‘What a fine solution,’ Mathilde said, her voice soft. ‘I wish you bon voyage, Mrs Rachlew.’ She turned to Hjalmar. ‘Please, take me off.’
He looked around at all of them, then appeared to make a decision. He picked up Mathilde’s trunk and stepped outside with it.
‘Come on,’ he said.
Mathilde hurried out behind him. Lillemor and Ingrid looked at each other and then both turned and followed, out of the cabin and down the stairs to the deck. They emerged into the heat and sunshine. Ahead of them, Hjalmar had crossed to the railing. He beckoned to Mathilde, who hesitated. ‘Quickly,’ he ordered.
The three of them reached the railing at the same moment. Ingrid looked down at the dockyards as a roar rose from the crowd. White faces, shaded by a sea of umbrellas, stared up at them from a spacious area below the ship, smiling and waving. Behind them, fenced off, thousands of brown-faced men and women waved and cheered raucously, many of them still dressed in their minstrel costumes from the carnival. Streamers flew in the air, some reaching the ship, many falling short.
‘It is a pity you’ve changed your mind, Mrs Wegger,’ Hjalmar said. ‘You and Ingrid have captured the imagination of all of Cape Town. Even the coloureds are your champions.’
Ingrid tried to catch his eye. She’d felt such a wave of relief at the prospect of travelling with Lillemor rather than Mathilde that she wanted to shoo the woman off the ship as fast as possible. ‘Don’t pressure her, Hjalmar.’
He ignored her. ‘Horntvedt is a fine captain. He’ll take us safely through the ice. It would be a tragedy if you let his old-fashioned ideas frighten you unnecessarily. You and Ingrid are about to make history. Some last-minute nerves are to be expected.’
A streamer flew up over the railing and fell on the deck beside them. Hjalmar bent down, picked it up and held it out to Mathilde.
She shook her head. ‘Give it to them,’ she said, gesturing to Ingrid and Lillemor. Ingrid reached out a hand to take it, but Hjalmar didn’t look at her.
‘If you truly feel you cannot face this adventure, I’ll take you from the ship,’ he said to Mathilde. ‘But everyone who sets off on a voyage into the unknown feels a moment of fear at the start.’
Streamers began to fall all around them. Ingrid turned her head to see Lars and Anton coming towards them along the deck. She smiled at her husband. He’d sort this mess out and they’d be on their way.
‘Ladies, there you are,’ Lars said. ‘Even Captain Horntvedt is happy with this send-off. He’s never seen anything like it. I told him we should have taken women down years ago!’
‘Exactly right,’ Ingrid said, going to his side and tucking her arm into his. ‘And I think we should make the most of it. Mrs Rachlew has kindly offered to put aside her plans and join us as the official photographer.’
Anton turned to Lillemor in a move that suddenly struck Ingrid as rehearsed. ‘You’re full of surprises, my dear,’ he said. ‘It will break my heart, but I suppose I can spare you.’
Lars looked from Lillemor to Mathilde, confused. ‘But –’
‘I’ve changed my mind, Lars,’ Mathilde said. ‘I can’t possibly risk my children becoming orphans. Captain Riiser-Larsen is escorting me from the ship. Mrs Rachlew is generously taking my place so your wife doesn’t miss out. Captain, please?’
Hjalmar bent again to pick up Mathilde’s trunk.
‘That’s not possible,’ Lars said.
Ingrid turned to him in astonishment. ‘What do you mean? We can’t force Mathilde.’
Lars shook his head. ‘Your father-in-law made it clear he wanted you to stay with us. I’m sorry, Mathilde, but he put you in my care and I must honour that commitment. There’s no question of getting off the ship.’
There was silence for a moment. Ingrid looked over at Mathilde. The blank expression she’d worn since they left Sandefjord was gone and Ingrid saw a blaze of anger so vivid that she flinched. She wondered what on earth had caused it.
Lillemor reached out and picked up a streamer from Hjalmar’s hand. She raised it high in the air and waved down to the crowd, prompting an answering cheer.
‘I think this calls for a photograph,’ she said. ‘Darling, could you get the camera?’
Anton passed the Beau Brownie to Lillemor. She looked down into the viewfinder and then raised her head.
‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘The first women to go to Antarctica. Smile, ladies.’
‘You’d better be in the shot too,’ Anton said. ‘Here, let me take it.’
‘Yes, you come in too,’ Ingrid said, dropping Lars’s arm.
Lillemor stepped forward and the three of them shuffled till they were standing in a row, their backs to the railing. From the corner of her eye, Ingrid saw a glistening tear fall to the deck in front of Mathilde.
‘Smile!’ Anton called.
Ingrid looked at Lars, willing him not to make a fuss. She arranged her features into a smile and kept it trained on him.
Anton pressed the lever. ‘The first three women to travel to Antarctica. Fabulous! Now I’d best go, or I’ll find myself in Antarctica too.’ He pulled Lillemor to him. ‘Goodbye, my darling. Be good.’
They kissed in a way that suddenly reminded Ingrid of the bargain she’d made with Lars, and then Anton set off at a run. He scrambled down to the dock before the gangplank began to rise with a loud metallic clank and jerk. The horn blasted again.
‘This is it,’ Lars said, with a slightly stunned air as he watched Anton disembark. ‘Mrs Rachlew … er … welcome. Where will you sleep, I wonder.’
‘Oh, I see there’s another bunk in Mathilde’s room,’ Lillemor said. ‘Perhaps she won’t mind us being cabin mates.’
Ingrid turned her head and looked at Mathilde and Lillemor. For a moment the three of them were silent amidst the noise, taking each other’s measure. Then Lillemor turned back to the crowd and held her streamer aloft, waving. Ingrid went to stand next to her at the railing. She looked back over her shoulder and gestured. Mathilde came to her side.
Thorshavn started shuddering as the engines moved into gear and it began to ease away from the dock. The streamers stretched and broke and thousands of voices lifted again to call out farewell. Ingrid watched Table Mountain gradually becoming smaller. Whatever bonds she had with home snapped and drifted away as easily as the coloured streamers. The clear southern sunlight was spilling across the water, dazzling her. It was her moment, at last.
CHAPTER 12
Thorshavn steamed into the night, leaving a ribbon of churned water in its wake like a ski trail across the snow. Within three hours of leaving Cape Town the wind had picked up and now it moaned through the struts of the two aeroplanes, beginning to speak of ice and fog. The swells were already starting to lengthen and deepen, and the ship was rolling with their rhythm. There was no land now for two thousand miles ahead and Hjalmar’s huskies whimpered and snapped with the knowing of it, feeling the water dropping away beneath them in countless fathoms, turning darker blue as they tipped off the continental shelf and left Africa behind.
Ingrid stood at the stern, sheltered under the wing of Qarrtsiluni, alone and unobserved. Now that night had fallen, her elation had worn off and she was shaken at how close she’d come to losing it all. She wanted to let it blow away behind her, all the planning and scheming, all the deals made and agreements broken.
She’d drunk too much through the evening. They all had, to ease the discomfort of their odd departure. Even Mathilde had tipped her head back and swallowed her aquavit with a kind of grim determination. The other guests around the captain’s table in the saloon were excited and talkative, and gradually the awkward atmosphere between the three women thawed. Nils and Hjalmar laughed loudly. The first mate, Atle Tang, had an encyclopaedic knowledge of shipping and whaling. Their medical man, Dr Stevensson, fancied himself a teller of jokes and threatened to sing for them, and even shy Hans Bogen loosened up, confiding in Ingrid that he was honoured to share the voyage with the first women t
o set out for Antarctica.
But it was Lillemor who shone. She was charming, questioning Hjalmar about his explorations, Captain Horntvedt about his shipping and Lars about his whaling activities. As Ingrid watched her enchant them, she gradually understood that Lillemor knew most of the answers to her questions already.
Lars, oblivious, seemed flattered. He’d made a joke, saying his whaling interests were but the tip of the iceberg. He alone had sent his three huge factory ships, fourteen catchers, and of course Norvegia.
‘It’s the largest whaling fleet to ever go south. I calculate at least thirty-seven factory ships are down there this season, perhaps forty in all,’ he told Lillemor. ‘Each has five, six, sometimes seven catchers. There might be as many as two hundred and fifty vessels down there hunting whales.’
‘Surely we couldn’t be the only women aboard such a flotilla,’ Lillemor had said.
‘I haven’t heard of any others,’ Lars answered. ‘You ladies will be the first.’
After dinner everyone had gone up to the bridge. Ingrid had excused herself and slipped away, desperate to be alone. Lillemor would be an interesting companion, Ingrid thought, but after her husband’s breezy farewell on the ship and the revelation that Lillemor was prepared in every way for this journey, Ingrid realised the woman had brazenly manipulated them.
As she looked out at the wake spreading behind them, she thought that Lillemor’s effort was, in truth, no more manipulative than her own. She had no intention of conceiving a child on this trip, and in that matter she was lying to Lars. There was no getting around it and the deception lay heavy on her.
The wind gusted by, carrying a petrochemical belch from the ship’s smokestack and making Ingrid’s eyes water. Since she was fifteen she’d dreamed of sailing south on a timber ship like Fram or Polaris. They were ships constructed of living materials. They lived and breathed, creaked and spoke; their builders could name every wood used in the making of them.
Thorshavn was a new-century steel ship, four times the length of Polaris and powered by oil. It was impossible to think of it as ‘she’. Every inch of its metallic length was masculine and industrial, from the squat smokestack rising near the cabins to the raised midship catwalk that bisected the deck so that passengers could walk safely between the bridge and the cabins when the sea was rough. The thrust of the engine’s pistons would be Ingrid’s companion for the next six weeks. She could feel the shudder in her bones and gristle. To this throb she would rise and fall asleep. It would rattle her waking hours and shake her dreams.
It was a top-heavy ship, Ingrid thought, with all human accommodation built above the deck line to leave the hold free for oil tanks. They were full of fuel, not only for their own journey, but to refuel the factory ships and catchers already down south. Those same tanks would be cleaned out and filled with whale oil, siphoned from the factory ships so the fleet could continue hunting.
A crew of eighty-seven manned the huge vessel. Ingrid had met the more senior among them, including the chief steward, the first mate and the bosun, but in some hidden part of the ship, dozens more men laboured at jobs that kept Thorshavn running. It was an odd feeling knowing they were there but invisible.
Ingrid pressed herself close to Qarrtsiluni and looked around. The empty sea stretched out in all directions, showing no trace of what had sailed before them. As Bjarne had reminded her, the largest whaling fleet in history had gone south this season.
She had kept one more secret from Lars and it wasn’t one she’d planned. Bjarne had come to see them off in London, clearly offended that Lars had chosen to take the younger historian Hans Bogen instead. He’d been cool with Lars, shaking his hand formally. He’d waited till Lars was engaged in conversation to take Ingrid’s hand and lean in close to speak to her privately.
‘Observe carefully, Mrs Christensen,’ he said. ‘For I’ll want to talk to you when you return. Tell me truthfully, once you’ve witnessed it, if you think the whales down there can withstand this kind of hunting. I don’t want to hear what your husband thinks. I want your own response.’
She’d tried to draw her hand out of his but he resisted, clinging to her fingers. ‘I’ll give you my honest opinion,’ she said at last.
He loosened his grip and met her eyes steadily. ‘I believe you will. I know you’re a woman of honour.’
Ingrid hadn’t mentioned it to Lars in the flurry of leaving and now she thought she might not raise it at all. She shook her head to clear the unease of the idea. She was here at last, her feet planted firmly on the metal deck, the railing cold under her hands. No matter what ship it was she travelled on, Antarctica lay ahead of them and no one could stop her trying for it now. She felt the flutter of excitement in her belly return at the thought.
A call came on the wind and she lifted her head. It was Lars. She stepped away from Qarrtsiluni and climbed the stairs up to the cabin deck before calling out an answer, not ready yet to reveal her private place.
‘There you are,’ he said, gripping the railing as the boat moved beneath him. ‘I thought you were coming up on the bridge.’
‘I just needed some fresh air.’
He came closer and put out a hand. ‘Are you all right? I hope you’re not seasick already.’
‘I’m fine.’ She came close to his side. ‘Do we need to see our guests to their cabin?’
‘Lillemor is staying on the bridge a while longer. Mathilde has already gone to bed.’
‘That was rather strange with Mathilde,’ Ingrid said. ‘Why didn’t you let her go home? She obviously doesn’t want to come.’
He pulled her in to his body, sheltering her from the wind. ‘Ole asked me to take her as a favour,’ he said. ‘He and Gerd want to give their grandchildren a break from Mathilde’s misery. I couldn’t very well send her back. Think of those poor little ones.’
‘I suppose not,’ Ingrid said thoughtfully. She’d presumed Mathilde had freely decided to come with them. It seemed there was more to the arrangement than she realised.
‘Ready for bed?’ Lars asked, tightening his arms around her.
She nodded. Their cabin was just a few steps away and they were inside in moments. A double bunk had been specially built for them on this maiden voyage, but it was a snug fit. Ingrid undressed and cleaned her teeth in the small bathroom off their sleeping quarters, bumping into Lars as he did the same. The ship lurched as she was getting into bed and she fell against him, sending the two of them tumbling to the bunk. She tucked herself into his arms.
‘Listen,’ Lars said, raising his head.
The wind was rattling the door in its frame and the whistle of it in the stays was getting louder. Below them, Thorshavn’s pitch altered slightly and Ingrid felt a sideways roll.
‘Dr Stevensson has the latest drugs if you feel unwell,’ Lars said.
‘I don’t need them,’ she said. ‘Turn off the light.’
He pulled the blankets up making a cave around them, and shifted his body alongside hers. It was no closer than they’d slept on a thousand nights, but somehow different. She’d missed him, Ingrid realised. Not just over the past months when she stopped him from touching her, but before that, in the quietening of their marriage’s fire. She’d missed the easy way passion rose when they were young. Perhaps on this unknown sea, with the waves beginning to rise around them, they could leave their staid, long-married lives behind.
But she’d have to be careful. Ingrid had studied her cycle in the months before leaving. She didn’t have the option of using a dutch cap, as recommended by Dr Stopes to prevent pregnancy, so timing was everything. It would take careful management to ensure Lars didn’t realise she was avoiding making love at her fertile time. Ingrid had been relieved when her calculations showed the start of the trip to be safe. Perhaps she could wear Lars out a little, she thought. She wished she could come to him without this duplicity.
She pressed her palm on his chest and felt his heart thudding under the blond trace of curls, steady as T
horshavn’s engine. They were both breathing heavily, full of expectation. Her hand slid lower, crossing the softened plain of his belly, and then down until she had him in her grasp and he began to move. It had been such a long time that Ingrid felt an answering urgency and when he reached between her legs, she was already slick. His fingers stroked her and she remembered how well he knew her body. It wasn’t long till she was ready for him and then he rolled on top, pinning her.
She gripped him with her thighs and strained towards him. He held back a moment until her breath came out in a gasp and her fingers raked his back and then he moved into her and they rocked together, the full length of Thorshavn rising and pitching beneath them, its roar loud in her ears.
Afterwards Ingrid lay next to him, her leg draped over his hip. Their breathing slowed and she felt Lars twitch as he began to fall into sleep’s abyss.
‘I think you were right.’ His voice was sated. ‘We’ll make a child on this trip.’
At his words she felt a tightening in her body, a drawing away deep inside, as if her womb recoiled from him. It was true that if ever a child would be conceived to run a shipping empire it would be here, formed in the growl of Thorshavn’s belly. But Ingrid realised she’d already put her children to one side. She hadn’t given them a thought since she boarded.
The truth was, deep down she didn’t like being a mother. Being a woman of wealth, she could employ any number of servants and helpers to look after them and she’d done exactly that since they were young, sparing herself from their demands. She’d have been happy having just two, she thought. Her eldest daughter, Motte, and a boy who was like Lars to take over his business empire. That would have been plenty.
Lars gave a gentle snore and Ingrid eased herself away from him. She sat up, pulled the curtain open a crack and pressed her face close to the glass. It was too dark to see anything much, but the roll of the ship was starting to make her feel disoriented.
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