When Lillemor finally halted, sweating in the afternoon warmth, she looked around. She was in St John’s Gardens in Westminster, near Women’s Service House. The sun was slanting downwards, though couples still lay on the lawns in the park and people bared their arms and legs to catch the sun.
She turned away from the park, crossed the road and rounded the corner into Marsham Street. But as she strode into the lobby, she felt her frustration rise. These women thought themselves very fine but they were fools. Chesterfield sofas, whisky, cigars and maids may have been the trappings of power, but they didn’t carry any in their own right. If Lillemor had been a man, she’d have had the connections to get herself on an Antarctic expedition. As a woman, the connections were useless.
Lillemor looked around the lounge. Marie was sitting by the fire, nursing a whisky in Freda’s usual armchair. Lillemor threw herself down next to her and waved for her own drink.
‘That bastard,’ she said.
Marie looked across and raised an eyebrow. ‘Which one?’
‘Exactly,’ Lillemor said. ‘Captain Riiser-Larsen, who’s got no spine to stand up for himself, or Consul Lars Christensen, who wants his own wife to be the first woman on Antarctica and won’t let me get in her way.’
‘Giving up then?’ Marie asked.
‘I’ve rather run out of options.’
They sat in silence. The maid brought Lillemor a double whisky and she took a gulp. It didn’t help.
‘I know how you feel,’ Marie said.
Lillemor felt another rush of frustration. ‘You can’t possibly know. You’ve achieved everything.’
‘Do you know what I did before I opened the clinics?’ Marie put her glass down. ‘I worked as a palaeobotanist in Japan and Canada, and travelled all over North America studying geology. I was working to prove Suess’s theory that the continents were once joined.’
Lillemor stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why did you give it up?’
Marie leaned in close. ‘I wanted to go to Antarctica to study the rocks. I asked Scott to take me and he refused. I taught him what rocks to collect, but the rocks that came back from his expedition went to Cambridge, though they should have been mine. I was humiliated.’
She sat back and sipped her drink. ‘Oh, and my first husband, Reginald, was impotent,’ she added. ‘I knew I couldn’t be the only woman suffering from sex ignorance, so I decided to research sex and relationships instead. It turned out to be a good choice.’
Lillemor sagged in her chair, feeling the anger run out of her. ‘I’ve got no hope. I’m not even a proper photographer. Freda’s right. I’ve got nothing to offer an expedition.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’re a woman of energy and imagination. Tell me, what’s your greatest weapon, do you think?’
Lillemor looked over at her dryly. ‘Some would say my vagina. But it’s not much help in this case.’
‘Proximity,’ Marie said.
‘What?’
‘Things can happen if you put yourself in the path of the action. My one regret is that I stayed home. I should have refused to take no for an answer.’
Lillemor took another gulp and thumped the glass down on the table hard enough to slosh the remains over the side. ‘I don’t know how that applies in this case.’
Marie smiled. ‘I suggest you give it some thought.’
It was dark by the time Lillemor reached home again. Anton was sitting on the front step. He stood up as she approached and pushed herself into his arms. He held her hard, his chin on her head, his arms tight around her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, letting her body meld to his.
‘Don’t even think of it,’ he said. ‘If I could fund an Antarctic voyage, I’d make you the leader of it.’
She gave a small smile. ‘You’re sweet. Is there dinner?’
‘Warm and waiting,’ he said. He opened the door. He’d removed the letter from the bureau, she saw, as she took off her shawl. He took her arm and they started to walk towards the dining room.
‘You know that trip you mentioned?’ she asked.
‘Yes?’
‘What about Cape Town?’
He stopped and turned her around to face him. ‘What madcap plan are you cooking up now, Mrs Rachlew?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t have a plan. But you’re a tactician, Anton. You know sometimes you’ve got to be in the right place at the right time. Will you support me?’
He kissed her. ‘You should have been a man, with your brain. But I’m very glad you’re not.’
CHAPTER 10
January’s antipodean light was dazzling. Table Mountain rose up behind Cape Town with such crisp clarity that Ingrid felt she could have counted each individual tree as they sailed in to the dock. The summer air smelled of sweat and flowers and the drive from the dock to their hotel was a cacophony of light and colour, the streets crowded with coloured minstrels dressed in brilliant silks for the Cape Carnival.
The six months since Lars had agreed to take her had both flown and crawled by. There seemed not enough time to do all that needed to be done, and simultaneously the days seemed to drag as Ingrid waited impatiently for their departure.
She’d come to South Africa with Lars, Mathilde and their new historian, Hans Bogen, in first-class comfort on a passenger liner from chilly London into the heat of a Cape Town summer just after New Year. By the time the taxi disgorged them onto the gravel drive of the Mount Nelson Hotel, Ingrid could feel sweat trickling down her back. Sandefjord in winter, locked at the head of the frozen fjord, with its snug houses and cobbled streets, was a distant memory and the cold of Antarctica was unimaginable in Cape Town’s heat.
‘Welcome, Consul Christensen. Would you like the post while you’re checking in?’
Lars handed the pile of envelopes to Ingrid, who flicked through them. One had been hand delivered. She turned over the perfumed envelope curiously and opened it while Lars arranged their rooms.
It was from Lillemor, and the cheery tone of the note was enough to make Ingrid wish she could have invited Lillemor on their trip instead of Mathilde. On the week-long voyage from Norway via London, Ingrid had tried to draw Mathilde out, but she’d failed to elicit more than monosyllables and eventually she gave up, leaving Mathilde to spend hours at a time in her cabin. Hans Bogen had also tried to engage her, but on the rare occasions she emerged, her silences were near catatonic.
‘We have an invitation,’ she said to Lars when he turned around from the desk and nodded to a bellboy to pick up their luggage.
‘Who on earth do you know in Cape Town?’
‘Would you believe Anton and Lillemor Rachlew are here? They’ve invited us for a private ride on the Table Mountain Aerial Cableway. Lillemor says a Norwegian engineer who is a friend of theirs designed it. We’re to go at three.’
Lars looked at her quizzically. ‘Seems an odd coincidence. How did they know you’re here?’
‘You’re in the newspaper today, Sir,’ the concierge said. ‘All of Cape Town knows the whaling king and his wife are here.’
Ingrid smiled at the concierge and took Lars’s arm. She moved closer and lowered her voice. ‘They’re on holiday. Mrs Rachlew is very respectable now, Lars.’
He shrugged. ‘Oh, I know. And her husband is important. I just had other things in mind for today. I thought we’d see the carnival.’
‘We saw enough of that from the taxi,’ Ingrid said. ‘I’m certainly not missing a private ride on the cable car. You can see all of Cape Town and miles beyond, I’ve heard. Mathilde, you’d like to come?’
Mathilde looked at her blankly for a moment. ‘Oh. Yes, thanks.’
Ingrid turned back to Lars. ‘Good. That’s it then.’
He smiled at her and they turned to follow the flock of staff needed to shift their suitcases to their suite.
The Rachlews were waiting in a small pavilion at the base of the cable-car ride. They stepped forward as the taxi drew up and Ingrid looked through
the window to pick out Lillemor.
She was as young and glamorous as Ingrid remembered from some years earlier, though she wasn’t exactly pretty. Her strong, almost boyish face was set off with a white silk scarf tied casually around her neck and a white hat to keep off the sun. But her face lit up when she smiled, and her enthusiastic rush towards the car was likeable. Ingrid found herself smiling in response as Anton opened the door and gave her a hand out. Lars, Mathilde and Hans followed behind her.
‘Mrs Christensen. I hope I can call you Ingrid?’ Lillemor stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks in the French manner, and then turned to Mathilde. ‘You must be Mrs Wegger?’
‘I’d prefer you call me Mathilde,’ Mathilde said. Her tone was flat and Lillemor paused and offered a hand instead of kissing her.
Lars, Anton and Hans were shaking hands with a sudden bonhomie and Ingrid was aware how welcome it was, even after such a short time, to hear Norwegian voices in the midst of Cape Town’s unfamiliar accents and languages. Though she only vaguely recalled meeting Lillemor some years ago, she felt she was seeing an old friend.
‘Well,’ Anton said, gesturing to a butler who popped a chilled bottle of champagne and began to pour. ‘Aren’t we lucky that a Norwegian designed the cableway? Here’s to our countryman’s ingenuity.’
‘I’m glad you had the connections to bring this about,’ Lars said, taking his glass and raising it. ‘We are in your debt, Anton.’
‘Not at all,’ Anton said. ‘We’re honoured to see you off on such a historic voyage. Now, let’s go up, shall we? We’ll see if we can spot your ship from the top.’
Lillemor took Ingrid’s arm as Mathilde stepped forward into the cabin. ‘You’re so lucky!’ she said. ‘Antarctica. What an adventure!’
Ingrid couldn’t help smiling back at her. It was such a relief to talk to someone who shared her excitement. ‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I can hardly believe we’re ready to go.’
Inside the cable car Ingrid found a place to stand where she could grip the rail with one hand and her champagne with the other, trying not to stare too obviously at the conductor holding the door open. She had travelled with Lars to England many times and to America once, but this was the first time she’d been to Africa and the city’s black and coloured faces were still exotic to her eyes.
The car started with a jolt, slopping everyone’s drinks, and lurched up the side of the mountain, the steep slopes falling away beneath their feet and the city spreading out below. Ingrid saw Mathilde clutching the sides of the car as they stared down. Ingrid let go of the railing as soon as she understood the movement of the contraption and could balance. Lillemor stood close by and pointed out Cape Town landmarks as they ascended.
‘Oh my God.’ Hans moved to the middle of the cabin away from the windows, looking pale. ‘I had no idea it was so steep.’
It grew stuffy inside the closed car and Ingrid wished she could fan herself. She glanced over at Mathilde, who was staring fixedly down. Anyone would think she’d been forced to come, the way she acted. It was now getting on for two years since her husband had died; surely enough time for her to have recovered somewhat. But it seemed the friendly wife Ingrid remembered from earlier times had gone. Ingrid wondered why Lars had thought Mathilde such a good choice of companion. She’d thought about suggesting that they send Mathilde back, but when she’d tested him out by referring to Mathilde’s strange manner, he waved it off.
The trolley halted at the top of the ascent and the conductor opened the door so they could alight. The air was fresh and cool and Ingrid stepped out into it gladly. She took a deep breath and looked around as the rest of the party filed out. On the edge of one great continent, about to voyage for another. She imagined she could taste the dust of Africa’s plains at her back and tried to find any hint of Antarctica in the wind coming off the sea.
‘More than one thousand metres up,’ Anton said, leading them to the lookout. ‘And there lies your ship.’
Ingrid followed the line of his finger and saw, far below, the white oil tanker at the dock. The rest of Lars’s whaling fleet had left in November, and the little exploration ship Norvegia had gone with them for her first expedition, a circumnavigation of the Antarctic continent. Hjalmar had commitments to the Air Force, so for the first part of the voyage the ship was under the command of Captain Gunnar Isachsen. Leaving three months after the rest of the fleet, Thorshavn’s job was to carry down more oil to refuel the factory ship and its catchers, and to bring back the first cargo of whale oil. Hjalmar and his offsider, Nils Larsen, were coming with them to meet up with Norvegia and take over her command for a second expedition; dog sledging and mapping continental areas.
But the view to the Southern Ocean lay on the other side of the mountain, not visible from their vantage point. ‘Can we go higher?’ Ingrid asked.
‘Of course,’ Anton said. ‘After you, ladies.’
Mathilde turned quickly and led the way up the stairs. Ingrid followed. Watching the way Mathilde placed her feet, fast and sure, Ingrid felt a sudden moment of concern. Mathilde hadn’t moved so purposefully in weeks. The woman was obviously disturbed and now she was almost galloping towards a cliff edge. Ingrid hurried to keep up on the steep stairway. She was panting by the time they reached the next lookout, and as she topped the stairs Mathilde was already at the edge.
‘Mathilde, wait!’ Ingrid called.
Mathilde stood still, her shoulders set. Ingrid hurried over and took her by the arm. It was like taking hold of a doll, still and unyielding. She tugged gently until the woman turned to look at her.
‘What is it?’ Ingrid asked.
Mathilde shook her head and turned away as Lillemor came up behind them.
‘The famous tablecloth clouds,’ Lillemor said. ‘What a pity.’
Ingrid turned to look south, but thick clouds were covering the slopes, blocking the view to the ocean.
‘You’ll be seeing plenty of the Southern Ocean in the next few weeks,’ Lillemor said.
‘Yes, plenty,’ Mathilde said.
Ingrid felt a moment of irritation and let go of Mathilde’s arm. ‘It’s a pity you’re not a little more enthusiastic.’
‘I know I’m lucky to be included.’
‘Oh, that’s so true,’ Lillemor said. ‘I’m quite envious, Mathilde! We must meet up again in London so I can hear all your stories and see your photos when you come back. You have a camera, of course?’
Mathilde shook her head.
Lillemor looked at them, wide-eyed. ‘But this is history being made. You must have a camera!’
Ingrid shrugged. ‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t know how to use one.’
‘You can take mine,’ Lillemor said. ‘I have a new Beau Brownie. You know what Kodak says – Just press the button and we do the rest. It’s easy. I’ll bring it tomorrow to the ship.’
Anton, Lars and Hans reached the lookout and the three women turned to meet them. Ingrid moved away from Mathilde and closer to her husband. She reached for Lars’s hand and felt something run between them. It was their dream, at last, she reminded herself.
‘You look cold,’ Anton said to Lillemor, drawing her close.
‘I’m not cold at all,’ she said, putting her arm around his waist. ‘Goodness, Anton, Ingrid and Mathilde will be facing real cold soon. We mustn’t make a fuss about a cool breeze in the face of such courage.’
Hans sidled next to Mathilde but kept a proper distance. She ignored him.
‘Ready for your big adventure, ladies?’ Anton asked.
‘More than ready,’ Ingrid said. ‘I’ve been planning this since I was a child.’
‘We’d love to come and see you off tomorrow,’ Anton said, looking from her to Lars. ‘If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience. I’d be fascinated to look over your ship. The last time I went to the Arctic was on the Belgica Expedition and polar-exploration ships have certainly changed since then.’
Lillemor slapped him play
fully on the shoulder. ‘Well that was more than twenty years ago, darling; of course things have changed.’ She smiled at Lars. ‘I’m going to lend the ladies my camera. You simply must have this occasion properly recorded. I could bring it tomorrow.’
‘Of course,’ Lars said. ‘But why don’t you join us tonight? We’re having dinner with the captains at Kennedy’s. You would be very welcome.’
Ingrid looked at him in surprise, but he was beaming and it seemed whatever dislike he’d felt for Lillemor had quite disappeared. Ingrid would have reminded him that Hjalmar was joining them, but there was no opportunity.
‘Thank you, Consul,’ Anton said. ‘Darling, are we free tonight?’
‘We’ll make ourselves free,’ Lillemor said. ‘It would be a pleasure.’
They stood in silence for a moment. A filigree trace of wind ran a cold finger over Ingrid’s face and was just as quickly gone. She saw Mathilde shiver.
‘Let’s go down,’ she said, feeling suddenly sorry for her. She paused as the others started towards the exit and took Mathilde’s hand.
‘Don’t be afraid, my dear,’
Mathilde looked at her strangely. ‘What on earth makes you think I’m afraid?’
Ingrid hesitated and Mathilde pulled her hand free, turned and headed for the steps.
They could almost have been in London or New York, Ingrid thought, as they entered Kennedy’s Cigar and Jazz Bar. The big band filled the cavernous room with the irresistible strains of swing jazz. White-gloved, brown-faced waiters weaved gracefully between the tables. The fans circled overhead, swirling the January evening heat and the hum of chatter.
‘You wouldn’t know we’re in a depression,’ Ingrid said, looking around at the crisp tuxedos and brightly coloured dresses of the men and women who packed the bar. ‘Even London is hardly so merry.’
‘London doesn’t have gold mines like South Africa,’ Lars said. ‘Things aren’t so desperate here.’
Chasing the Light Page 9