Storms Gather Between Us

by Storms Gather Between Us (retail) (epub)

  ‘And how exactly does hanging around with those Germans help you do that?’ He knew he was being cruel and dismissive but he couldn’t help himself. His head was pounding as though his brain was pressing against his skull, confined by it.

  ‘The Germans are all over East Africa, from the Cape to here and beyond. Their friends, the Italian fascists, too. Mozambique is a hotbed of intrigue. South Africa, too. Nazi sympathisers everywhere. You are naive, William. But fortunately there are a few enlightened people who are awake to the threat.’

  ‘You’re telling me you’re spying on them?’

  She gave a little shake of her head. ‘Of course I’m not. Who would be interested in using a woman like me as a spy?’ She laughed, but he thought there was a hollowness to it. ‘Now you must go. You told me your ship sails at dawn. It’s past that now.’

  He turned and looked at the orange glow on the horizon as the sun lit the surface of the sea.

  Putting down the cup, he pulled her towards him, brushing her forehead with a light kiss. She leaned away, unconvinced, then placed her hands on his cheeks. ‘Ah, William. I am too fond of you for my own good.’ She hesitated a moment then added, ‘But thank you for last night. It was special.’

  A hammering on the bedroom door broke the silence between them. When Rafqa opened the door, Paolo Tornabene was standing on the landing, red-faced and breathless. He pushed past her into the room.

  ‘I told you, Kidd, il Capitano will sail the ship without you. You must come now or I will be left behind too.’

  ‘Shit!’

  No time for any lingering farewells with Rafqa. Will tried not to show his relief, threw her a quick smile, pushed away his guilt about his treatment of her, and ran down the stairs behind his Italian crew-mate.

  The pair raced through the narrow streets of Stone Town, back to the waterfront and the waiting ship. The dockside was deserted but the deck of the Christina was a hive of activity as the crew made ready for departure. The hatches were closed, cargo checked, derricks secured, the steam already up, and the crew were everywhere checking everything moveable was safely stowed. Moments after Will and Paolo scrambled on board, the gangway was lifted and the moorings were slipped. The horn sounded and the ship eased away from the quay. They had made it by the narrowest of margins.

  Any hope that Will might sneak on board the Christina undetected was dispelled when he heard the booming Australian accent of the bosun calling him across the deck.

  ‘Thought I wouldn’t notice you slipping back on board six hours late, did you, Kidd? You’re nothing but a bludger.’

  ‘Not yet six hours.’

  ‘Don’t split hairs, you dirty bastard.’ His voice was strident, and his anger evident in the way he sprayed spittle as he spoke.

  Before Will could answer, the ship’s master appeared behind Cassidy. ‘Shore leave was until midnight. It’s now nearly six. Get on with your duties, Kidd. I’ll see you at ten o’clock in the day room. But I’ll tell you this now, there’ll be no shore leave for you and Tornabene between here and the Med.’

  ‘Please, sir, don’t punish Tornabene. He was only trying to—’

  ‘Don’t interrupt.’ The master narrowed his eyes. ‘Now you’ve cost him Naples too.’

  Will wanted to kick himself. Paolo’s home town was Napoli and the Italian had been looking forward to the stopover there and the rare chance to see his mother. But Will knew protest was futile and likely to cost them both further. He bit his lip and struggled to swallow his fury.

  The hurried coffee with Rafqa had scalded his mouth but done nothing to banish his headache. If anything, it was getting worse. The sun was already hot and Will felt slightly dizzy. The hash had been strong stuff.

  Fortunately, his long experience as a mariner meant he could carry out most of his tasks without thinking. The sea was calm, the skies clear and most of the crew were used to the passage in and out of the harbour here. They had called at Zanzibar many times in the six months they had been travelling up and down through East African waters. Now, their time here over, they were heading to the Arabian Gulf, the Suez Canal and then through the Mediterranean and back to England. To Will this trip had been a pleasing change from the misery of trans-Atlantic voyages, where it was a dull shuttle back and forth across cold, grey and often hostile seas.

  The Christina was a tramp steamer on a long circular voyage, picking up and depositing cargo as she went, in a series of short runs along the way. They followed no regular route, but went where the loads were, discharging one cargo and seeking a replacement. Their cargo changed constantly, depending on the port, everything from sugar, salt and spices to scrap metal and machine parts. If it needed moving and the price was right, then they would transport it. Men like Will and Paolo didn’t want to join a national navy – tramping offered freedom, variety and most believed the merchant mariners were more skilled sailors than their naval counterparts. The crew were of many nationalities, including many lascars, from the Indian sub-continent, renowned as great sailors and cooks, so the rations were better than Will had been used to on the Atlantic crossings.

  He had been delighted when he’d got the opportunity to sign on for this voyage and didn’t want to lose his place on the Christina. With the exception of the bosun, he liked all the crew and respected the officers. Until now, he’d got along well with Captain Palmer too, despite the odd disciplinary lapse. Will had sailed under the Englishman six years ago on the ‘the Millionaires’ ships’ of the Furness Bermuda Line, ferrying wealthy industrialists and their guests to and from their Caribbean retreats. But Captain Palmer had moved on and been replaced by a skipper who Will had managed to rub up the wrong way. Will lasted just one trip under the new regime before being laid off. That plum job had been followed by three years of service on crowded passenger ships plying their way between Liverpool and New York or Halifax – until a chance meeting in a Liverpool pub had brought him back under Palmer’s patronage and to his job as an able seaman on the Christina. And now he’d jeopardised it all because he’d allowed himself to get stoned. He cursed his stupidity.

  Tornabene was leaving the day room when Will arrived for his meeting with the ship’s master. The young Italian’s expression was glum. Palmer had made good on his threat to cancel his Neapolitan shore leave.

  ‘Did he dock your pay too?’ asked Will.

  Paolo shook his head. ‘But I’d rather have lost the pay than the shore leave.’

  ‘I’m sorry. He had no right to take it out on you.’

  ‘Cazzo! When will you take responsibility for your own actions, Kidd? I don’t blame il Capitano. I blame you.’ He shoved Will aside and made his way back along the companionway.

  When Will pushed open the door, Captain Palmer was at a table in the otherwise empty day room. Will went to stand in front of him and tried to look appropriately penitent.

  ‘You’re wearing out my patience, Kidd. I warned you before I won’t tolerate disobedience on my vessel. You act as if you’re a law unto yourself. Bosun Cassidy is constantly bringing complaints to the mates about your conduct.’

  Will lowered his head, fixing his eyes on his shoes. ‘I seem to have got on the wrong side of the bosun, sir.’

  Palmer said nothing for a moment, studying a leather-bound book in front of him. ‘According to the other officers your behaviour gives no cause for complaint. But it’s essential my crew gets on with the bosun. I want a happy ship.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  ‘And I also want a punctual one. Next time you’re late you’ll be left behind. And let what you’ve done to Tornabene be a lesson to you. You will go ashore in Naples and I’ll make sure you have to walk past your crew-mate, knowing that he has missed a chance to visit his family. Maybe then you will reflect on the selfishness of your conduct. And don’t even think about offering to swap with him or any other crew member.’

  ‘Sir.’ Will felt shame mix with anger that the captain was doing this to Paolo.

  ‘Dammit
, man, isn’t it time you grew up?’

  Will kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his hands behind his back clenched into two tight fists.

  ‘What disappoints me more than anything is that you have so much potential if you’d only apply yourself and show some discipline. You could be an officer one day, even captain your own ship. By now a man of your skills and experience should be ready to become a bosun. Instead, you risk getting yourself thrown off my ship altogether.’

  It was stuffy in the room and Will’s head still felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice. He wanted to go below and sleep off his hangover. Sweat was beading his forehead.

  ‘I’m docking you three days’ pay. No shore leave between here and the Mediterranean. I want you to reflect on what I’ve said to you today. You need to make a choice, William Kidd, whether to throw your life away or try to make a career for yourself. It’s as simple as that. I’m a patient man and I’ve put up with more than most would. But there’s only so far I’m prepared to go if you won’t help yourself. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve told the second mate and the bosun to keep a close eye on you. Now get out of my sight.’

  Will left, fuming with resentment. The last thing he wanted was Jake Cassidy, the only other Australian on board, breathing down his neck. There was no love lost between the two men. As far as Will knew, there wasn’t anything particular he’d done to cause this. Cassidy had taken an instant and irrational dislike of Will and lost no chance to find fault in everything he did. As a seasoned, able seaman, Will took exception to this. But protest was futile, so he tried to keep out of the bosun’s way.

  It was the middle of the afternoon before Will began to feel human again. As they made their way along the coast under a clear blue sky with barely a breeze, he forced himself to think about what the ship’s master had said. He would be a fool to risk losing this posting. Being in the tropics had lifted his spirits – as far as he believed them capable of lifting – and the prospect of returning to the northern hemisphere didn’t appeal.

  Yet he felt hemmed in, unsatisfied. All his life he’d longed to go to sea. As a teenager in the outback, he’d supplemented the few bob his father had paid him to work the land, by selling rabbit skins for a shilling a-piece. The money accumulated, ready for the day when he’d plucked up the courage to leave home and the bullying of his father, and set out to seek his fortune at sea.

  Never having visited the coast, the sea was something he’d imagined and dreamed of, based on the stories his mother had told him as a child and the books he read: Treasure Island, the adventures of Sinbad the Sailor, and Robinson Crusoe. Enough to fuel his imagination during the years spent on an isolated smallholding in the bush. But Will soon learned that a dream can sour when it is pursued out of necessity rather than desire. His longed-for maritime adventure had become a furtive running away from the shame of a father who had been hanged. While the anonymity of being among an international crew had liberated him from the gossip of parochial Australia, he found that the guilt about his father being put to death for saving Will’s life stayed with him. Guilt too, that he’d never visited him in prison, unable to face the enormity of what Jack Kidd was about to go through.

  * * *

  It was several hours before Will was able to talk to Paolo. The young Italian was avoiding him, but Will eventually found him on deck as the sun was sinking. He was sitting on top of the hatches, leaning against the bulkhead. It looked as though he’d been writing a letter – presumably to break the news to his family that he would not be visiting them as planned.

  The sun disappeared rapidly as it always did in the tropics, moving from day to night in a moment. Will sat down beside his friend. He swallowed, forcing himself to say the words he knew to be true but struggled to admit. ‘I’m sorry, Paolo. I’ve been stupid and selfish. You tried to help me and you’ve paid the price for it. I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to go to hell and never spoke to me again.’

  Paolo spoke without looking at him, his voice spitting out the words. ‘Vai al diavolo. Mannaggia a chi t’é muort! Mannaggia a chi t’é vivo!’

  Will tried to ease the tension. ‘You’re going to have to translate that for me, cobber.’

  Paolo grunted. ‘I did as you asked. Told you to go to the devil. Then I added in a special Neapolitan curse – that your dead relatives go to hell too – and that your living ones are also damned.’ He gave a little snort. ‘Yes, I am incazzato. Very, very angry with you.’

  ‘Well, I hate to disappoint you, matey. But my mother died when I was a lad and since her life was a living hell, I expect the real thing would be a blessed relief. My brother’s dead too and whatever it was you said, I’ll willingly say that too. He’s certainly rotting in hell already. As for my old man, since His Majesty’s pleasure was that he should hang by the neck until he was dead, there’s a pretty good chance he’s down there too.’ He sighed a long breath. ‘Even though the old bastard didn’t deserve to be hanged.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Will. I didn’t know.’ Paolo’s face in the dim light looked stricken.

  Deciding that he would unburden himself of everything to his trusted friend, Will said, ‘And as for my living relatives, all I have is an older sister. And I haven’t spoken to her since the old man was sentenced to swing. As far as I’m concerned it was her bloody fault he was convicted, when all he’d done was save my brother from killing me. So if you call your curses down on her, I’m not going to argue with you, mate.’

  As he spoke, a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind with a powerful grip. ‘I’ve got news for you, then, Kidd, you piece of filth. Your sister’s dead too. And certainly burning in hell.’

  Will spun round to face Jake Cassidy. ‘Keep out of other men’s conversations, Cassidy.’

  ‘You had no idea, did you?’ The man curled his lip. ‘You didn’t even know your own sister died ten years ago. Some brother you are.’ He moved round in front of Will, arms folded. ‘Well, she’s well and truly a dead relative now and quite certain to be burning like a crisp because she topped herself, didn’t she? A mortal sin for those of us like me and Turnybainy here, who are members of the one true Holy Catholic Church.’

  ‘Rack off, Cassidy. Peddle your lies to someone else.’ Will tried to inject confidence into his voice but it sounded unconvincing, even to him. What was Cassidy talking about?

  ‘Drowned herself in Glebe Harbour. Word was she was legless – drunk as a skunk. I was in port at the time and watched them pull her body out. You could smell the gin fumes a mile away. And the fishes had nibbled her eyes out.’ He was grinning widely. ‘I only made the connection this morning when I was wondering how a fellow Aussie could turn out to be such a feckless bludger as you are, Kidd. Then I remembered the papers saying that girl was the daughter of one of Australia’s finest murderers, Jack Kidd – the man so rotten he killed his own son. Word at the time was your sister was on the game as well as being a drunk and rather too fond of snorting white powder up her pretty little nose.’

  Will lunged at Cassidy, trying to grab his arms but the bosun was a powerful man and held him off by the shoulders.

  Cassidy looked down at the stupefied Tornabene. ‘Find yourself some better company than this loser, Eyetie. He’s going to be thrown off this ship before we’re back in Liverpool, you mark my words.’

  Chapter Two

  Lying in his bunk that night, Will thought again about Rafqa. He let his mind recreate the image of her lustrous black hair, her long, lithe limbs and the way they had wound themselves around him. His desire for her was undeniable, but as much as he would have liked to, he knew he couldn’t love her.

  Will didn’t know what love was any more. Had he ever? All he did know was that it had taunted and eluded him. Years ago, he had believed himself to be in love with his father’s wife. His stepmother – although he hated to use that word in relation to her. But Elizabeth had made it clear his feelings were not, and never coul
d be, reciprocated. Will had always known that she had not loved his father but had made a marriage of convenience. But discovering that she had been in love all along with the man Will counted as his best friend, his brother-in-law, Michael Winterbourne, was more than any man should be expected to bear. Betrayed by both of them – was it any wonder that the capacity to love was no longer in him?

  Poor Rafqa. He felt more for her than for anyone else. But love? Impossible. He was an empty husk. Squeezed dry, desiccated. And while he no longer loved the sea, he hated the idea of being stuck in one place. It would be like a slow suffocation. As to marrying, settling down with one woman, even one as desirable as Rafqa, was never going to happen. He didn’t want it to happen. He would never allow it to happen.

  He lay back on his bunk in the darkness, listening to the chorus of breathing and snoring around him. If only sleep came as easily to him as it did to his crew-mates. Lying in the dark, his memory of the previous night solidified. In a half-sleep, he felt himself transported back to that upstairs room and realised he had indeed said more than he should have said and had shown Rafqa more tenderness than he had intended. He felt the blood rush to his face so he could feel the heat of it. If only he could wind back the clock, take back what he had said, and what he had done.

  The first thing Will felt after smoking the hash, was a sharp hunger as if he hadn’t eaten in days. This was a familiar experience – cannabis always brought on a desire to eat, even when there was no reason to be hungry. He watched Rafqa as she walked across the room to the curtained corner where she brewed her coffee. She emerged a moment later, carrying a plate of sweetmeats dripping in honey and studded with pistachios and almonds. Sitting beside him on the rug, naked, she began slowly feeding him with her fingers, while he did the same for her, each relishing the sticky sweetness of the pastries, licking the honey from each other’s mouths and fingers in a slow, sensual interlude that seemed to last for hours but could only have been a matter of minutes.