‘“Was it Haw-Haw?”
‘“Yes. And as you know—”
“‘He tells the most blatant lies!”
“‘Exactly. So if they haven’t heard about it, there’s no need to mention it at all.”
‘“Quite. I understand.”
‘“One other thing. If the worst comes to the worst—”
“‘If it’s true, you mean.”
‘“If it is, may I come over to you and break it to her myself? I introduced Chris to her, you see, I feel – responsible. Not for the first time either.”
“‘All right. I – appreciate your suggesting it, Rufus. I’m sure Innes will too. It’s good of you. But please God—”
“‘Yes. Please God…’”
Chalk paused: refilling his pipe. He went on – after checking the time again – ‘Not such an awful mother-in-law-to-be after all, I thought, after that conversation.
When the going got tough, she seemed to come up trumps. Didn’t escape my notice that I seemed to have done myself a bit of good, too. But on the Tracker issue I didn’t have any great hopes of a happy outcome. The Haw-Haw claim coming on top of the fact they’d sent her north at the wrong time of year: and that the Germans must at least have caught the landing-party – in which case, once they knew there was a submarine in the vicinity, how could Mottram possibly get out of it, with no shred of darkness to surface into?
‘Anyway – I had lunch, went down to the boat, saw that everything was happening that should have been, dealt with a few queries from young Sutherland, and so on. Routine chores. But also, facing the stark realities of the situation, I had to think about how I’d replace Chris as first lieutenant, if I had to. I think – to be honest – I was expecting I’d have to. Then – mid-afternoon – another message from the SO(O): would I call in to see him at my earliest convenience, please.
‘I think I probably ran. I don’t remember. What I do remember, clear as anything, is that bugger saying absolutely nothing, giving nothing away in his expression either, simply handing me a pink signal form. Pink for secret – as you’ll remember: in this case Top Secret, and it would have come in cypher of course. From Tracker – time-of-origin less than an hour earlier – addressed to Senior Submarine Officer Lerwick and repeated to Uncle Tom Cobbley and all, giving her position, course and speed, ETA Lerwick 1800/Z June 26th, and adding Request ambulance and doctor for removal of sick passenger Doctor Heiden to hospital.
‘Oh, and something about two Norwegians having been left behind, killed or captured. I looked up at the SO(O), who’d cracked a smile by that time. Personally, I just managed not to weep. Instead I borrowed his telephone – he courteously left me to it – and I rang Glendarragh. Got MacKenzie this time, then Lady C-G. She told me, “I’ve put Suzie to bed. I told her you called, Rufus. Does this mean – you’re coming here?”
‘“In a few days’ time I will, if I may. But meanwhile – any champagne in the cellar?”
‘“Champagne…” She’d caught her breath. I was enjoying this – as you can imagine. I told her, “Get a bottle up and open it, take a glass up to Suzie, tell her Tracker’s on her way back and I’ll bring Chris over to her in about four days’ time. Five at the outside. Would it suit you to lay on the wedding for – oh, a week from today?”’
Epilogue
‘Wedding went off well.’ Chalk qualified that statement with ‘Ruined for me personally by still having no news of Patricia. Whoever Sir Innes had seen in London had only given him a bland assurance that “as far as he knew” she was all right. Oh, and “very highly regarded”. But as I say – good wedding. Bride and groom ecstatically happy. Tracker had surfaced in full view of the Norwegian coast, by the way, and nobody’d taken a blind bit of notice of her… What else – I’ve got to be quick now, haven’t I? Well, the Cameron-Greens made me very welcome; the inference was that there’d be no problems once I was free – and Patricia home and of like mind, of course… Astonishing, you know, the blind faith one had: worried stiff for her, but no real doubt she would be back… Oh, one small thing – Sir Innes mentioned that “the Buchanan woman’s” engagement to George Lindsay had been all over the gossip columns, photographs and all, quite recently. While I was on patrol, it must have been. So she’d got what she'd been after – if the old great-aunt had been right, our Zoe was all set to become extremely rich. And – what else… Well, Suzie and Chris had a 48-hour honeymoon – she was still using a crutch, by the way – and a slightly longer, supplementary honeymoon after our next patrol. Thanks to an extremely well-disposed commanding officer. It’d be nice to say they lived happily ever after, but – as you’ll remember—’
‘He commanded Sepoy, in the Trinco flotilla.’
‘Left me for his COQC course in late ’42, had a training boat at Campbeltown for his first command, then as you say, Sepoy. She was refitting – at Dundee – and he took her out to Trinco in ’44. Lost with all hands in the Malacca Straits a few months later.’
‘Yes. Poor Suzie.’
‘As you say… And – speak of the devil—’
A car had crashed over the cattle-grid: would now be trundling up the 400 yards of dirt track which Chalk referred to as a drive and the Irish call an avenue. I was staring at him: it was a question which I’d had in mind – obviously – but hadn’t asked: it was very much his private business, and I’d left it to him to tell me when he saw fit.
‘Suzie…’
‘Hadn’t you guessed?’
‘But – Patricia—’
He’d been sitting: was on his feet now, big hands flat on the wall, eyes on the sea. He told me, ‘I never saw her again. The story we were given – eventually – was that she’d crashed on take-off in a Lysander, in some French wood – clearing in a wood, I suppose – shot down just as it left the ground by machine-gun fire from a German patrol. In other words she’d just missed getting out. And – staying alive… But to tell you the truth it was almost a relief, when I heard it. She’d been gone for months by then, we knew she must have – come to grief – and at least it hadn’t been the kind of horror that had – obsessed one’s dreams.’
At least she hadn’t died in a Gestapo cellar, he meant.
I said – at a loss for any comment that might have sounded less banal – ‘I’m awfully sorry. Even taking that point – all those months not knowing, must have been – hellish.’
‘Well.’ That small shake of the head. ‘One word for it.’ Turning back then, as it were cocking an ear, and I heard it too – a car rounding the bend, about a hundred yards away. He told me, ‘Hang on here, will you. We’ll be with you in two shakes.’
* * *
He came out alone, though. I turned from the sea expecting to see both of them, but it was only him, and for once the setter wasn’t at his heels.
‘Loose ends, now. While Herself is squaring herself off.’ He sat down. ‘That thing switched on, is it?’
‘Question first – would the two of you dine with me tonight? I’ll do the driving, pick you up – I’d thought Youen’s at Baltimore, if you like seafood?’
‘Love it. Very kind.’ He’d nodded. ‘Better see how she feels, but – I’m sure… Now then – which loose ends?’
‘Diana?’
‘Living in Connecticut. Married a Yank. Has the bloody nerve to send us Christmas cards. But that’s all, about her. Obviously we got divorced, but – no details, story’s finished – right?’
I’d nodded. He asked me, ‘So what else?’
‘Well – Alastair?’
‘Lost a leg in Italy in ’43. Farming at Glendarragh now – the C-G parents were under the ground long ago, incidentally, he’s Sir Alastair. Has a prize herd of Aberdeen Angus and lets out the shooting and fishing. We visit him there occasionally – he married Midge, and she’s still going strong. They’ve been here a few times… My sister – Betty – died of cancer just after the war; Dick – her husband – finished up as a brigadier, but he’s been dead for some years now. He was older t
han the rest of us, of course. By the way, we have a son and a daughter – both of ’em breeding like rabbits, hence the spate of grandchildren, up to now all female. Son called Guy – not unlike him, either – daughter Patricia. This was Guy’s son that just arrived. Pat’s in Sydney, married to an Australian. What else… Oh – must tell you this. In 1945 – I was a commander – I was at Barlows’ again, for the launching of one of the new “A” class. They were too late for the war, none of ’em saw any action, but they were real state-of-the-art submarines at that time. Museum piece now, they’ve got one at the Gosport submarine museum, open to the public. Well – you’d know… But who should be presiding at the launch but Lady Spynie. Zoe, no less. Frightfully smart, gowned and hatted, agleam with bloody diamonds. I had a few words with her – had to – took her aback a bit, but she couldn’t get out of it either. But my God – gracious as hell on wheels… Oh – here’s Herself.’
Suzie.
In slacks and a sweater, hair grey instead of the dark brown I’d been picturing all week, but otherwise – trim figure, vivacious, really very attractive – still… In fact exactly as one might have hoped she’d be. Even the dog at her side: it almost tripped her as she came down to us, and I remembered Chalk’s description of his first sight of her, when the overweight Labrador had cannoned through the door with her and she’d reminded it that it was a dog, not a hippo…
She’d dropped a yellow envelope of snapshots on the table, and told her husband, ‘Here he is – your grandson.’ Her hand was in mine, then – small, warm, firm: ‘He’s been telling you a whole pack of lies, I’m sure.’
‘Just told him about Zoe at that launch.’
‘Oh, her.’ Suzie sat down. ‘I suppose he conned you into believing they only exchanged telephone calls – huh?’
‘Well – that’s how it is on the tape.’
‘And you really believe it?’ Laughing, pointing at him: ‘This old rogue?’
‘Young rogue, then.’ Chalk had glanced quickly through the snaps. Shaking his head as he pushed them back into the envelope. ‘Old Grandpa, now.’ Nodding towards Suzie: ‘And that’s old Grannie.’
‘Balls.’ Her smile had faded. ‘Bollocks, Rufus. You know who you are – and what you are. And I know me, damn it!’
So did I – more or less. Watching them, seeing the challenge in her vividly blue eyes, and his slow smile growing – the smile of an old man enjoying the sight of his pretty, younger wife – I thought I knew them, well enough. All I had to do was work out how to frame their story.
Author’s Note
In June 1939, HM Submarine Thetis was lost during her acceptance trials in Liverpool Bay. There were 103 men on board and only 4 survived. She was salvaged and refitted as HMS/M Thunderbolt, which after distinguished war service was lost with all hands in the Mediterranean in March 1943.
The idea for Not Thinking of Death stemmed from the Thetis/Thunderbolt history, and the chain of mistakes contributing to the loss of the fictional HMS/M Trumpeter closely follows the detail of the Thetis tragedy as set out in the Report of the Tribunal of Enquiry into her loss. (The Report, in some basic respects inconclusive, was published by HM Stationery Office and presented to Parliament by the then prime minister Neville Chamberlain in April 1940.) But nobody who was involved in those tragic events is represented in any way in this novel, in which all the characters are fictional.
A.F.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1994 by Little, Brown
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Copyright © Alexander Fullerton, 1994
The moral right of Alexander Fullerton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911591474
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Not Thinking of Death Page 41