‘I know it was.’
‘It’s terrible – when I don’t know…’
‘Almost worth it, to get back. Is worth it, in fact. For this – you – Lucia, darling, I tell you honestly, it’s the nearest thing to heavenly bliss I—’
‘Because now you are back. This time yesterday, or the day before or—’
‘You’re in my mind every minute. Whatever else is happening – all right, in the back of it, I’m not consciously thinking of you every minute, obviously, but—’
‘I think of you – consciously – most of the time.’
‘Your eyes glow like that, most of the time?’
‘If they do, it’s with special thoughts. Including lovemaking, the feel of us against each other, of you in me – and your eyes when you’re looking at me like you do – the way you’re doing now. I love the way you do that. You look so – hungry—’
‘Ravenous. Still am.’
‘Me too.’
‘Good. This mouth – sexiest mouth I ever saw, let alone kissed—’
‘Kissed so many, have you?’
‘None – in comparison, none at all.’
Inner qualm, sense of disloyalty. He felt it again now, remembering… But that conversational interlude must have faded at about this point. It had been a long three weeks, and ‘ravenous’ was the word.
Why Elizabeth, as the entirely suppositional admiral’s wife? As much as anything, he supposed, because for a long time there’d been an assumption that eventually they’d marry, and because until very recently he’d never doubted that he’d be spending his whole life in the Navy. There was no doubt that she’d fill the role of naval wife absolutely perfectly. She had great charm and savoir faire, was utterly reliable and competent as well as strikingly attractive – even beautiful, in the classical English way. She was also fun to be with, sweet-natured, loving… Better stop there, he thought: you could go on for ever listing her virtues and still be aware that you’d never feel even half the sheer blinding passion for her that you felt for Lucia.
Lucia was an obsession. Highly physical, for sure. But which came first – the chicken, or the egg? Love didn’t have to be of any lesser value for being passionate, did it? It wasn’t all sex, anyway. At the mere sight or sound of her he felt what most people would surely call love. Her expressions, the sound of her voice – the way she moved…
Have to wake her, soon.
Telling him about her weekend in Cairo, she’d said that her mother and stepfather were keen for the two of them to spend a weekend there, when it could be arranged. ‘Do you think we could, Ned?’
‘Yes, I’d like to. Your mother did mention it when I telephoned you there. Before you got to the telephone.’
‘So dare I ask, will you be here for the weekend after this coming one – and if so, could we—’
‘Yes, we could. I’m pretty sure I’ll be here. Can’t guarantee it – as you know, I can’t ever – but—’
‘I’ll telephone Maman. They’ll put us in separate rooms, but—’
‘But.’
‘Exactly.’ She’d laughed. ‘Really – imagine—’
‘I can’t. It’d be unbearable.’
‘For me, too. Don’t worry… I’ll telephone her tonight, anyway. Incidentally, what if that weekend’s bad for them and she asks us for the one after?’
‘Then we’d have to let her know. You could accept for yourself, and for me to go with you if I’m still here.’
Thinking about that now, while she slept on: that it was a safe bet for the weekend after this one – ten days’ time, in fact – and might be all right for the weekend after that, even. He’d been assured that Spartan would be allowed a rest now – having had only four days in harbour last time, and damn near three weeks at sea on this last occasion.
* * *
The Suda Bay episode had been a flop. They’d run into intensive anti-submarine activity, with constant interference by aircraft, MAS-boats all over the place day and night and a bunch of destroyers conducting sweeps. By night, flare-dropping aircraft had given them no peace, and by day they’d mostly stayed deep, keeping out of trouble but listening hard on Asdics. Despite which, at some stage the cruiser must have got away. By the third night, anyway, the heat had been turned off, making it fairly obvious that the bird had flown. And the following evening they’d had orders to shift billet again, to patrol an area to the north of the island of Scarpanto – which was where they’d been stuck for the next ten days. Seeing nothing except occasional aircraft, and with a growing suspicion over a period of several days that Tigress had been lost. First they’d received and deciphered her recall signal, orders to return to Alexandria via the Andikithira Strait, which Joliffe was told Spartan had now vacated. Submarines customarily acknowledged receipt of such orders, but were allowed some latitude in doing so; in Tigress’s case for instance if the anti-submarine activity had been extended northwards to her area – if the cruiser had been going that way it very likely would have been – Joliffe would have wanted to get clear of it before transmitting. But a day and a night had passed, and – nothing. S.(1) had repeated the recall signal to him: then after an interval demanded: Report your position. Still, no answer; and when another twenty-four hours had passed in silence, you weren’t guessing any longer.
‘Failed to return from patrol’, or ‘Missing presumed lost’ were the standard phrases for it.
‘But – nice work, Mitch, your minelayer.’
‘Well – yes…’ He’d still been thinking about Tigress and Mike Joliffe. Thinking again, But for the grace of God… Thinking of his own foul-up with the destroyer: that it could so easily have been Spartan not answering her recall signal.
He’d offered the S.O.(O.) a cigarette. ‘We were wondering where those mines might have been laid, if they’d remained intact. Gulf of Athens, perhaps.’
‘Anywhere. But of course laying traps for us, primarily. There’s one area in particular – well, as it happens this brings us back to what you might call the pig factor, Mitch – the so-called “human torpedoes”. It’s why we’re keeping the exits from that end of the Aegean staked out, from now on – why we had to keep you there as long as we did. Fact is we couldn’t bring you out of it until there was a boat available to relieve you, you see. Centre of interest being the island of Leros, in the Dodecanese. We’ve known for some time they have a submarine flotilla based there, and the word now is that their two-man torpedo outfit’s going to use it as the jump-off point for an attack on us here. Hot tip from Intelligence this is, via Northways – answer to the problem we were trying to solve when we sent you to the Bomba gulf.’
‘Long haul, isn’t it?’
‘At first sight, you might think so. Why we didn’t think of it, I suppose. But it’d only be – well, have a look here. I’ve plotted it out, roughly.’ He got up, crossed to the big chart table. ‘Leros – here… One full night’s run on the surface would bring ’em right down through the Scarpanto Strait – here. Then – well, a lot more circumspect, obviously, dived by day and shorter runs by night. Nights are lengthening now though, aren’t they? What it amounts to is – well, if I was doing it, I’d allow for three days and nights on passage, and I’d expect to launch my brood of piglets close offshore here on the fourth night – fourth out from Leros, that is.’
He’d pulled out another chart: Leros itself, large-scale. ‘Their 5th Flotilla base is in here. This inlet – Port Lago, they call it. Barracks on shore, the lot. Built pre-war, Musso’s Mare Nostrum, all that bullshit. You might ask why not stake that out?’
‘Because we don’t want to tell them we know about it.’
‘Full marks, Mitch. Especially as we know what has to be their approach route. After all, they aren’t going to make any long detours, are they, once they get these characters on board they’ll want to ship ’em to the target prontissimo. And – as you say – if they reckoned the place was compromised they’d shift their ground and we’d be guessing again. As
things are, from where we put you this last time – and/or the Kaso and Scarpanto Straits—’
‘Approach route’s covered.’
A nod. ‘Seems to me it is. Of course, we could put a boat up closer. But it’s a fair bet they’ll be laying mines in strategic spots, and they’ve air bases all over the damn place – including the Luftwaffe in strength on Crete, and Italians on Rhodes. See?’
‘I’ll be back there before long, will I?’
‘I’d say so. Up your street, really. Especially if we did have to move you in closer to the wicket – into shallow water between the islands here for instance.’ Because Spartan was smaller than her T-class flotilla mates, therefore handier in shallow or restricted waters. She needed less water to dive in, for instance, and at periscope depth might hope to be slightly less visible from the air.
* * *
Lucia had put a record on her radiogram, one of her favourites. She’d brought several back from Cairo, and this was one of them. Moving into his arms now, dancing to it, crooning into his ear: ‘—to thrill, and delight me…’
She certainly didn’t need any more scent on, for the evening. They’d bathed, were dressing – or were about to – for drinks chez Seydoux to start with. In his arms, still damp from the bath: at this moment the scent was all she had on. Golden eyes glowing in the lamplight: golden body too. The record was changing: Amor, Amor… Spanish origin, apparently, but English-language vocal. Another of the Cairo imports. ‘We’re going to be late, you know.’ Crooning again, then: ‘—want to have some more, love… My uncle is a little sticky about that kind of thing, so—’
‘Are you going to ring your mother?’
‘Oh God, yes’
While she was putting the call through, he put her pants on for her. Pale yellow, diminutive: they set off her tanned skin like an Indian’s. She told him – waiting, listening to the ringing tone – ‘You know it’s sexier than when you take them off me?’ Gazing down at him, at his hands sliding the yellow silk up over her hips: lifting them for him. ‘Maybe we can be late… Oh – oh, hello – Fatima! Yes, it’s me. I’d like to speak to my mother, please. Oh, very well, thank you – and you? That’s good. Yes, I’ll wait.’ Hand over the mouthpiece again: ‘Ned – I love you, I adore – oh, Maman, cherie – écoutes, Maman, I have Ned back, at last…’ Her hips moving, her eyes on his: ‘Yes, with me now…
* * *
Seydoux offered them champagne. Toasting Mitcheson – ‘Welcome back. It’s a pleasure to see you here again, Commander’ – but including Lucia in his smile so that it became a toast to both of them. Avuncular approval: in line with Maman’s, maybe. Huguette de Gavres had expressed delight at their acceptance of her invitation; listening to Lucia’s end of that conversation, Mitcheson had wondered how she’d have felt about it if telephones had been visual as well as audial. Maybe she’d have closed her eyes: this was, after all, Alexandria… Lucia’s aunt meanwhile seemed rather less forthcoming than her husband or his sister: although it could have been only that she was a quiet sort of woman, who didn’t chatter much. Wearing a dark-blue dress, high-necked with a choker of small pearls, she was as quiet and reserved as her daughter Solange – in red, tonight – was noisy and mobile, bubbling with joie de vivre. Putting her cheek to Lucia’s: ‘I bet you’re glad to have him back!’
Lucia smiled round at him, with an eyebrow raised. ‘Well – since you mention it…’
‘I suppose you’ve been out there slaughtering the enemy day and night, Commander?’
Mitcheson shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Solange, but—’
‘We don’t have to discuss such topics, in any case.’ Maria Seydoux broke silence, looking reprovingly at her daughter. She added to Mitcheson, ‘I regret Candice is not here. Nor Bertrand. He’s away on a business trip and Candice has been spending the afternoon with her cousins. If she’s not back soon she’ll be sorry to have missed you.’
‘I’ll be sorry too.’
Seydoux broke in: ‘Speaking of Candice, Commander, Wednesday next is her eighteenth birthday, and we’re having a small dance and supper. May we have the pleasure of your company – and Lucia’s of course, you’d bring her?’
Lucia nodded, smiling. ‘I knew about it, Ned. Left it to my uncle to invite you.’
‘Well – thank you, sir.’
‘I’m so glad.’ Seydoux sipped wine. ‘A further suggestion, though – at your own discretion, of course – is whether any of your officers might like to join us. If so, we’d be happy to see them here. Any or all – however many that may be.’
‘You’re very kind. I’ll ask them. I imagine they’ll be delighted. Probably two, could be three—’
‘Oh.’ Solange looked disappointed. ‘So few?’
Lucia asked her, ‘How many do you want, you awful girl?’ ’
‘Candice I’m thinking of – her birthday, for heaven’s sake, she won’t want to dance with the same man all night!’
Lucia began, glancing at Mitcheson, ‘How odd. I could think of nothing I’d—’
The doorbell rang. Solange jumped up. ‘This’ll be Hakim. He’s taking me to the Monseigneur. Excuse me.’
‘—nothing I’d like better.’
Seydoux smiled, looking after Solange, murmured to his wife, ‘He’s taking her she says. Much more likely she’s taking him. Twists him round her little finger, eh?’ He topped up Lucia’s glass and Mitcheson’s. ‘Poor fellow. Doesn’t stand a chance… What plans do you have for the evening, Commander?’
‘Well—’ glancing at Lucia – ‘I’d thought perhaps the Auberge, if we can get in.’
He didn’t much want to share this first evening with Solange and whoever Hakim might be, and he was fairly sure Lucia wouldn’t either, but being on the receiving-end of so much Seydoux hospitality he felt he had to show willing. He suggested quietly, ‘If Solange and her friend would like to join us, Lucia – up to you…’
Hakim was a French-Egyptian of about twenty-four, twenty-five, and it emerged that his father was a business associate of Maurice Seydoux’s. Business was the essential common ground around here, Mitcheson realized. It was the link between this family and the Angeluccis too. He wondered whether Ettore Angelucci would be coming to the dance; whether for that matter Lucia had talked to Solange about him yet. He hadn’t enquired: after drawing sparks with the one question he had asked. He shook hands with Hakim, who was tall and rather flashily good-looking: in England he might have been classifiable as a ‘debs’ delight’. Smooth manner, dapper – fairly odious.
Seydoux drew Mitcheson aside – over to a window from which there was a view across the Nuzha Gardens to the lake – leaving Hakim in conversation with his wife and the two girls. ‘I wanted to ask you, have you seen Commander Currie lately?’
‘Not lately. Only got back here yesterday, you see.’
‘Ah. Of course. He also was at sea, I understand. And a large convoy was delivered intact to Malta, according to the Egyptian Times, so I presume that was what his battleship was doing.’
‘Might well have been.’ Mitcheson nodded. ‘I want to get in touch with him, anyway. He and I play squash occasionally at the Sporting Club. He’s a better player than I am, but after a few weeks at sea one needs some exercise.’
‘You look fit enough. But you’re right, of course – at your age… I asked about Commander Currie because we’ve sent him an invitation to Candice’s party – I hope it’s reached him, but—’
‘I’ll mention it to him. Although I’m sure if he’s around and he’s received it—’
‘Might be away at sea again?’
‘Well – might have been…’
The big ships were certainly back in their cages now. Had been a few hours earlier, anyway. But Seydoux and presumably the Egyptian Times had not been one hundred per cent accurate in saying that the Halberd convoy had been delivered to Malta intact. Fourteen of its fifteen ships had been brought through, one had been torpedoed. The covering force from the west ha
d been subjected to the usual heavy air attacks, which had been driven off mainly by fighters from the carrier Ark Royal, although Nelson, Admiral Somerville’s flagship, had been hit by a torpedo and slowed down. The rest of the force had cracked on at full speed to meet the Italian battlefleet – which had actually put to sea - and Ark Royal had launched a strike of torpedo bombers, but the Italians had by that time followed their usual practice of turning and running for home.
Mitcheson decided on the spur of the moment to take advantage of the fact he and Seydoux were temporarily on their own. ‘There is one point I’d like to raise, Monsieur – slightly delicate perhaps, but in connection with inviting my officers to your dance…’
‘Yes?’
‘Well – naturally enough you have Italian friends here – business connections, and so forth—’
‘There’ll be no Italian guests on Wednesday, Commander.’
‘Ah. Well, that answers my question. I hope you understand – the possibility of – some contretemps, in your house—’
‘Entendu. In fact I’m glad you felt you could make the point. And you’re quite right. We have a somewhat strange situation in this town; and my position is – you might say, equivocal. One has to maintain one’s business relationships, but at the same time—’
‘Ned.’ Lucia’s hand on his arm. Then: ‘Oh – I’m sorry, Uncle. I thought you were only admiring the view.’
Seydoux smiled at her. ‘We’ve been doing that, and solving the world’s problems. You can tell us yours now.’
‘No problem, really. Only – Ned, it’s settled, we’re going to the Monseigneur. I explained we can’t stay late, that you have to be back before midnight—’
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