Dust on the Sea (1999)

by Reeman, Douglas

  Burgoyne slid the folder aside. ‘Or like the Somme.’

  Vaughan wished someone would come with an urgent message, or that there would be an air raid alert. But there was nothing, only silence. And a sense of betrayal.

  Burgoyne said, ‘The young woman has returned to her regular duties. That was your idea, I believe?’ As usual, he did not wait for an answer. ‘I’m glad of that. Commander Diamond was largely responsible for her assignment as a courier; they needed someone who would be known and trusted by the parties concerned. I think he was hasty, or perhaps he, too, was weighing the values of duty and sacrifice.’ He seemed to tire of it. ‘Diamond has been transferred to more rustic responsibilities. Commander St John, whom you already know, has been appointed in his place.’

  ‘I see.’ Vaughan thought of the girl named Joanna Gordon, so determined, so eager when she had accompanied him to the Middle East. The doctors had told him about her private struggle to put her ordeal behind her. He considered it, coldly, as the man opposite him would. If she had been too badly abused to escape, they would have killed her also. He could not accept it, condone it. In this austere office, it seemed a different war entirely.

  ‘That’s settled, then. I shall complete my report. I am certain the P.M. will be satisfied.’ Burgoyne watched him almost curiously. ‘After all, it was his idea to give your people the title of Commando. His own experiences against the Boers in South Africa, I believe?’

  ‘Yes. We’re very proud of it.’

  He could picture their faces in the Alexandrian sunshine. The sergeants and the corporals, and the ordinary marines. Young Blackwood, and the tough ex-ranker Despard.

  Perhaps Burgoyne’s was the way to think, to place things in order of their value.

  He thought of the old friend he would be meeting at his club for lunch; he could find no way of getting out of it now. Lieutenant-General Robyns had once been well known throughout the Corps, both ashore and afloat. The family. Now he had lost his only son, on that same raid they had just been discussing like doctors invited to witness an operation.

  He realised that they were both on their feet, although he did not recall any movement.

  Burgoyne was saying, ‘You’re a bit like me in some ways, Ralph. We have to think of our own future, too. When this war is finally over we might need to find a challenge elsewhere. It’s worth considering, I’d say.’

  The door closed, and another senior officer stood up and stared past Vaughan as if he were invisible. It was his turn next.

  Vaughan jammed on his cap and strode to the staircase. Burgoyne’s gentle comment stayed with him until he reached the street.

  Whichever way you looked at it, it had sounded like a threat.

  The little pub was well off the beaten track, and across Portsmouth Harbour on the Gosport side. It was almost impossible to reach for the ordinary serviceman or woman, unless transport was available.

  Diane Blackwood guessed that he had chosen the place with great care, and he had somehow managed to obtain the use of an army car. As they got out of it she looked again at the scarlet-painted wings, which revealed that it belonged to a bomb disposal unit. When she had first mentioned it, he had brushed it aside. ‘It’s all okay. I’ve been doing a few jobs while I’ve been in Portsmouth.’ She had not pressed him, and he had seemed almost nervous once they were alone together.

  She had even toyed with the idea of asking for a sleeping-out pass, but had reconsidered. She was still uncertain if the decision had been a precaution against things getting out of hand, or against herself.

  They pushed through the heavy blackout curtain, which smelled of dust and tobacco, and she was surprised that the bar itself was so welcoming. A lot of pubs took advantage of servicemen on a run ashore, knowing they were too eager to be away from discipline and duty to care about the finer points.

  There were a few uniforms here. A.T.S. girls, probably from one of the anti-aircraft batteries, with their friends, and an army lieutenant who glanced at her companion with something like panic until he saw the New Zealand flash on his shoulder. A few moments of privacy. Escape. An old dog was dozing by an empty grate and she wondered how the one at Hawks Hill was getting on, surrounded by landgirls and Italian P.O.W.s.

  He bought two gins at the bar and carried them to a table in the corner; he had been in England long enough to realise that you never asked for a Scotch any more. The landlord would probably call the police to say he had a German spy on the premises. Apart from senior officers, she had often wondered what happened to all the whisky.

  He said, ‘Thought you might change your mind. Not come, after all.’

  She smiled and sipped the gin. The other girls would ask her how she got on. It was like that in their convent, as it was nicknamed.

  One of the Wrens had told them of an exploit in a restaurant where she had been having an evening meal with a shy sub-lieutenant. He had almost fainted when the manager had sidled up to their table and said there was a fine double room upstairs, with a coal fire to make it even more attractive.

  They had all wanted to know what had happened. She was rather a brash girl and had enjoyed their curiosity. ‘Well, there’s a war on, and coal is rationed. We couldn’t waste a good fire, could we?’

  It was probably just a story.

  He said suddenly, ‘You look great. I saw all the eyes when we came in.’

  She touched his hand. ‘You’re leaving soon? Tell me.’

  He put the hand over hers, and again she sensed his uncertainty, a shyness which was only too rare.

  ‘Next week. You know how it is.’ He glanced around. ‘But I’ll probably be seeing your brother. There aren’t so many Royal Marine units, are there?’

  She looked at him directly. ‘The Med, then . . . You said you were doing something with explosives. H.M.S. Vernon? I wish I’d known.’

  ‘Does it make any difference?’

  She smiled. Afraid of what she felt, of what it might do, to both of them.

  She said, ‘The Colonel sent for me today. It’s no secret, anyway. Mike is being decorated, the Distinguished Service Cross. I was so proud when he told me! I just wish I could be there when they pin it on him!’

  He watched her, feature by feature, a very young girl again, unable to hide it, any more than she had in the Long Room at Hawks Hill.

  ‘Lucky bloke!’ They both laughed, and two of the A.T.S. girls looked over as if to share it.

  She dropped her eyes, and studied their clasped hands. ‘That car outside, Steve. Bomb disposal. Is that what you do? I’d like to know.’

  His fingers tightened slightly. ‘I want you to. It’s not the main part of it, but it does involve explosives.’ He grinned, perhaps relieved. ‘Safe as houses, if you know what you’re about!’

  She looked at him again. ‘I’m glad. You see, I care. Quite a lot, as it happens.’

  Someone had switched on the news, and she saw his frown.

  ‘During the night our bombers raided the marshalling yards at Hamburg. Fifteen of our aircraft failed to return.’

  The landlord switched it off. His little pub was surrounded by naval and military establishments; they did not need to be reminded.

  The interruption seemed to have given him confidence. He said, ‘After the war, I mean if things are still the same, I’d like to come to England. For good. What you told me about Hawks Hill, and what I saw, well, I know I could offer something. I’m used to farms and to agriculture. But maybe your brother wouldn’t care much for that idea?’

  She watched the quiet desperation. She said lightly, ‘You’ll have to ask him, when you meet. And write to me afterwards, won’t you?’

  He did not seem to hear. ‘But it’s not really that, either. I wanted you to know me, just a bit more, so that you might consider . . .’

  ‘Ask me, Steve, if that’s what you want.’

  He looked at their empty glasses. ‘No. It’s not right. You don’t know my prospects, and neither of us knows what might ha
ppen.’ He glanced at their hands as she repeated, ‘Ask me.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you, Diane, not now that I’ve found you. I think we’d be fine together!’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘I don’t even have a ring to give you!’

  She disengaged her hand and stood, then she walked deliberately to the bar and ordered two more gins. She heard her shoes clicking on the uncarpeted floor, and counted every step like a heartbeat.

  She brought the glasses back to their table, but remained standing, looking at him.

  ‘I believe there are some nice shops in Chichester.’

  He stared at her and said, ‘Chichester?’ Then he jumped to his feet, his respirator haversack clattering from the chair. ‘You mean it?’

  She nodded, barely able to appear calm. ‘And I’ll give you a lift next time. The Colonel won’t care!’

  A small, rather dingy pub, which like most places could do with a few coats of paint, but there could have been no finer proposal. People were slapping them on the back, the landlord was refilling glasses and beaming.

  When they eventually left and groped their way into the darkness, searchlights were sweeping the sky, and in the distance they heard the insane shriek of a destroyer’s siren. The war was never far away.

  Then they kissed, and she was surprised that she could let it take control of her in a way she had never expected. He held her firmly but gently, as if he were afraid of hurting her. Not once did he attempt a deeper intimacy, and she found that she could still be shocked, mostly to discover that she would not have resisted if he had.

  The following morning she was still thinking about it, while she prepared the Wolseley to collect the Colonel from the harbour station.

  The grey-haired second officer came down the steps and said, ‘There was a message for you. I had to take it. He’s gone. Change of orders.’ She studied her impassively. ‘Sorry about that.’

  Diane stared at her, suddenly cold, empty. ‘Was that all? Please – I must know!’

  The second officer nodded slowly, satisfied. ‘He said that he loves you.’

  She stared around, seeing nothing but the little bar, their hands on the table . . . the touch of him . . .

  ‘I’ll get one of the other chaps to take the car if you like?’

  ‘No.’ Then, ‘Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to snap.’

  The officer smiled. ‘That’s the ticket, my girl. Powder your nose, straighten your cap, and don’t keep the Boss waiting!’

  As the girl walked away, she added softly, ‘And bloody good luck to you! In this regiment, you need it!’

  But the hurt remained, as if it was part of her own.

  12

  The Finest Day

  Although it was a different room, the view from the high, dusty window was exactly as she remembered it. The gravel path, the small outbuildings with unmatching tiles. But there was colour, too, leaves stirring in the bright sunshine where before there had been bare trees. And roses, only a few, which had defied the winter and the garden’s general neglect to make patches of red and yellow.

  She saw her own reflection in the glass, the pale blue uniform which should have been her defence against this place and its memories. It was not. She could have been naked, like that first time here. She shied away from it. Like before.

  The same doctor sat on what could have been the same chair, her white coat probably her own form of protection.

  She had let her talk without interruption. She had not even glanced at her watch to imply that she had more important things to do, more deserving people who needed her help.

  Strange how easy it was to talk about Mike, to try to explain. When they had been together for that brief time at Alexandria, they had barely touched. There had been so much going on, so many people around them, the major-general, his foxy servant Percy Archer. Perhaps Mike had not noticed. It was beginning again. Like an ache. A recurring nightmare.

  The doctor said, ‘Perhaps you left here too soon. I did warn you what you might expect. The mind can do funny things. Like a sorting office . . . keeping things from you, dropping them on the mat when you’re least prepared for them.’

  Joanna Gordon stared at the gravel path. ‘You see, I love him so much. People might find that hard to believe. We were together for such a short time.’ She clenched one fist. ‘But I knew. That I wanted him, that he needed me.’

  ‘He is a Royal Marine Commando. Captain Blackwood?’

  The girl swung towards her, then relaxed, second by second. ‘Sorry. Yes. I told you all about him, didn’t I?’

  ‘Some people would find it difficult to understand. But in war, in times like these, the process is speeded up.’ Then, abruptly, ‘But you were in love before?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I had a lover. I know the difference now.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘And you’re afraid that your experience may have taken something away? Something of you, and that he will sense it, when you meet again?’

  She walked to the opposite wall and looked at the neatly made bed. The hospital where everything was done, where nobody was ever seen doing it. Even the silence was physical.

  ‘I have the chance to go back to North Africa. Briefly – but I must see him.’

  ‘He’s getting a medal?’ She was prompting gently. It was as if the girl in W.A.A.F. uniform had come to an invisible barrier. To a dead end.

  Then Joanna said, ‘I’m so proud of him.’

  ‘And he is of you.’ She kept quite still, aware of the frailty, like the most fragile glass. ‘Let your mind go back. There’s nothing to fear. You told me everything, all you could recall each time we spoke. You suffered enough; I doubt if many could come through that unscathed, undamaged.’

  Joanna had removed her cap and tossed it on to the bed without noticing it. It was like giving in, surrendering all over again.

  She said softly, ‘The gendarmerie . . . it was there that I first realised what had happened. What was going to happen. I wanted to resist, to fight, but I was terrified. That femme-agent or whatever she was wanted me to provoke her.’ She held out her arm as if expecting to still see the raw, burned skin. ‘All the time she kept talking, talking, making me look at things, instruments, while she was searching my body.’ She moved to the window again and stood quite motionless in a shaft of sunlight. ‘She was hurting me, enjoying it. I used to see her every night when I closed my eyes. But I fought it, and fought it, until . . .’

  ‘Until the rest came back to you?’

  ‘Yes. I still can’t remember exactly what happened. There was an explosion, and some shooting. I was just putting on some of my clothes and trying not to give in to the pain, when all the lights went out, and I was picked up and dragged out of the building. They put a pad over my face, like the smell here . . .’ She stared at the doctor suddenly, but was seeing something else.

  The doctor said, ‘Ether. It will knock anybody out. Can be dangerous if wrongly used.’ She knew her words had gone unheard, but it gave her time. The girl was reliving it, calling back a picture so misty in her mind that it was like another part of the puzzle.

  ‘I was in a vehicle of some kind. A van. I could smell fish. Tar. But my mind kept sliding away. All I could hold on to was that I was free of the hideous place, from that bitch.’

  The doctor waited, remembering her examination. The deep bruises, scratches on the shoulders where she had been held.

  ‘And then we were in a boat. I knew we were in danger – he had a hand over my mouth. There were voices, men marching.’ She shuddered. ‘Soldiers.’

  ‘And they hid you. To help you escape.’

  She did not reply for a full minute. The silence seemed to surround them.

  ‘We were in a sort of hold, like a storeroom under the deck somewhere. There was no space to stand, and I had to lie on some canvas, and I think some sacking, while he lay beside me, holding my mouth. Listening. My head was swimming, I could scarcely breathe, and I’m sure now that he drugged me a
gain. But I heard the boots right overhead. The voices, one of them shouting. Angry. Like a barking dog.

  ‘I missed the next part, and when I could breathe again I heard the boat’s engine, water against the side. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t care. I was free.

  ‘I kept drifting off. I just don’t know . . .’

  The doctor did not move. One word now might destroy everything.

  ‘At first I thought he was trying to cover me up, I was cold, most of my clothes were still at the gendarmerie. I tried to feel my legs, but his hand was there. I tried, I tried . . .’

  The doctor stood up, and joined her by the window without touching her.

  ‘You could do nothing, Joanna. Nothing.’

  ‘He was saying something. He was careful not to touch my burned arm. I wanted to scream but I was too drugged . . . I wanted to be sick. But I knew he was doing it, raping me. When I had recovered myself he was gone.’ Her hand moved to her groin as if powerless to resist. ‘But I could still feel him. Feel him.’

  They both watched in silence as a tall figure in a blue dressing-gown appeared on the familiar gravel path. Walking slowly, as she had once done. A male nurse was following a few yards behind him, as if by coincidence.

  Joanna said in a small voice, ‘I’m afraid of what it might do to Mike, if he found out. He might think . . .’ She glanced down as the doctor gripped her arm. ‘He needs me. I couldn’t bear to be the one to destroy him.’

  They both looked at the path again. The man in the dressing-gown was kneeling on the grass, peering at one of the roses as if it was some personal miracle. The male nurse remained motionless.

  ‘Only you can tell him. If he needs you, he will understand. If not, then he’s not worth it.’ She patted the arm, very gently. ‘I can have you taken off that duty, just by picking up the phone. Nobody would blame you, no one would know. You should never have been there – you’re not the first, or the last, I’ll wager!’

  The tall figure in the dressing-gown had turned and was pointing down at the rose, his grin very white in his tanned face.