anything?’ They both stopped startled as they recognised their captain half dressed and dishevelled.
Danebury said seriously, `It’s all very difficult, sir.’
Fox was standing by the compass, his hair ruffling slightly in the weak breeze. `Too many classroom ideas in their beads, sir.’
`You’ll soon put that right, eh, Pilot?’ Chesnaye grinned. `The Navy’s never been very keen on matchbox navigation !’
‘Their loss, sir!’ Fox was unperturbed.
Chesnaye wandered around the bridge, his eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the distorted moonglow. The ship had little motion, and it did not need much imagination to conjure up a picture of Ann standing by the screen, her body poised like a statue. He touched the screen, smooth and unmarked from the repair yard.
In Malta they could pick up the threads again. They must.
She had wanted to walk with him to the harbour gates, but he had persuaded her against it.
`You’ll soon be the Captain again!’ She had held him at arm’s length, her eyes bright and wistful. `You’re my life now, Dick. I need you so much.’
He had pulled her close so that she should not see the pain on his face. ‘And I you.’
`I know. Just being together has been wonderful. But it’s not enough. Not now. Not ever.’
A step grated behind him and he heard Fox handing over the watch. Midnight already. A shiver ran through him as lie thought of what tomorrow would bring.
Sharply he said, `Have you got the signal about the convoy decoded yet, Pilot?’
Fox sounded wary. `In the charthouse, sir. The First Lieutenant has been working on the order of advance so that we can adjust the plot. There won’t be much time after tomorrow, sir.’
`Right. I’ll take a look.’
Back into the stuffiness, where the fresh charts and notebooks were lined up like surgical instruments. A new list of ships and their positions in convoy was pinned alongside the chart table. Quickly Chesnaye scanned the list. There was still a chance that Ann’s ship might not have sailed for some reason. His gaze faltered. Third ship in the starboard column, Cape Cod, it had sailed. His finger was resting on the vessel’s name, and Fox remarked casually, `That one’ll be just about on our beam if the Admiral sticks to his sailing orders.’
Chesnaye wondered briefly if Erskine knew the girl would be aboard that ship. If so he must have had bitter thoughts when he was decoding the signal.
Fox yawned. `I’m going to turn in unless you need me for anything?’
`Nothing at the moment, Pilot.’ Chesnaye sounded far away.
`We might get through without a scratch, sir.’ Fox was watching him closely. `I’m not too worried.’
Chesnaye gave a small smile. `Well, you keep that way.’
Bombers, submarines, even E-boats, might already be grop-g ing through the darkness.
Fox turned to leave, `Radio room reports all quiet, sir. Might be a good sign.’
`When the jungle falls silent, Pilot, that’s the time to watch out!’
Chesnaye walked back under the stars and watched the tug Goliath as she pushed her black bulk across the moon’s silver path. If only a storm would blow up. Anything would be better than this. He could easily imagine a U-boat commander watching the Saracen’s shape in his cross-wires, or even the torpedoes skimming through the water at this very moment.
On one of the Oerlikon platforms a gunner laughed, and Chesnaye heard the rattle of cocoa mugs. Every man is my responsibility, he thought. But tomorrow I shall be helpless and have the agony of an onlooker. He gripped the screen and strained his eyes into the darkness. Oh, Ann, take care ! I shall be so near to you tomorrow, yet so helpless !
In the deserted wardroom Fox paused to pick up a tattered copy of Men Only before going to his cabin. Then he saw the Doctor dozing in one of the deep armchairs, a cup of cold coffee still by his elbow.
`Aren’t you going to bed, Doe?’
Wickersley rubbed his eyes. `I suppose so. What’s it like up top?’
Fox looked round the wardroom. `Quiet. I think the Skipper’s worrying about tomorrow. But the way I see it this ship’ll be the safest in the convoy. The bastards will be after the fat loaded merchantmen !’
Wickersley levered himself upright and peered at his watch. `I think he’s worried about losing something other than the ship,’ he said quietly.
Fox watched him go and then gave a shrug. With his magazine under his arm he groped his way down the passage to his cabin. Poor, trusting merchant ships, he thought. In peacetime it was either depression or cut-throat competition. In war it was sheer bloody murder.
He was wondering what Wickersley had meant when he fell suddenly asleep, the magazine on his chest like a dead warrior’s scroll.
Chesnaye awoke with a start, aware that someone had touched his arm.
McGowan was waiting at a respectful distance. ‘Convoy sighted, sir!’ He watched as Chesnaye licked his dry lips and got slowly from his chair. `Wing escort has just made the recognition
signal.’
Chesnaye nodded vaguely and walked stiffly to the rear of the bridge. The sun was blazing hot, and seemed to strike up at him with every step. It almost brought physical pain to look seawards, to the tiny grey shape which had just lifted above the horizon. He steadied his glasses. The indistinct black crucifix of the newcomer’s superstructure and the white slash of bow wave below. A powerful destroyer tearing ahead of the convoy, searching and listening for any lurking U-boat. A pinpoint of diamond-bright light flickered over the miles of shining water.
The Yeoman raised his telescope, his lips moving as his signalman wrote down each letter. He said a moment later `Signal from escort, sir. Convoy will take up station as ordered.’
`Very well.’ What else was there to say? Others would call the tune. The convoy could only wait.
Like cautious and newly trained beasts the fourteen escorted merchantmen ponderously obeyed the impatient signal lamps and the jaunty hoists of bunting. It took half an hour to satisfy the flagship. Eventually there were two parallel lines of six supply ships, each line a mile apart. In the centre of the convoy the two most vulnerable vessels, an ammunition ship and a well-loaded oiler steamed ahead and astern of the Saracen to be given maximum protection by the monitor’s anti-aircraft guns.
Far out on either beam of the columns four destroyers and two elderly sloops slowly fanned into their positions for the final drive towards Malta. Then at reduced speed the convoy settled down and awaited the Admiral’s ultimate inspection. From right astern the cruiser Aureus steamed briskly through the length of the procession, her high bridge glittering with trained binoculars, her yards alive with soaring signal flags. She was a sleek-looking ship. A product of the early thirties, she was a craft to be proud of. Even her dazzle paint could not hide the outlines of power and speed. Her four twin turrets, as well as her secondary armament, were already manned and cocked skywards.
Chesnaye watched her pass, but lowered his glasses as Beaushears’ sun-reddened face leapt into the lenses. Even at that distance he could see the searching, irritable expression beneath the multi-oak-leaved cap, and was not surprised to see the big signal lamp begin to stutter almost immediately.
The Yeoman said : `From Flag, sir. Keep correct distance from Corinth Star.’
Chesnaye nodded. `Thank you, Laidlaw.’ Then to Fox, `Fall back two inches from the ammunition ship, Pilot!’ Fox grinned. `Aye, aye, sir !’
The flagship continued on its lordly way, and finally reduced speed with an impressive display of white froth when in position ahead of the convoy.
Sub-Lieutenant Bouverie sighed. `Do you ever have the feeling you are being watched?’
A telephone buzzed, and Fox said, `Screening squadron on station, sir.’
`Very well.’ Chesnaye eased himself from the chair and walked quickly to the chart table which had been clipped in position on the bridge. Beaushears’ four cruisers were steaming somewhere below the horizon, ready to give support and to head off any intrepid intrusions by enemy warships.
Chesnaye took a quick glance astern. Only occasionally visible beyond the rusty bulk of a Greek freighter he could see the squat outline of the rescue tug. She at least would probably escape any enemy attention.
McGowan hurried past on his way to the Director, a sheaf of papers under his arm. `I’ve just been round the A.A. guns, sir. All cleared away and manned.’
`Good. You can use the crew of the fifteen-inch turret to relieve the gunners at regular intervals. I don’t want them dropping off to sleep in this heat.’
McGowan tried not to look pained. `I’ve attended to that, sir.’
Chesnaye walked back to the front of the bridge, but to the starboard side. Bouverie stepped aside to leave room for him, but watched curiously as his captain began to study the nearest freighter with apparent care.
The Cape Cod was a fairly new ship, her hull low in the water, and the wide upper decks also crammed with heavy crates and additional stores for the besieged island.
Bouverie said. `She looks overloaded, sir. Wouldn’t like to be in her if she gets a packet!’
`Be so good as to attend to your duties, Sub!’ Chesnaye did not even notice the harshness in his own voice or the look of surprise on Bouverie’s face. From the compass platform Fox glanced down at them and sensed the sudden tension.
Bouverie climbed up beside him and said in a bewildered tone, `What’s got into him?’
Fox felt suddenly uneasy, but answered unfeelingly : `Do as he says ! This isn’t the bloody Old Bailey, y’know !’
Chesnaye moved his glasses carefully over the labouring freighter, across the upper bridge where a bearded captain was speaking to his mate and two seamen were fitting drums on a pair of Lewis guns. Then down past the black funnel and along the boatdeck. He stiffened. Beside one of the swan-necked davits he saw a small knot of figures. Two or three men in khaki and then four women. Three of the latter were nurses in uniform, but the fourth, in khaki slacks and grey shirt, whose hair rippled carelessly in the warm breeze was Ann.
She was shading her eyes with one hand and staring across the strip of surging water between the two ships, and seemed to be looking directly at him. He lowered the glasses to wipe one of the lens and felt a tinge of disappointment as the clear picture shrunk to the reality of distance. Forgetting the men behind him, he stepped up on to a locker and with his binoculars to his eyes began to wave his cap slowly, above his head.
From the compass platform Fox took a quick look around the bridge to make sure that everyone was occupied, and then raised his own glasses. It did not take him long to find the small group of figures and the laughing girl who was pointing and waving towards the Saracen. So that was it, he thought. Chesnaye’s sharpness earlier had made him suspect something else. He would not have blamed Chesnaye for being rattled and uncertain with Beaushears breathing down his neck, and knowing that whatever happened with this convoy his command was soon to be ended.
But this was something else again. He dropped his glasses hastily as Chesnaye stepped down from the locker. The girl; Chesnaye’s complete change of manner while the ship had been undergoing repairs; it all added up. He caught Chesnaye’s eye and wanted to share his inner happiness. But the Captain looked through him, his eyes distant and suddenly troubled. Fox sighed. So near and yet so far. He could guess what Chesnaye must be thinking.
Bouverie said suddenly : `Signal, sir. One U-boat reported in vicinity.’
A string of bunting broke out from the flagship’s yard, and Laidlaw said flatly, `Alter course signal, sir.’
Slowly the signal was seen and acknowledged along the lines of ships. As the distant flags vanished, the slow-moving vessels wheeled heavily on to the new course. It didn’t do much good because the enemy was probably well informed of both the convoy and its destination. But Beaushears obviously intended to play the game to its bitter end.
`Steady on two-seven-nine, sir.’
Chesnaye started to refill his pipe, the movements jerky and tense. `Very good. Check the U-boat’s alleged position, Pilot. There may be more soon.’
He jammed his pipe between his teeth and then forgot it. With the other ships all around the pace seemed even slower. Only the slosh of mingled bow waves and an occasional down-draught of funnel smoke gave any hint of movement.
Laidlaw interrupted his thoughts once more. `Destroyer Scimitar reports aircraft bearing Green four-five, sir. Possibly a Focke-Wolf. Out of gun range and appears to be circling.’
Chesnaye forced himself to light his pipe. It needed all his concentration to stop his hand from shaking. So the enemy was showing his hand. As in the Atlantic, the big Focke-Wulf was merely a searcher and a shadower. He would already be reporting back, homing other forces on’ to the convoy. ‘He may not see anything.’ Chesnaye cursed himself for his empty words. Unlike the Atlantic, where weather was often the best ally, this flat, innocent sea was as ideal for a spotting aircraft as some giant plotting table.
He lifted his glasse
s. The destroyer which had made the signal was the leading escort on the starboard wing. It was almost lost in a bank of haze, but Chesnaye could see the tell-tale signal flags and the faint movement of her guns as they impotently tracked the invisible intruder.
Fox said imperturbably, `Sunset in four hours, sir.’
`Good.’ Was it really as late as that? It seemed incredible when each minute dragged with such painful slowness.
Erskine crossed the bridge, his eyes hidden by sun-glasses. `I’ve checked with the supply officer, sir. He’ll feed the men in four batches. Bag meals will be sent up to the guns first.’
`Good idea.’ Chesnaye saw Erskine glance quickly towards the nearby freighter. `You can relieve me for the night watches, John. i want to try to snatch a few hours’ rest. I have a feeling it’ ; going to be a busy day tomorrow.’
Erskine tore his eyes from the Cape Cod. `She looks very vulnerable, sir.’
Chesnaye replied coldly, `They all are.’ For a moment he could find no words beyond the necessities of duty. `But we’ll give a warm reception to anyone who comes sniffing around!’
Erskine licked his lips. `I’d like to see you privately, if I may, sir? There’s something I’d like to get off my chest.’ He removed his sun-glasses, and Chesnaye could see the deep shadows under his eyes. `I want you to hear my side of the story!’
`I see.’ Chesnaye looked at him calmly and found that it did not seem to matter what Erskine had said or done. `It’ll keep. But one day, John, when you understand the loneliness of command, I hope you can learn something from all this ‘
He broke off as Fox said sharply : `Urgent signal, sir. Intelligence reports heavy surface units at sea approx. one hundred and fifty miles east of Syracuse. No further details yet.’
Chesnaye climbed on to his chair and glanced towards the freighter. `No further are necessary, I should think!’
So there were to be no slip-ups, after all. The enemy was ready and warned. Somehow, somewhere, there was to be a killing ground. He shifted his binoculars to the flagship. All at once she seemed to have become smaller and more vulnerable.
HMS Saracen Page 30
