by Wilbur Smith
Then from the lifeboat alongside where Anna sat a voice spoke in a dull, almost disinterested tone. Look, isn't that a ship? For a while there was silence, as though it took time to understand such an unlikely proposition, and then another voice, sharper and more alive. It is, it's a ship! Where?
Where is it? A babble of excited voices now. There, just below that dark patch of cloud. Low down, just the top-'It's a ship!
A ship! Men were trying to stand, some of them had stripped off their jackets and were waving frantically and shouting as though their lungs might burst.
Anna blinked her eyes and stared in the direction they were all pointing in. After a moment she saw a tiny triangular shape, darker grey against the dreary grey of the horizon.
The first officer was busy in the stern, and abruptly there was a fierce whooshing sound and a trail of smoke shot up into the sky and burst in a cluster of bright red stars as he fired one of the signal rockets from the steRN locker. She has seen us! Look! Look, she's altering course! It's a warship, three funnels. Look at the tripod director tower, she's one of the "I class cruisers- By God, it's the Inflexible! I saw her at Scopa Flow last year- God bless her, whoever she is. She's seen us! Oh, thank God, she's seen us! Anna found herself laughing and sobbing, and clutching the carpet bag that was her only link with Centaine.
It will be all right now, my baby, she promised. Anna will find you now. You don't have to worry any more, Anna is coming to get you. And the deadly grey shape of the warship raced down upon them, shouldering and breaking the waters aside with her tall, axe-sharp bows.
Anna stood at the rail of HMS Inflexible in a group of the survivors from the lifeboats and watched that immense flat-topped mountain rise out of the southern ocean.
From this distance the proportions of the mountain were so perfect, the tableland at its summit so precisely cut and the steep slopes so artfully fashioned that it might have been sculptured by a divine Michelangelo. The men around her were excited and voluble, hanging on the rail and pointing out the familiar features of the land as their swift approach made each apparent. This was a homecoming of which most of them had many times despaired, and their relief and joy were pathetically childlike.
Anna shared none of it with them. The sight of land induced in her only a corrosive impatience that she knew she could not long abide. The drive of the great ship under her was too puny, too snail-like for her antici potion every minute spent out here upon the ocean was wasted, for it delayed the moment when she could set out on the quest which had in a few short days become the central driving force of her existence.
She fretted while the drama of sea and elements unfolded before her, while the wind which had crossed the wide sweep of the Atlantic free and unfettered, met the sudden constraint of the great mountain, and like a wild horse feeling the bit for the first time, reared and struggled in monstrous pique.
Before Anna's eyes a dense white cloud blossomed upon the broad flat summit of the mountain and began to boil over the sheer lip in a slow, gelatinous tide down the stark cliffs, and when the men around her exclaimed with wonder, she had only an insufferable desire to feel the land beneath her feet, and to turn those feet back into the north to begin the search.
Now the angry wind racing down the cliffs came again to the sea and ripped the placid sweet blue first to sombre gunmetal and then to foam-flecked fury. As the Inflexible came out of the lee of the mountain into the narrow roadway between Table Harbour and Roben Island, the southeaster struck her like a mallet, and even she was forced to make obeisance and heel to the power of the wind.
In the days of sail, many great ships had come this close to the mountain only to be blown out again with rigging in disarray, not to sight land again for days or even weeks, but Inflexible, once she had acknowledged its force, drove in through the concrete breakwater, and surrendered only to the attentions of the fussy little steam tugs which bustled out to meet her. Like a lover she kissed the wharf, and the crowd that lined it waved up at the decks, the women struggling with rebellious skirts and the men clutching their hats to their heads, the strains of the Marine band on the cruiser's foredeck rising and falling as the wind squalls gave Rule Britannia an unusual cadence.
As soon as the gangways were lowered, a group of figures hurried up them, harbour officials and naval officers in tropical whites and gold braid, together with a few obviously important civilians.
Now, despite herself, Anna felt a slight prickle of interest as she studied the white buildings of the town that were scattered along the foot of the high grey cliffs.
Africa, she murmured. So what was all the fuss about?
I wonder what Centaine- At the thought of the girl, all else was banished from her mind; although she still stared towards the shore, she saw nothing and heard nothing, until a light touch on her shoulder pulled her back to the present.
One of the ship's midshipmen, callow as a schoolboy even in his smart tropical whites, saluted her diffidently. There is a visitor for you in the wardroom, ma'am.
When it was obvious that Anna did not understand, he beckoned her to follow him.
At the door of the wardroom, the midshipman stood aside and ushered her through. Anna stood in the entrance and glowered around her suspiciously, holding the carpet bag protectively in front of her hips. Visitors and officers were already doing full justice to the ship's store of gin and tonic, but the cruiser's flag lieutenant saw Anna.
Ah, here we are. This is the worrian, and he drew one of the civilians from the group of men and led him to meet Anna.
Anna looked him over carefully. He was a slim, boyish figure dressed in a dove-grey three-piece suit of expensive material and superior cut.
Mevrou Stok? he asked, almost diffidently, and with surprise Anna realized that, far from being a boy, he was probably twenty years or so her senior.
Anna Stok? he repeated. His hair had receded in deep bays on each side of the smooth scholarly forehead, but had been allowed to grow feathery wisps down his neck and on to his shoulders.
We should take the scissors to you, she thought, and said [a, I am Anna Stok, and he replied in Afrikaans that she understood readily. A pleasant meeting, aangename kennis am Colonel Garrick Courtney, but I am saddened, as you must be, by the terrible loss we have experienced. For a few moments Anna did not understand what he was talking about. Instead she studied him more closely, and now she saw that his unbarbered hair had sprinkled the shoulder of his expensive suit with flakes of white dandruff. There was a button missing from his waistcoat and the thread dangled loosely. There was a grease spot on his silk cravat and the toe of one of his boots was scuffed.
A bachelor, Anna decided. Despite his intelligent eyes and the sensitive gentle mouth, there was something childlike and vulnerable about him, and Anna felt her maternal instincts stir.
He stepped closer to her, and the clumsy movement reminded Anna of what General Courtney had told Centaine and her, that Garrick Courtney had lost one of his legs in a hunting accident when he was a boy.
Coming on top of the death in action of my only son, Garrick lowered his voice and the look in his eyes was enough to soften Anna's reserves, this new loss is almost too much to bear. I have not only lost my son, but my daughter and my grandson before even I had a chance to know them. Now at last Anna understood what he was talking about, and her face flushed with such fury that Garry recoiled instinctively.
Never say that again! She followed him as he retreated, thrusting her face so close to his that their noses almost touched. Don't you dare ever to say that again! Madam, Garry faltered, I am sorry, I don't understand have I given you offence? Centaine is not dead and don't you ever dare again to speak as though she is! Do you understand? You mean Michael's wife is alive? Yes, Centaine is alive. Of course, she is alive. Where is she?
Slow delight dawned in Garry's faded blue eyes.
That is what we have got to find out, Anna told him firmly. We have got to find her again, you and U Garry Courtney had
a suite at the Mount Nelson Hotel above the centre of Cape Town.
There was, of course, no real alternative lodging for a gentleman traveller visiting the Cape of Good Hope. Its guest book read like a roll of honour: statesman and explorers, diamond magnates and big game hunters, gallant soldiers and illustrious peers of the realm, princes and admirals had all made it their temporary home.
The Courtney brothers, Garry and Sean, always had the same suite on the corner of the top floor with a view on one side over the gardens laid out by the governors of the Dutch East India Company, across the waters of Table Bay to the smoky blue mountains on the far side; on the other side the grey rock ramparts of the mountain were so close that they blotted out half the sky.
These legendary views did not distract Anna for a moment. She glanced quickly around the sitting-room, then placed the carpet bag on the centre table and rummaged in it. She brought out the silver picture frame and showed it to Garry, who was hovering behind her indecisively.
Good Lord, that's Michael- He took the frame from her and stared hungrily at the photograph of NO 2 I Squadron, taken only a few months previously. It's so hard to believe- Garry broke off and gulped before going on. Could I please have a copy of this made for myself? Anna nodded, and Garry transferred his attention to the two photographs in the second leaf. This is Centaine? He pronounced it in the English way.
Her mother. Anna touched the other. This is Centaine. She corrected his pronounciation.
They are so much alike, Garry turned the photographs to catch the light. Yet the mother is prettier, but the daughter, Centaine, has more force of character. Anna nodded again.
Now you know why she cannot F be dead, she does not give up easily. Her manner became brusque. But we are wasting time. We need a map. The hotel porter knocked on the door within minutes of Garry's call, and they spread the chart he brought between them.
I do not understand these things, Anna told him. Show me where the ship was torpedoed. Garry had the position from the Inflexible's navigating officer, and he marked it for her.
Do you see? Anna was triumphant. It is only a few centimetres from the land. She stroked the outline of Africa with her finger. So close, so very close-'It's a hundred miles, even further perhaps."Are you always so miserable? Anna snapped. They told me that the tide runs towards the land, and the wind also was blowing so strongly towards the land, anyway, I know my little girl. The current runs at four knots and the wind, Garry made a quick calculation. It's possible. But it would have taken days. Already Garry was enjoying himself. He liked this woman's absolute assurance. All his life he had been a victim of his own doubts and indecision, he could not remember even once being as certain of a single thing as she seemed certain of everything.
So, with the wind and water pushing her, where has she come ashore? Anna demanded. Show me. Garry pencilled in his estimates. I would say, about here! Ah! Anna placed a thick powerful finger on the map and smiled. When she smiled, she looked less like Chaka, Garry's huge fierce mastiff, and Garry grinned with her. Ah, so! Do you know this place? Well, I know a bit about it. I went with Botha and Smuts in I9I4, as a special correspondent for The Times.
We landed here, at Walvis Bay, the Bay of Whales. Good! Good!'Ann a cut him short. So there is no problem. We will go there and find Centaine, yes? When can we leave, tomorrow? It isn't quite that easy. Garry was taken aback.
You see, that is one of the fiercest deserts in the world.
Anna's smile disappeared. Always you find problems she told him ominously. Always you want to talk instead of doing things, and while you talk, what is happening to Centaine, hey? We must go quickly! Garry stared at her in awe.
Already she seemed to know him intimately. She had recognized that he was a dreamer and a romantic, content to live in his imagination, to live through the characters of his writings rather than in the real harsh world which frightened him so.
Now there is no more time for your talking. There are things to be done. First, we will make a list of these things, and then we will do them. Now begin. What is the first thing? Nobody had ever spoken to Garry like this, not at least since his childhood. With his military rank and his Victoria Cross, with his inherited wealth, his scholarly works of history and his reputation as a philosopher, the world treated him with the respect accorded to a sage. He knew he did not truly merit any of these considerations, so they terrified and confused Garry, and his defence was to withdraw further into this imaginary world. While you make the list, take off your waistcoat."Madam? Garry looked shcoked.
I am not madam, I am Anna. Now give me your waistcoat, there is a button missing. He obeyed quietly.
The first thing, Garry, in his shirtsleeves, wrote on a sheet of hotel notepaper, is to cable the military governor in Windhoek. We will need permits, this is all a closed military area. We will need his cooperation, he will be able to arrange provisions and water points. Now that Garry had been prodded into taking action, he was working quickly. Anna sat opposite him, stitching on the button with those strong, capable fingers.
What provisions? You will need a second list for those. Of courseGarry pulled another sheet towards him.
There! Anna bit off the thread and handed him back his waistcoat. You can put it on now.
Yes, Mevrou, said Garry meekly, but he could not remember when last he had felt so good.
It was after midnight when Garry went out on to the small balcony of his bedroom in his dressing-gown to take a last breath of night air, and while he reviewed I the events of the day, the buoyant feeling of well-being I i remained with him. I I Between them, he and Anna had performed prodigies of labour. They already had a reply from the military governor in Windhoek. As always, the Courtney name had opened the door to wholehearted cooperation. Their reservations had been made on the passenger train that would leave tomorrow afternoon, and take them over the Orange river and across the wastes of Namaqualand and Bushmanland, four days travel to Windhoek.
They had even completed the major part of outfitting the expedition. Garry had spoken on the telephone, an i instrument which he usually viewed with grave misgivings, to the owner of Stuttafords General Dealer Stores.
The stores he required would be packed in wooden cases, the contents of each clearly labelled on it, and delivered to the railway station the following afternoon. Mr Stuttaford had given Garry his personal assurance that it would all be ready in time, and had sent one of his green motor vans up to the Mount Nelson Hotel with a selection of safari clothing for both Garry and Anna.
Anna had rejected most of My Stuttaford's offerings as being either too expensive or too frivolous, I am not a poule', and she chose long thick calico skirts and heavy lace-up boots with hobnailed soles, flannel underwear and only at Garry's insistence, the African sun is a killer', a cork solar topee with a green neck-flap.
Garry had also arranged a transfer Of 4000 to the Standard Bank in Windhoek to cover the expedition's final outfitting. It had all been done swiftly, decisively and efficiently.
Garry took a long draw on his cigar and flicked the butt over the edge of the balcony, then turned back into his bedroom. He dropped his dressing-gown over the chair and climbed in between white sheets as crisp as lettuce leaves, and switched out the bedside light. Instantly all his old misgivings and self-doubts came crowding out of the darkness.
It's madness, he whispered, and in his mind's eye saw again those terrible deserts, shimmering endlessly in the blinding heat. A thousand miles of coastline, swept by a cruel current so cold that even a strong man could survive in those waters for only a few hours before hypothermia sucked the life out of him.
They were setting out to look for a young girl of delicate breeding, a pregnant girl, who had last been seen plunging from the high deck of a stricken liner into the icy dark sea a hundred miles from this savage coast. What were their chances of finding her? He flinched from even trying to estimate them.
Madness, he repeated miserably, and suddenly he wished that Anna w
as there to bolster him. He was still trying to find an excuse to summon her from her single bedroom at the end of the corridor when he fell asleep.
Centaine knew that she was drowning. She had been sucked so deeply beneath the surface that her lungs were crushing under the weight of the dark waters. Her head was full of the monstrous roaring of the sinking ship, and of the crackle and squeal of the pressure in her own eardrums.
She knew she was doomed, but she fought with all her strength and determination, kicking and clawing for life against the cold leaden drag of waters, fighting against the burning agony of her lungs and the need to breathe, but the turbulence swirled her into vertigo so that she lost any sense of upward and downward movement, but still she fought on and she knew that she would die fighting for her baby's life.
Then suddenly she felt the cracking weight of water on her ribs releasing, felt her lungs swelling in her chest, and an updraught of air and bubbles from the ruptured hull picked her up like a spark from a campfire and hurled her towards the surface with the pressure pain burning in her eardrums, and the drag of the life-jacket cutting into her armpits.
She broke through the surface and was thrown high on the seething fountain of escaping air. She tried to breathe but took water into her straining lungs and coughed and wheezed in agonized paroxysms until she cleared her air passages, and then it was almost as though the sweet sea air was too strong and rich for her, it burned like fire and she gasped and laboured like an asthmatic.
Slowly she managed to control her breathing, but the waves came at her unexpectedly out of the darkness, breaking over her head, smothering her again so she had to train herself to regulate each breath to the rhythm of the ocean. Between the breaking swells, she tried to assess her own condition and found herself undamaged. No bones seemed broken or cracked, despite that terrible gut-swooping drop from the ship's rail and the stunning impact on water as hard as a cobbled street. She still had full control of her limbs and her senses, but then she felt t e first stealthy invasion of the cold through her clothing, into her body and her blood.