by Janet Tanner
She trembled as she watched them come, a procession of Indian soldiers and cosmopolitan crew, but as the flow became a trickle the ache of despair returned: teasing, torturing.
They had been spared, all these strangers, but Brit had not. The tears were a thick knot in her throat, and the atmosphere – noisy and smoky now that cigarettes were being handed round – closed in on her claustrophobically.
She stood up, muttering an excuse to the Scottish sailor who was still with her, and forced her way through the mass of survivors to go back on deck.
The lifeboats had all been evacuated now, but men still milled about and she walked the circumference of the deck in case Brit should be there somewhere, hidden from view, although already in her heart she knew he was not. Then she crossed to the rail.
She was numb now, too numb to think any more except to wonder if she would ever emerge from this nightmarish vacuum. She had ceased to question how important Brit had become to her. Perhaps it’s because I know I may never see him again, she thought dully.
Here in the Bay of Bengal the scene was of utter peace – star-studded velvet dark above the smooth sea. It was impossible, even now, to see it as a backdrop for horror and violent death, yet its very calm was ominous. Blankly she stared at the unbroken horizon, then slowly she became aware of something out of context, something that did not quite fit – a tiny red star glowing against the rich, deep blue. She tensed, her hands tightening on the rail, her eyes straining into the dark.
Imagination! Or was it? There was something – yes, there was!
Several sailors were crossing the deck nearby. She ran to them, catching at their sleeves – her voice, her whole body trembling with eagerness.
‘Look – over there – there’s a light in the sea! There’s someone there!’
‘Where?’
‘There! Over there! Look, d’you see it?’
‘She’s right!’
‘A light! There’s a raft! Tell the bridge.’
‘Starboard! Look – starboard!’
The shouts were muted by the velvety night air but the action was rapid. The tramp steamer steered a steady course towards the light, eating up the dark water at what felt like a snail’s pace.
Elise stood with hands pressed against her mouth, watching the raft take shape as the new hope within her seemed to freeze her motionless.
Could it be? Don’t dare hope! But I must – I must!
There were figures on the raft, three figures merged together, arms waving. She tried to make them out, breath coming shallow with agitation, nails cutting patterns into her lips. Then she drew one deep shuddering breath and held it, her whole body still as the first flicker of recognition began deep within her.
Dear God, I think, I think …
Closer, closer still and the joy of relief was flowering in her, bursting through her veins, yet still she could not move. She was breathing fast again, and every breath was a sob.
It’s Brit! He’s safe!
The searchlight was reaching the raft, picking up the three men in its beam. Her heart contracted at the sight of him, almost within reach now, and for a brief crazy moment she thought he had looked up and seen her. But the searchlight was blinding him to everything else – he would be able to see nothing but the blackness around it. She hung over the rail as the nets went down, anxious lest he should be hurt, but he reached for the net with a surprisingly strong grip, hauling himself up towards the helping hands.
Oh, Brit!
She started towards him then, wanting only to throw her arms around him and welcome him back from the dead. Then abruptly she stopped.
What would he think if she greeted him that way? He didn’t know the metamorphosis her feelings had undergone in the last twenty-four hours – and she didn’t want him to know, either.
But oh, it was good to see him – so good!
He looked up and saw her and her heart seemed to stop. She couldn’t greet him as she would have liked, but it was all there in her eyes for him to see. And for one wildly heady moment she thought she saw it reflected in his.
‘Brit …’
He took a step towards her along the deck, pushing through the men offering him a blanket.
‘And what the devil happened to you?’
The aggressive impatience took her completely by surprise and she drew back, staring back at him blankly.
‘I told you to stay where I left you. Why the hell didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean! I went to look for you!’ He swore. ‘Women! You realise I damn near drowned because of you? I was still trying to find out what had happened to you when the ship went down.’
She was numbed, shaken by his angry attack. ‘I’m sorry …’
‘So you damned well should be! Why couldn’t you just do as you were told?’
Behind the curtain of shock she felt her own anger rise. ‘I didn’t realise I was under orders. And don’t kid yourself it was for me you went wandering off – it wasn’t. You were going to fetch something you had left behind, if I remember rightly.’
They glared at one another for a moment, then he reached out to touch her arm.
‘All right, let’s forget it now. I could use a drink and something to eat.’
She drew away from him, a stiff exterior concealing boiling emotions within.
‘I’m sure you could. Don’t let me stop you.’
‘Elise …’
She swung round, head held high on her aching neck. Below, the Glaswegian sailor would be wondering what had become of her; he had been kind and she didn’t want to repay him with indifference.
Tears were aching behind her eyes and she wished desperately that there was somewhere she could be alone. Oh, for the cramped cabin on the Maid of Darjeeling! Oh, for Hong Kong and home, for Gordon and Alex who loved and needed her. Oh, for lovely, blessed normality, for the calm days which seemed to have gone from her life for ever …
Behind her she heard Brit call her again but she ignored him, walking straight-backed along the deck into the darkness that was her only privacy and feeling the first hot trickle of tears on her cheeks.
‘Leave me alone,’ she said bitterly to the soft night air. ‘Just leave me alone!’
But she could not be sure whether she was relieved or disappointed when he did not come after her.
As the only woman aboard, Elise posed something of a problem to the Captain of the tramp steamer, but eventually he decided that the only course of action open to him was to allow her the use of his cabin – a small square of space filled to overflowing by the bunk, his desk and chair, and with walls covered with charts, maps and the odd pin-up.
When she was informed of the arrangements, Elise’s first reaction was to protest. The Captain’s cabin was the hub of the ship – she couldn’t possibly throw things so totally out of gear. But almost at once she realised there was no alternative. Neither she nor any of the men would be comfortable if she had to take a makeshift bed on the mess deck, and the Captain’s cabin was the only one with any pretence at privacy.
But with the door closed after her, cutting her off from the company of other human beings, Elise was not sure it was such an advantage.
Alone in the darkness the terrors of the day were still too real, and lying sleepless beneath the coarse blankets, with only the brief slip of silk that was her petticoat between their rough itchiness and her bare skin, she found herself unable to avoid reliving every horrific detail, from the moment the impact of the first torpedo had brought her sharply awake.
It was as if she was subconsciously afraid to sleep in case the same thing happened again, she thought.
Eventually, however, exhaustion overcame her, blotting out everything until a knocking at the cabin door awakened her. At first she came lazily through the layers of sleep, then the memory of fear returned and she sat bolt upright, trembling violently.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s me – Brit! Can I come in?’ His voice rea
ssured her. There was no urgency in it, no panic. As if he ever panicked! But her pulses began hammering all the same.
‘I’m not up yet.’
‘I don’t mind, if you don’t.’
She glanced down at her flimsy silk slip; she couldn’t have him come in while she looked like this. ‘ I’ll put some clothes on. I won’t be a minute.’
Her dress, stained and crumpled, was a disgrace but at least it covered her decently. Kneeling in front of the small flyblown mirror, she noticed how her face had been scorched by the sun, her nose and cheek-bones red and peeling, and when she tried to tug a comb through her hair she found it was thick and sticky with salt.
‘All right, you can come in now,’ she called.
The cabin door opened and she wondered why all her anger of the previous evening had evaporated so quickly, overtaken by this breathless eagerness.
Then, as she saw him, she almost laughed aloud. There was something just too funny about the canvas trousers, a size too big and bundled up around the waist by a leather belt, and the faded cotton shirt that must have belonged to a Goliath.
Following her glance he grinned.
‘My uniform’s still not dry. I did wonder if I might start a fashion, but I can’t see it catching on.’
She said nothing, mastering the smile and trying to resurrect her anger.
His face straightened. ‘I came to tell you the Captain needs his cabin.’
‘Oh, did you!’ There was no need to work at summoning up the anger – his attitude could do it for her. ‘Well, I’ll vacate it as soon as I can, but I’ve only just this second woken up.’
‘I’m sorry if you’re used to lying in, but on a small ship the Captain’s cabin is a very functional quarter.’
‘It’s all right, you don’t have to go into long explanations. I suppose I was so tired I could have slept the clock round given the chance. It won’t happen again.’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You blow up so quickly.’
‘I blow up! I like that!’
His mouth quirked again. ‘Yes, actually so do I. It’s quite entertaining!’
‘I’m glad you think so!’ she fumed, wondering for the first time whether some of his infuriating manner was intentional – to goad her into exhibitions of temper.
‘One piece of good news,’ he continued, ‘ which you’ll no doubt be pleased to hear, is that we’re heading for Penang. That’s where this ship was going when it picked up our distress call and the master sees no reason to alter course.’
‘Penang – that’s in the right direction for us, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. By going straight there we shall cut out Calcutta and Rangoon. It should take several days off our journey – maybe even a week.’
‘Good!’ she said, then was aware of a sudden sinking sensation as if she had found herself stumbling very close to the edge of a precipice.
What in heaven’s name is the matter with me? she wondered. A few days ago I wanted to get to Hong Kong as speedily as possible. I still do. Only last night I was crying for Gordon and Alex and all things familiar. So why do I suddenly feel as if some kind of punishment was hanging over me?
‘The Eastern and Oriental is the best hotel in Penang,’ she heard Brit saying. ‘ I shall stay there until we can move on again. What about you?’
‘Oh yes – it sounds fine,’ she said. Then, inexplicably, she felt herself colour. He must not know the turmoil he had started in her all over again – the way she longed to reach out and touch him just to satisfy herself that he was really there, really safe.
‘If the Captain is waiting for his cabin, I ought to get my things together – what there is of them,’ she said.
And her back was already turned when she heard the cabin door open and then close after him.
Chapter Fourteen
The Eastern and Oriental Hotel, as proud and grand as in colonial days, sprawled graciously in four and a half acres of beautiful gardens in the heart of Penang.
Within the pale stone walls the public rooms reflected calm and gracious living, from the celebrated Golden Corridor with its decorative arches to the deep blue velvet and gold inlaid decor of the cocktail lounge; while outside on the manicured lawns, where palm trees swayed beneath a blue sky, guests sipped cocktails at the white tables, each shaded from the sun by its own pagoda-shaped straw umbrella. Flowers bloomed riotously in the well-kept borders and a frangipani tree dropped fragrant white petals on to the paved terrace.
Standing at the window of her room, Elise marvelled that such peace and gracious living could survive in a world so torn apart with the horror of war. It was unreal, she thought, a mirage in a desert of violence and death. Even the cannon, mounted on its plinth of stone and pointing out towards the blue water, looked reassuringly peaceful now, a monument to wars long over.
Yet not so long ago she had seen at close range not only modern-day weapons but also the devastating effects they could have.
She moved impatiently, looking towards the telephone and willing it to ring. She had placed a call to Hong Kong the moment she had booked into the E & O, before bathing, before eating, before doing anything about finding a change of clothing to replace the salt-stained dress she had worn now for almost a week.
The hotel’s Manager, who had welcomed her, had understandably been horrified.
‘We will send out at once for one of the stores to bring you a selection of merchandise. Or perhaps you would prefer to have our own dressmaker come to your room? I can recommend her work with no hesitation. You may choose from all the fabrics at her disposal – Thai silks, Indian cottons, brocades from China …’
‘Later,’ Elise said. The first thing I must do is telephone my husband.’
‘As you wish. But I assure you, our dressmaker is most discreet …’
‘Later,’ Elise said again.
The need to speak to Gordon was so compelling it took precedence over everything. He might be terribly worried about her and she must set his mind at rest as soon as possible. That would salve her conscience, partly at least, for the way Brit had occupied her mind during these last few days. And besides … When she heard his voice perhaps it would bring her down to earth and put an end to this madness.
In the quiet room the telephone shrilled suddenly and she dived towards it. As she lifted the receiver she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror on the wall – dishevelled, no make-up, her hair corkscrewed into tiny golden curls by the salt wind, her nose, chin and cheekbones still showing signs of sunburn. And her dress! No wonder the Manager had nearly had a fit! In this grandest of hotels she looked like a peasant – no, a sea urchin!
The telephone was in her hand; her voice trembled with eagerness.
‘Hello?’
Conversation down the line, one operator and then another. And then the dear, familiar voice.
‘Is that you, Elise?’
‘Gordon!’
Tears, constricting her throat, suddenly made it difficult to speak.
‘Elise – are you there?’
‘Yes, I’m here! In Penang of all places. It’s all right – I was lucky. I got picked up by a tramp steamer. I wanted you to know …’
‘Why – what happened to you?’
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘No! What happened?’
It was incredible that she had been to hell and back and he didn’t know. A moment ago she had wanted to talk to him, tell him everything. Now, suddenly, she didn’t think she could. How to condense the horror, minimise it, share it? How to begin, even!
‘Oh, Gordon!’ The tears were running down her cheeks, burning the sun-scorched skin.
‘Elise – for God’s sake!’
And then it was all pouring out, words tumbling one on top of the other. Across the miles, down the crackling, singing telephone lines, she sensed his shock and did her best to alleviate it
.
‘I’m all right, honestly, but I lost everything – all Mama’s things, the presents I was bringing for you and Alex – everything …’
‘It doesn’t matter about any of that as long as you’re safe. But what are you doing for money?’
‘I’ve got my handbag and what was in it. But I shall need to buy clothes. And we’re staying at the E & O. It’s expensive …’
‘Get the best. Of everything! I’ll wire you some money. How long will you be there?’
‘I don’t know. Until we can get a ship to Singapore. A few days, maybe.’
‘Are you alone?’
She hesitated. Up to now she had managed to hedge about Brit, but the time had come when she was unable to do so any longer.
‘Not entirely. Gerald Brittain is here too.’
‘Gerald Brittain? Who the devil is Gerald Brittain?’
‘He arranged the passage for me. He’s on his way back to Hong Kong as well.’
‘You haven’t mentioned him before.’
‘No. I … I didn’t think it was really important.’ Coward, she thought. Why not tell him the truth – that you thought that when he discovered Brit was one of the Brittains of Cormorant he would be less than pleased …
‘Well, I don’t know about that.’ She heard the indignation begin in Gordon’s voice and her heart sank.
‘I would never have made it this far without him, Gordon.’
‘No. And when do you think you’ll get to Singapore?’
‘I’m not sure. However long it takes after we leave here, I suppose.’
‘Hmm. About three days. But you don’t know yet when you’re leaving?’
‘No.’
‘Look – if I can get to Singapore to meet you, I will. I’ll see what I can fix up. You’ve been coping with all this on your own for quite long enough.’