I took a deep breath of fresh air and leant on the rail to look around. The sea was oily calm, wrinkled with the great sea swell that had swept all the way across the Atlantic. Looking along the coast, I could just see Feistein’s imposing red and white striped tower. From here, it was pilotage rather than navigation: Mike had set our course to come up outside the Kvitsøy cluster of islands, so that all we had to do was pass them, and the next three islands, all joined by too low a bridge for our beautiful ship to pass under, until we had clear water to turn right and thread our way back into Stavanger harbour.
My watch was starting to gather on deck now. The four physicals were sent to their stations, and Olav, Ludwig and Nine headed below for galley duty. Erik began organising those who were left into sail-handling groups, one for each mast. There were clinking noises as the harnesses were put on and checked, then Erik, Petter and Mona each took a group and headed upwards into the spider’s web rigging. I watched as each dark figure clipped on, then shuffled along the wire suspended under each yard. The crew went first each time, out to the end of the spar, where the sea was giddily far below, and directed operations from there – untying the bunt rope and letting it fall, then gathering up the heavy sail in folds, rolling it inwards until it was all secured, and tying it up.
While they were doing that, I checked the final passage into Stavanger, and roughed out a plan for getting out again, then the course that would take us across the North Sea to the Pentland Firth, between Orkney and Scotland. We’d leave on Nils’s watch, so of course he’d change it, but it satisfied me to have done it. A fair boy from Agnetha’s watch came in just as I was finishing. ‘Kjell Sigurd,’ he introduced himself. ‘How do you like your coffee?’
‘Black,’ I said, ‘and not too strong.’
He brought it within minutes, and a couple of biscuits, then headed off to work his way round the helm, standby and safety.
It was a good hour before the last trainee came down the ratlines. All the trainees were on deck now, in a long line along the shoreward rail, gazing at the Atlantic-polished rock and the clefts of green trees sheltering white wood houses, each with its own jetty. There was a buzz of excitement about going ashore. Far ahead, the roofs and offices of Stavanger glinted in the sun. I noticed Sean below me, checking our position on Google and sharing it with the man beside him.
Mike came up beside me. He too had a mug and biscuit in hand. ‘Someone was saying that’s your cousin, the dark Irishman down there.’
I nodded. ‘Sean Lynch. Me dad’s brother’s son.’
Mike leant on the rail, looking down, brows drawn together. ‘I’m thinking I recognise his face. Is it Cork your family’s from?’
I shook my head. ‘Dublin. Me grandda was a builder there.’ I turned, and leant back against the rail. ‘We used to spend family Christmases there. But of course he may have been living in Belfast since then.’
‘Ah, Dublin! It’s a beautiful city. I’m a Cork man meself.’ He was still frowning, then he turned away, shaking his head. ‘No. It’s on the tip of me tongue, so it is, but I can’t quite get it.’ He straightened up. ‘Still, we’re about the same age, so we might have met as youngsters.’ He flashed his smile at me, rueful. ‘I was a bit wild at that age, worried me poor folks ragged, until they sent me off to family in Massachusetts.’
‘If you were a bit wild, you could well have met Sean,’ I said.
The worry still clouded his face, but he made an effort to speak jauntily. ‘All set to steer us straight into Stavanger, then?’
‘Like a swallow to its nest.’ I touched wood automatically, though Stavanger was Sørlandet’s other home port, and she could practically sail herself into the quay. Bang on cue, Captain Gunnar came up to the aft deck to take over, and nodded to Petter to take the wheel. Anders stationed himself by the engine controls. Only I could see how nervous he was. I gave his shoulder a reassuring pat as I passed. Now we’d steer by visuals: a point to port, two to starboard. I’d stay by the navigation screen, but I didn’t expect to be needed. Below me, Rolf was getting the man-overboard boat ready to launch so that Sørlandet would have some of her own crew ashore ready to take her lines. Erik began organising trainees to stand by with fenders and lower the gangplank. Faces stared at us from the moored cruise liner, cameras flashed, and I felt my usual surge of pride. Normally, coming into a port in my little Khalida, I was the smallest, oldest boat, and got sneered at by the gin-drinkers in their shiny white blobs; but even the most expensive new Swedish cruiser didn’t outrank Sørlandet. She was the queen of the harbour. I was like Cat on his bench, I thought, and laughed at myself.
The port came up around us: wooden houses stretching back from the sea, white, pink, red-brown, with the glass-walled offices of modern Stavanger behind them. The man-overboard boat buzzed around Sørlandet like a duckling circling a swan, then headed for the quay and tied up. Slowly, carefully, we manoeuvred Sørlandet to the tyre-hung jetty.
A movement below caught my eye. Still looking at the quay like all the other trainees, Sean was backing away from the rail until he was clear of the others. I knew the look on his face. He was pursuing some plan. Once he was two steps behind them, he turned and went swiftly down the banjer steps. From my height on the aft deck, I saw him descend, but he didn’t turn left or right into the banjer; his head kept going straight down. He was making for the next deck, the pantry, rope stores and the tunnels, where the stowaway was holed up. I only signed on today … to help the Russian get aboard, and keep him out of sight? What had my cousin Sean turned out as?
Now the ship was only two metres from the quay. Nils’s ABs threw the lines ashore, Rolf and Mona made them fast on the bollards, and gradually Sørlandet was winched in until her white sides jammed the fenders against the tyres. I kept an eye on the door to the banjer. Halfway through the berthing, Sean came out again, hands empty, face satisfied, and sidled back to the rail, as if he’d merely changed places for a better view.
Erik and his team manoeuvred the gangplank over the ship’s side and down to the quay, then there was an all-hands muster. Jenn reminded the trainees of the time they had to be back aboard and stationed herself with the passports box by the gangplank. There was a shuffling round into alphabetical order. The social workers in charge of the young people gave a last warning talk about what they weren’t allowed to do ashore, and then Erik took off the ‘Crew only’ sign, and they filed off into the arms of the waiting customs officials.
It was a fairly cursory check, a glance at passport, face, wave on. Sean stood like a lamb, cracking jokes, then took his passport and sauntered off, hands in his pockets, not a care in the world. I knew that innocent look. The other adults followed in groups, chatting and eyeing up the coffee shops on the quay. A voice floated up to me, ‘… drinking chocolate with cream on top.’ I sympathised with that one, but thought I’d resist it. I’d been feeling bloated these last few days. A walk with Cat up the hill and around the lake would be more like it.
There was no sign of the man in the dark jacket. Once Jenn had handed out our passports, her box was empty.
The police gave the trainees half an hour to get off the boat, and then they arrived, a dozen of them, dressed in black and grey jackets and black helmets with visors. Each one carried a machine gun and had a pair of backup pistols in his belt. As well as the normal red and gold police badge, they had the Delta triangle on their shoulder: the Emergency Response Unit. If our stowaway had any sense, he’d come straight out with his hands up.
They waited on the quay, faces grim, while the crew gathered together on the main deck. Anders had Rat with him, snuggled on one shoulder. I nipped to my cabin to release Cat, and carried him back up with his harness and lead on. I could see how uneasy we all felt about this invasion of our beautiful ship. We’d all seen too many action movies of the special squad bursting in, with boots kicking doors open and rifle butts smashing windows. We knew it was absurd; we wouldn’t come back to find the ship trashed. No, it was a
n uneasiness with this world of violence suddenly breaking into our peace of waves and open sky. Erik was so white he looked as if he might be sick. Agnetha kept tugging her collar up around her chin and hunching down into it as if it could protect her; beside her, Rolf tugged his black hat down to his brows. Mike’s face was drawn into long, downward lines. He went forward to Agnetha and spoke softly. She shook her head as if he’d asked her a question, and stepped closer to Erik. Nils’s little eyes were darting everywhere. Anders had a hand on Rat’s plush coat, as if for reassurance.
Captain Gunnar looked around us. ‘Mike, Rolf: you remain with the officers at the foot of the gangplank. Once the special forces have gone, trainees may come back aboard.’
The customs men weren’t bothered about crew; they were already leaving as we got ourselves off the ship. Anders took Rat under his collar, I picked Cat up, and we headed down the gangplank.
‘He did not go off,’ Anders said.
‘No,’ I agreed. My throat felt choked and there was a heaviness in my chest.
Erik and Agnetha came off the ship after us, steps matching. She had her arm through his. I remembered Olav’s questions, and felt a squirm of unease in my stomach. They headed up towards the town centre.
‘I’ll take Cat up to the lake. He can run around there. Coming?’
Anders shook his head. ‘I want to phone Johanna, while we have a good signal.’
Aha! ‘Say hi from me, and I hope she’s feeling better.’ I’d phone Gavin once the search was over.
I threaded my way upwards between white-painted wooden houses, across the main road below the twin-towered cathedral and into the gardens beyond it. They were bright with summer plantings: scarlet, orange, yellow. I unclipped Cat’s lead and walked briskly up one side of the lake, with him bounding alongside, then back to the gravel sweep bordering the lake, where there were flocks of pigeons for him to scatter. A little bandstand overlooked the lake, its pitched tile roof topped by a supercilious seagull. I followed Cat around the back of it and sat down on the warm stone surround, legs stretched out towards the lake. Traditional houses ran along one side of the water, turned now into one restaurant/cafe, with tables on a balcony and the Norwegian flag fluttering against the white wall, all picturesque and peaceful. I breathed the land-scented air deeply and tried not to think about the intruders aboard Sørlandet.
Cat crouched low on the gravel and began stalking his way around the bandstand. His tail waved as he pounced. There was a flap and rattle as the pigeons rose into the air, then Cat went charging past me into the bushes. He was moving too fast for me to be sure, but I feared there were wings flapping from his mouth. I rose and went after him. I didn’t want to spoil his fun, but I liked to know where he was, in case he got his harness hooked on something. There were agitated sounds from the undergrowth. A branch waggled, as if something had jumped against it. I sighed and went around to sit on the grass, near enough to see Cat coming out again, but not close enough to hear any crunching noises. In front of me, the fountain sparkled in the air, making a rainbow shower. A flock of seagulls bobbed around it.
I was just contemplating the lavender bushes in the little beds between me and the lake, and wondering if I should interfere with Cat, when I heard Agnetha’s voice, clear and defiant. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’
It seemed to come from right behind me. I twisted my head and saw two pairs of cargo breeks at the other side of the bush, standing, as if they’d strolled down to a good view of the lake, and were going to talk there. Now what could I do? I was tensing myself to rise up and come around the bush with a cheery ‘Hei!’ when I heard a choked sob. Agnetha spoke again, her voice muffled. ‘Oh, never mind me, my hormones are just all over the place. It’s not surprising.’
‘But it does show,’ Erik said, ‘that you’re not happy about it.’ His voice made it clear that he wasn’t happy about it either. ‘Look, you have plenty of time to really think it over. A baby’s a big decision.’
‘It’s not a baby yet.’
‘But it’s not a nothing either. Look, I’ve had kids; I know. You have no idea … that first scan, when we saw Alexander’s face, he was only five months, and yet that was him already. We look back now and see his features.’
‘Another child.’ Her voice was bitter. ‘So what do you say to your wife? “I’ve been having this affair with a woman on board ship, and she’s pregnant.” That’ll go down well.’
Eric’s voice remained level. ‘Of course it won’t. But if it has to be done …’
‘It doesn’t have to be done.’ Her voice muted as she turned away. ‘I’m not turning into a housewife with playdates and mother-and-toddler groups, and stepkids every second—’ She broke off in a rustling of leaves and flapping of wings as the pigeon took off across the gravel, with Cat in hot pursuit. I stumbled to my feet and hurried forward, back bent until I was safely out of earshot and could straighten up to casual contemplation of the lake. Cat stalked back to the bandstand, obviously thinking poorly of a deity that gave food the unfair advantage of wings, and focused on the pigeons once more.
I needed to forget I’d heard this conversation. In just ten minutes, I’d be back at the ship. I needed to meet Agnetha with a clear look. I kept my back turned to them, only checking up on Cat from the corner of my eyes, until at last I sensed them moving away, and turned to see them heading back up the slope and round the square-towered corner of the cathedral. Erik’s hand was on Agnetha’s shoulder, but she walked apart from him, arms swinging free.
I let Cat chase pigeons for a bit longer, then I began to stroll shipwards, up past the creamy yellow house with the grey window frames, past the fuchsia-pink rhododendrons, an ivy-covered tree, a black iron lamp post, and over the top of the hill to see the harbour spread out below me, the cruise ship on the left and Sørlandet’s masts soaring on the right. We sauntered back down via one of the old cobbled streets, with red-tiled roofs pitching down over wooden walls and yellow poppies thrusting from the cracks between wall and pavement. At the end of it, the bridge raised its double triangle of rigging. Cat trotted ahead of me on his lead, plumed tail held high, pausing every so often to prod a drain with his paw or pat a piece of paper in the gutter.
I was determined not to think of Agnetha and Erik, but of course I couldn’t help it. Agnetha’s peakiness at breakfast time was explained. I wondered how far on that made her. I had a vague notion that some women were sick all through pregnancy, while others didn’t suffer at all. It was going to be hard for her over the next few months. I supposed the ship would be in her winter quarters by the time the baby was actually due, but what then? Was Erik really going to leave Micaela and his other children? Yet Agnetha hadn’t sounded as if that was what she wanted. I remembered the scorn in her voice: Playdates and mother-and-toddler groups … Was she planning to continue as ship’s officer, baby and all? I supposed she’d get the standard maternity leave, but then what? The baby could be with her in her cabin at first, I supposed, as she walked the after-deck, no further away than a child in a bedroom cot while its mother cooked in the kitchen. It would depend on how Captain Gunnar’s successor took it. But once it could crawl, then toddle, it wouldn’t be easy. Perhaps she could employ an au pair to live aboard. If she was determined to hold on to her job, then she’d arrange things somehow – and I knew she would be that determined.
And Micaela … I understood her air of concealed worry now. Erik was her world, he and the children and their house by the sea, with its little jetty and productive garden. Even as I tried not to think about it, I didn’t believe it. If Erik and Micaela weren’t proof against separation, then no relationship was. I felt a cold clutch at my heart. Could Gavin and I manage, somehow, to forge a joint life with me at sea much of the time, as Erik was, or was it just not possible?
We came out into the harbour space. Anders was still sitting at the cafe table. He saw me coming out and raised a hand. Cat started off towards the ship’s gangplank. I picked him up and s
lid into the seat opposite Anders. ‘How is she?’
‘Home now, and feeling much better, though sore around the stitches. She says hi.’
I nodded my chin at the ship. ‘Have they come off yet?’
Anders shook his head. ‘Nearly. They’re working from stem to stern.’
I listened, and heard thumps and clanks as paint pots were moved in the forrard store, followed by heavy feet on the ladder down to the anchor locker. A voice asked a question, and another replied. There was a long pause, then tramping on the decks, and the men appeared from under the foredeck and gathered in the waist of the ship. Their black uniforms were flecked with dried paint and greyed with dust. Their leader went up to the aft deck, where Captain Gunnar was waiting. I felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was a low-voiced conversation, with a good deal of shaking heads.
The long search had found nobody.
CHAPTER FIVE
The squad marched down the gangplank and headed for their rank of black vans. At the table next to us, Nils and his ABs rose. I let Cat off his lead and he bounded ahead of them back on board, jumped up on a bench and began washing his paws. Anders and I headed for the officers’ galley, where Anders made a sandwich while I buttered myself some ryebread, and added a couple of slices of ham and cheese and a gherkin. ‘D’you want to bring it into my cabin?’
He nodded, and followed me through. I gestured him to the table, but he shook his head, and we sat side by side on the cushioned bunk-settee, plates balanced on our knees. I put some ham in Cat’s dish, and he and Rat shared it, then swarmed up together onto the berth and cleaned whiskers in a contented huddle. ‘They like being together,’ Anders said.
I nodded, absently, and we munched for a while in silence. ‘He was on board,’ I said, at last. ‘And he didn’t get off. We both watched the trainees leave.’
Death in Shetland Waters Page 6