by Nevil Shute
She did not speak.
“It was a pure accident, you know.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Now you’re being silly. He couldn’t possibly have done anything else.” In a few words he told her what had happened. “He’s very worried that you should have thought he did it on purpose.”
She said in a low tone, “He never wanted me to come upon this trip at all.”
Her father smiled. “Well, that’s perfectly true. He said that if another person was to come, it ought to be a young man, who could help him. And all you’ve done so far has gone to prove him right.”
The evening sun beat down upon the timbers of the jetty, bringing out the scent of tar and creosote from the wood. Beneath their feet the calm water lapped, and shoals of grey fish moved unmolested. Presently the girl said quietly:
“Does this mean you want me to go home, Daddy?”
He considered before speaking, and her heart sank. “I can’t have you quarrelling with Mr. Ross like this, Alix,” he said at last. “It’s not fair to him. On a difficult trip like this, it may even be dangerous to all of us unless we can be good friends. I want you to come on with us. But if you feel that you can’t hit it off with him, then you must say so before you leave here and I’ll get an undergraduate to come up and join me. Collins would come, and be glad to get the chance.”
“I see.”
He laid his hand upon her shoulder. “Have a talk with him,” he said gently. “He wants to be friends.”
She stared out over the firth, to where the pilot was still working on the seaplane. “He’s such a queer sort of man — all machinery and stuff. And half the time he talks American. I don’t know what he thinks about, or likes.”
“You’ve got to make your mind up by tonight, Alix. I can’t have any more rows like we had today.”
The girl nodded. “I see that, Daddy. If I go home, you’d wait till someone else could join you? You wouldn’t go alone?”
He hesitated. “I don’t think so. I think there’s enough time to wait a day or so.”
She said, “Will it do if I think it over, and tell you tonight?”
He nodded. “Think it over.”
They went back to the hotel. Lockwood turned into the lounge; the girl went thoughtfully to her room and gave her wet clothes to the maid to be dried. When Ross returned, a little after seven o’clock, she was waiting for him on the wide veranda facing on the street.
He was very tired and hot and dirty. He said, “Good evening, Miss Lockwood.”
She said hesitantly, “Good evening, Mr. Ross. Did you get all your jobs done?”
He paused on the steps. “She’s all O.K. now — filled right up. If it’s like this when we take off we’ll have to dump some of it, I expect.” She did not understand him in the least. “I got the filters cleaned, too, and the sumps checked. So she’s all ready to go.”
She knew, vaguely, that this meant he had been doing a good deal of work; she wanted to say something about it, but she didn’t know quite what to say. At last she said, “If I’d known, I’d have come with you.”
He smiled. “That’s very good of you, Miss Lockwood. But that boatman knows his stuff all right. He gave me a hand.”
“Oh.” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “My father has been explaining to me what happened when we landed. I didn’t understand.”
He nodded; this was hopeful. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you about that, Miss Lockwood. I’m afraid I was very much to blame. We ought to have practised it at Hythe. And I should never have let you go down on the float in those shoes, and without a lifebelt on.”
She laughed. “I can swim all right.”
He smiled slowly. “I saw that.” He hesitated in turn and then said, “Would you like a glass of sherry before dinner?”
“If you’re having one.”
“I’ll have a tomato drink. Look, I’ll order them and go and have a wash. I’ll be right back.”
He came back in about five minutes; the drinks were standing on a table by her side. He lifted his tomato cocktail. “Here’s luck.”
She drank with him. “What sort of shoes ought I to wear, Mr. Ross, for getting down on to the float?”
He did not answer her directly. “I’ve been trying to scheme out ways of doing it myself,” he said. “I think it could be done, if we brought the cable up the front strut to the fuselage and I had a Grabit boathook.”
The last part of that was Greek to her. She said, “But that isn’t necessary. I can do it all right. We did the actual mooring all right today.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “That’s so. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind doing it again?”
“Not if I had proper shoes. Would sand shoes be all right?”
He thought about it for a minute. “I think that would be best — sand shoes and no stockings. Then it wouldn’t matter if your feet did get wet a bit. Of course, you could wear gum boots and keep dry, but then if you did happen to fall in again they wouldn’t be so good to swim in.”
She smiled a little. “I’m not going to make a habit of falling in, Mr. Ross.”
“Of course not.”
“I’d rather it was sand shoes than gum boots.”
“Well, we could get those up the street here, after dinner.”
He lit a cigarette; she refused one. They sat in silence for a time. Presently she said, “It’s not only my shoes.”
“I know. I ought to have seen you had a lifebelt on. They’re stowed in the rack at the back of the cabin.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. It’s all my clothes — I feel I’m not dressed right for this sort of expedition.” She glanced down. “Daddy got me this awful skirt, because mine was wet.”
He eyed her for a moment. “Would you consider wearing an overall suit, Miss Lockwood?”
“You mean without a skirt at all?”
“That’s right. A boiler suit, like mechanics wear.”
“It’d look awfully funny in the hotel.”
“You could wear your ordinary clothes in the hotel, except when you’re going backwards and forwards to the machine. Besides, there won’t be many more hotels, you know. There’s one at Reykjavik, and that’s the lot.”
She stared at him in wonder; they were getting very near to the unknown. “I suppose that’s so.”
He nodded.
“It would be more practical, wouldn’t it?”
He nodded again. “We might be able to get a white one. They look very nice.”
They finished their drinks and went to look for Lockwood; they found him in the lounge, and went in to dinner. The don was relieved to see that they had come to some kind of understanding; he did not want to lose his daughter and have to wait till he could get an undergraduate to join him. Besides, the whole thing was absurd. Alix had got to learn to get along with people.
Ross left them sitting over their coffee, and went and stood for an interminable half hour in the telephone box in the hall. He had arranged for a special series of weather reports for the crossing to Iceland. In the end he got through to the Air Ministry; they told him:
Invergordon at dawn, wind northeast, fifteen to twenty-five miles an hour, falling and backing. At noon, light variable winds over the whole route, cloudy to one thousand feet. Considerable fog patches in Iceland.
He scribbled this down upon the back of an envelope, and rang off. He took it to Lockwood in the lounge; the girl had gone upstairs.
“I don’t know that I’m so stuck on this, sir,” he said. “The wind at dawn — that’s fine. Just what we want to get us off with a good load of fuel. But the cloudy to one thousand feet and the fog patches aren’t so good.”
“I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Ross. If you’d like to wait for better weather, we’ve got plenty of time in hand.”
The pilot stared at the envelope. “Considerable fog patches . . .” He shook his head. “I think I’d wait a day, sir. It’s over five hundred
miles of open sea from the Hebrides to Vik. We don’t want to run into trouble at the end of that.”
The don nodded. “I think that’s very wise. We’ll wait here for a day or two.”
The pilot left him, and went out and down the street to the cottage of the boatman. He was a little worried about the wind of twenty-five miles an hour that was coming to them. He got the man out, and they went down to the jetty, got the motor boat, and went out to the machine again in the dusk. They worked for nearly an hour, passing a stronger bridle from the bollards on the floats direct to the mooring chain, in order to eliminate the risk of the light aviation cables parting in a strong blow.
In the hotel the girl came down to the lounge; her father showed her the weather report. “We’ve decided to stay here tomorrow, anyway,” he said.
She nodded. “I think that’s a good thing, from every point of view. I want to go to Inverness and get some more clothes.”
“Have you made up your mind, then?”
“I want to come on, if you’ll let me, Daddy.”
“All right.” He did not refer to the subject again.
Presently she asked, “What’s happened to Mr. Ross?”
Her father said, “He went out with the boatman to do something to the moorings of the seaplane.”
“He’s out there again? It’s very nearly dark.”
He glanced at her. “He’s a very responsible young man, Alix. I think he’s taking his work very seriously.”
She stared out of the window. “He’s certainly working very hard.”
“A day’s rest won’t do any of us any harm,” said her father.
Ross came back to the hotel at about eleven o’clock and went to bed. He had an alarm clock with him which he set for half past three in the morning; by a quarter to four he was walking down to the jetty in the darkness. He rowed out to the seaplane in a little dinghy belonging to the boatman; the wind was fresh and the machine was pitching in the waves. He had a good look at the mooring and the machine generally, but there was nothing to be done; she was coming to no harm. He rowed back to the jetty, returned to the hotel, and went to bed again in the grey light of dawn.
He got up late, and went down to breakfast tired and stale. The Lockwoods had nearly finished the meal.
“What are you going to do today?” he asked. “I’m afraid Invergordon isn’t a very exciting place to have to wait about in.”
Alix said, “I want to go to Inverness — I’ve got to get another pair of shoes. And I’ll see if I can get an overall. Will you come with us, Mr. Ross?”
The pilot shook his head. “I’d rather stick around here with the seaplane till the wind goes down,” he said. “I’ve got one or two little jobs I want to do on her, too.”
Lockwood said, “Is there anything I can do to help you, Mr. Ross?”
“No, thanks, sir. I’ll only just be pottering about.”
He spent the morning out on the machine, moving the pilot’s seat a little and fashioning a pocket for his maps. He came back to the hotel to lunch alone; in the afternoon he took a newspaper upstairs and stretched himself on his bed to read it for a few minutes.
When next he opened his eyes it was five minutes to seven. He got up dazed with sleep, washed his face, and went downstairs. He found the Lockwoods in the lounge.
He ordered sherry for them, and a tomato cocktail for himself. Alix said, “I got myself an overall, Mr. Ross.”
He smiled. “Good enough. A white one?”
“Yes, and a pair of sand shoes.”
“That’s fine. I’m sorry to say I’ve been asleep all the afternoon.”
She eyed him seriously. “I’m very glad to hear it.”
“I’m not — it makes one feel like death to sleep in the daytime.” His sleep had not refreshed him; he was feeling stale and ill. He did not eat much dinner.
He rang up the Air Ministry again while the Lockwoods took their coffee in the lounge, standing about for half an hour and waiting for his call. When the report came he scribbled it down hurriedly:
Wind southwest ten to twenty miles an hour, clouds five tenths at three thousand feet, visibility good. Iceland at noon, wind light and northerly, visibility good.
“O.K.,” he said. “I’ll ring again at oh — four hours to check that before I take off.”
He put up the receiver and went through to the lounge, envelope in hand. He showed the report to Lockwood. “We’ll never get a better one than this, sir,” he said. “We’d better reckon that we’ll go.”
“Very good, Mr. Ross.”
Alix got up from her chair. “I’d better tell them to cut us some sandwiches tonight, hadn’t I?”
The pilot turned to her in surprise. “Why — yes, if you would. It’s a good long way. We ought to have something with us.”
“What time ought we to have breakfast?”
He hesitated. “I want to make a very early start. Could you manage breakfast at half past four, do you think?”
“Of course we can. I’ll tell them that. I’d better pay the bills tonight, hadn’t I?”
“Don’t bother. I can see to that.”
She eyed him for a minute. “I think you’d be much better in bed, Mr. Ross. You’re going to have a long day tomorrow. You’d better let me do the little things I can do.”
He smiled. “All right — if that’s the way you feel about it.”
She nodded. “That’s how I feel about it, Mr. Ross. Have you got anything else to do?”
He hesitated. “I’ve just got to go down and tell the boatman that we’ll want him in the morning. That’s all.”
“What time do you want him?”
“Five o’clock at the jetty.”
“I’ll go and tell him. You go up to bed.”
“All right.”
He went up to his room and undressed slowly, wondering at the turn that things had taken. It was going to make an enormous difference to him if the girl carried on like this. When they reached Julianehaab and connected up with Jameson his work would be much relieved; until that time he wanted all the help he could get. He was grateful to her.
He put on his pyjamas, turned out the light, and got into his bed. She had a lovely figure, when her things were wet. If only she’d wear decent clothes she could be really beautiful.
He slept.
Alix paid the bills for all of them, arranged for them to be called, for their breakfast, and for their sandwiches. Then her father joined her, and they strolled together down the wide main street of the little town to the boatman’s cottage, and gave him his instructions. They sauntered back to the hotel in the warm evening.
Lockwood said, “Well, we’re off on the big hop tomorrow. Six or seven hundred miles over the sea to Iceland. Are you still glad you decided to come?”
“I think so, Daddy.”
They walked on in meditative silence. “So am I,” the don said at last. “But there’s much more in this trip than I thought there would be.”
“I know. I thought it would be just like going somewhere in a train.”
“I didn’t think it would be quite like that . . .” He glanced down at the girl. “We’re absolutely in the pilot’s hands. If he makes a mistake, we’ll be done for, Alix. How do you feel about that? Have you got confidence in him?”
She met his eyes. “I have. He’s so wrapped up in his work, I don’t believe he could make a mistake.”
Her father said, “I feel like that myself. I think we’re going to be all right.”
They went back to the hotel and to their rooms.
Next morning before dawn Ross was standing in the chilly, deserted hall in his pyjamas, talking to the Air Ministry from the telephone box. The weather report was unchanged. He went back to his room and dressed, and brought his slim kit bag down to the hall again. Alix was there before him.
She was wearing the white overall and her fur-lined flying boots; she was bareheaded. He met her with a smile. “Good morning,” he said. “We’ve got a de
cent day for it, I think. Is your father getting up?”
“He’s just coming.” She hesitated. “Do you think this is all right?”
He looked her up and down. “It’s very serviceable. You’ll be able to get your flying suit on over it all right.” He felt the texture of the material on her arm. “It’s good stuff, too. How much did they stick you for it?”
“Nineteen and six.”
“It ought to be a good one for that.” He smiled. “It looks nice, too.” The girl was unreasonably pleased.
Lockwood joined them, and they breakfasted. Then, carrying their small personal luggage, they left the hotel and went down to the jetty. The boatman was waiting for them, and in the clear light of the dawn they were carried swiftly to the seaplane. The sun was just rising at the entrance to the firth; the sky was clear, the water a deep indigo blue between the heather-covered hills. The air was fresh, and crisp, and invigorating.
The Lockwoods got up into the cabin, and for twenty minutes Ross busied himself about the machine. Finally they signalled to the boatman to cast off. A light wind was blowing down the firth from the west; the pilot turned and taxied down towards Cromarty till he had a run of several miles before him. Then he swung round into the wind and opened up his engine. The heavily laden floats were sunk deep in the water; the seaplane ploughed along with a great wash, gathering speed very slowly. After nearly a mile she rose onto the step of the floats and gained speed more rapidly till she was skimming from wave top to wave top, cracking down heavily on each. In the seat the pilot sat tense and anxious, trying everything he knew to get her off. Once she was bumped up by a lucky wave and made a long hop in the air but she sank back again; he could not keep her flying. Finally he throttled back.
“We’ll have to dump ten gallons of our fuel,” he said. “She’ll never make it with this load.”
He taxied over to the motor boat and stopped his engine; they passed a light line to the boat. Ross got down onto the floats and busied himself at the sump of the big tank beneath the fuselage; presently a stream of petrol poured away into the sea. He made the cock secure and got back into the cabin; with Lockwood to help him he started up the engine again and cast off from the motor boat.
