In the very next breath he was himself again. ‘Right, let go aft, and tell Caley that if he lets his people wrap a wire round the screws I personally will hang his entrails on the galley funnel!’
Half an hour later, with her seamen fallen in forward and aft, the Terrapin passed the last of the anchored warships and turned towards the widening channel. As her stem bit into the first uneasy roller she lifted above it with the contempt of a veteran, and like many of those who served her, she seemed glad to be leaving.
11 Storm Warning
LEADING STEWARD WILLS touched Standish’s outflung arm and then stepped back as he groaned and propped himself on one elbow.
‘Mornin’, sir. I brought yer tea.’
Standish rubbed his eyes and then stared while Wills’ body appeared to tilt over at an impossible angle. Also, as sleep reluctantly cleared from his brain he noted a new sound, that of steady, torrential rain sluicing against the ship’s side and the sealed scuttle above his bunk.
Wills grinned. ‘Comin’ on to blow a bit, sir. You’d better get yer breakfast soon, while you’re in the mood like.’ He chuckled unfeelingly. ‘I just took tea to poor Mr. Hornby. ’E’s spewing ’is guts out next door.’
Standish took the cup and swung his legs over the side of the bunk as Wills departed whistling cheerfully. All the previous afternoon the weather had become more threatening, the air growing more and more sultry and oppressive with each slow mile up the Malaysian shoreline.
Now, as he spread his feet on the carpet, he could feel the ship reeling heavily from beam to beam, her hull shaking at irregular intervals as one or other of her screws lifted free of the water. He had to switch on his light to shave himself, for through the salt-stained scuttle the sky seemed almost as dark as night. It was going to be a bad ending to the trip, he thought wearily.
A quarter of an hour later he entered the wardroom and noticed that the battered furniture had already been lashed firmly together by the messmen, and fiddles were rigged on sideboard and table.
Surprisingly the wardroom was empty, so pausing between rolls he crossed to his chair at the head of the table and poured himself a cup of black coffee. He saw Wills peering through the pantry hatch while behind him a messman struggled to arrange strips of bacon on a plate before they wriggled independently to the deck.
‘Oh, good morning.’
Standish turned in his chair and saw the two passengers by the door, gauging the moment for the last open stretch of carpet.
‘You must have a strong stomach, Mrs. Penrath.’ Standish stood to help them the last few feet, his eyes moving quickly to the girl as she gripped the edge of the table. She was dressed in the same plain khaki jacket and slacks, and there were shadows beneath her eyes. As if she had not slept for days.
The older woman watched Wills as he glided skilfully round the table, the plates and cups balanced like a professional juggler.
‘My stomach has never given me trouble. My legs are less reliable, however.’
Caley ambled through the door and slumped down in a chair, reaching for toast and coffee automatically as he muttered, ‘Blowin’ like bloody hell up top.’ The toast hovered in mid-air as he said awkwardly, ‘Sorry. Forgot meself.’
Mrs. Penrath smiled. ‘My husband never apologizes for his language, so why should you?’
Standish leaned towards the girl and asked quietly, ‘Have you ever been to Thailand before, Miss Gail?’
She did not lift her eyes from the plate but replied in the same low voice, ‘Never. I expect I will get used to it.’
Caley said through a mouthful of buttered toast, ‘Wouldn’t do for me, Miss. Full of jabberin’ wogs for the most part.’
Standish saw her fingers move below the table, watched as they locked into the material of her slacks so that her hand looked like a small frightened creature trying to escape.
He said, ‘With better roads and communications coming along it’ll be very different in a year or two.’
She lifted her head and looked at him for the first time. Her eyes were very large and unnaturally steady. ‘Is there going to be a storm?’
‘Later. But we should be safe and snug in a sheltered anchorage before it breaks.’ He smiled. ‘I’m only sorry your journey couldn’t have been more pleasant.’
‘Journey?’ She dropped her glance again. ‘Yes. I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ Her mouth quivered slightly. ‘I … I’ve been trying to sleep.’
‘Perhaps our doctor could help.’ Standish saw Mrs. Penrath give him a quick glance, an almost imperceptible shake of the head. He added quickly, ‘But once you get ashore you’ll feel differently.’
Pigott appeared at the table and sighed gloomily. ‘Waste of good food. Most of it’ll go down the gash chute today.’ He looked at Standish and raised his eyebrows. ‘Never known you to be adrift for a watch before, Number One.’ He shook his head. ‘Must be the pleasant company, eh?’
Standish stared at him and then at the bulkhead clock. It was two minutes past eight. He lurched to his feet, aware of the others watching him. Pigott’s amusement, the woman’s concern, Caley’s indifference. But in the girl’s eyes he saw something else. It might have been a returning fear, or it could be a desperate unwillingness to break their small contact. The first she had shared with anyone since the Cornwallis.
He said, ‘When you’ve had some food why not come up to the bridge?’
He watched her, saw the conflicting emotions of doubt and despair. Only her eyes gave anything away. It was like seeing someone trapped within a controlled and dangerously calm exterior. A face behind a sad and beautiful mask.
Then she said, ‘Perhaps I will. I have never seen the sea like this. So restless.’ She paused. ‘So cruel.’
On deck the wind and rain met him with savage glee and almost knocked the breath from his body. As he struggled up the bridge ladders he felt the rain hammering on his hastily donned oilskin, heard it gurgling and cascading down the superstructure in a dozen eager waterfalls.
Irvine greeted him with a mock salute, his wind-reddened features set in a sarcastic smile.
‘Good morning, sir. The forenoon watch is closed up, and only I am left unrelieved and apparently abandoned.’ He lurched against the gyro repeater as the hull lifted, paused and then slid heavily into a deep trough, the spray leaping above the screen in a solid sheet before hissing into the bridge with the rain.
Standish thrust his head and shoulders beneath the hood above the chart table and peered at Irvine’s neatly pencilled calculations.
He could almost feel Irvine’s impatience as he said, ‘Our E.T.A. at Kuala Papan is 1400 then.’
He stood up and tightened the collar around his neck. The oilskin was shining with the rain and blown spray, but inside it his body was already wet with sweat so that he felt clammy and unclean.
Irvine moved to the ladder. ‘The Old Man has been up twice during my watch.’ He scowled. ‘Doesn’t trust me maybe.’
‘Well, you were wrong about the weather, Pilot.’ Standish grinned. ‘You should be more careful.’
Irvine was already on his way down. ‘Wrong? Yes, me and three million others!’
Standish climbed on to the port gratings and peered abeam. The Terrapin’s course was five miles offshore, but it could have been a thousand. He watched the great sullen rollers, unbroken but nevertheless impressively large as they pushed slowly towards the ship’s starboard quarter, lifting her, holding her for several long seconds before thrusting on towards the hidden shore while the hull slid down into the eager trough to await the next long roller, and the next. He remembered the girl’s quiet words. So restless. So cruel. And for her it had been just that, he thought grimly. He tried not to allow his mind to dwell on it, to recall that first scream he had heard while he had crouched on the freighter’s deck with Petty Officer Motts and the others.
He wondered if her husband-to-be knew what had happened. If he would be able to take her mind clear away from it. He fe
lt suddenly uneasy. Perhaps he would not even try?
Dalziel coughed behind him and then said testily, ‘Are you asleep or something?’
Standish saluted. ‘Good morning, sir. I was watching the rain.’ Dalziel followed his glance as he added, ‘It’s shut off both sky and land. Like a steel fence.’
Dalziel grunted and took a pad from beneath his dripping coat. ‘Not damn well surprised.’ He held out the pad. ‘From Hong Kong Radio. Typhoon of unknown intensity situated within fifty miles of latitude six north and longitude one hundred and nine east.’
Standish pursed his lips and peered at the signal pad which was already sodden with rain. ‘Moving west to nor’-west. We should be clear of it.’
Dalziel looked at him distantly. ‘Glass is falling a bit. But as you say, we should be at our base when it breaks.’ He clutched the screen as the deck staggered and plunged beneath him. ‘I told Wishart to make sure the new boat is securely lashed. I’ve made it his responsibility.’
Standish shrugged. ‘The buffer could have done it, sir.’
‘Ah, but the chief bosun’s mate is not the gunnery officer, is he?’ Dalziel nodded firmly. ‘Wishart’s department.’
Standish looked away, aware of that same uneasiness returning. ‘I’m afraid I’m not with you, sir.’
Dalziel sighed. ‘Came to me quite suddenly. We needed a fast, manoeuvrable boat, right? Our own was no good, and the replacement is a damn sight worse. So I decided to get one which would suit our requirements.’ His eyes gleamed in the dull light. ‘When we get more stable conditions I want the Chief’s department to construct a machine gun mounting in the bows of the boat so that we can do something more useful next time.’
Standish closed his mouth tightly. In spite of the warnings and the barely concealed threats Dalziel was off again. He thought of the gossip on the lower deck, of water-skiing and scuba parties. Dalziel had never had any intention of using the boat for anything but an extension to his own arm. He must have thought of it from the start, even from the time he had discovered about Hornby’s sports fund.
He shot him a quick glance, trying to picture him as his wife had described him. A bad time, she had said. But how badly had it really affected him?
Dalziel said, ‘A good Browning in the bows and a couple of Stirlings for the crew and we’ll have a real little terror, eh?’
The rain seemed to be getting heavier, the drumming roar of it across the bridge making it difficult to speak or hear.
Dalziel shouted, ‘We’ll shift the con down to the wheelhouse if it gets much worse.’ He grinned, his face shining. ‘It’s when the rain stops altogether you’ve got to jump about.’
He touched the screen and added, ‘Breakfast. Call me before you alter course.’
Standish returned to his thoughts, his body jammed against Dalziel’s chair while he watched the rain’s steady onslaught.
He recalled the quick headshake Mrs. Penrath had shown him, just as if she had been reading his mind, had known he was about to suggest some of Rideout’s sleeping pills. Could it really be as bad as that?
A bosun’s mate called, ‘Visitor, sir.’
She was enveloped from chin to toe in a seaman’s oilskin, and as she pulled herself round the side of the bridge towards him he felt the sudden urge to take hold of her. To reassure her in a way that he had found lacking for his own despair in the past.
She said, ‘It looks wild.’ Her face was already running with spray, but when he offered her a sou’wester she shook her head, shouting above the din, ‘I’ll be fine like this.’
It was true that the wind had brought back some colour to her face, and as she turned once more to stare at the oncoming rollers some of her hair whipped out from the coat’s collar and floated defiantly against Standish’s arm like a banner. As he watched her he thought she looked more child than girl, so that her inner suffering was made all the more unbearable.
He said, ‘Get into the chair. The captain’ll not be back for some while.’
She brushed some hair from her eyes. It was like soft black weed on a drowned face, he thought vaguely. The thought made him add, ‘You look fine. You really do.’
She studied him gravely, her face suddenly relaxed and defenceless. ‘Do I?’
Then she lifted herself on to the steel chair. At that moment the deck plunged dizzily to one side, and as she began to fall Standish jumped towards her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. ‘Easy! We’ll soon have you seated more firmly.’
In those brief seconds they seemed isolated in an unreal world of rain and noise, with the swaying panorama of grey water beyond the screen like some crudely painted backdrop. Through the dripping oilskin he felt the softness of her body, and then as her hands darted out to push at his shoulders, the sudden tensing resistance, while in her eyes he saw both terror and revulsion.
She said, ‘Please, don’t touch me!’ And as the ship’s tilt continued she added wildly, ‘Leave me alone, oh God, leave me!’
The ship returned reluctantly to an upright position, the water swilling beneath the gratings like a culvert.
Standish said slowly, ‘I’m sorry. Believe me.’
She did not look at him, but against the salt-stained glass he saw her profile etched like that of a perfect statue. Perfect but lifeless. Her eyes were half closed, and the rain across her skin made it appear as if she had at last found the tears which would not come.
He heard himself say, ‘It would be better if you went below. The rain is getting worse, and we shall clear the upper bridge shortly.’
She turned and looked at him. ‘Yes. I … I’m sorry about just now.’ Her hands moved vaguely across the front of her coat. ‘It was not your fault.’
He stood back as she slid from the chair, wanting to steady her yet afraid of what might happen. ‘Mrs. Penrath told me I don’t know much about women.’ He felt his mouth trying to smile. ‘She was right. More than she realised.’
The girl moved slowly towards the ladder, her hair plastered against the oilskin. She said, ‘I just need to be …’ But the rest was lost in the rising chorus of wind and rain.
He waited until she had reached the signal deck and then said, ‘Go with her, Spinks. Just in case.’
The bosun’s mate eyed him curiously. ‘She sick, sir?’
He turned back to the screen. ‘Not sick.’ He waited until the man’s feet clattered on the ladder and then added to himself, ‘That girl is terrified. But where is the cure?’
Then he picked up a telephone handset and waited for Dalziel to speak.
‘Ready to alter course, sir.’ He replaced it and crossed to the opposite side. Alter course towards the shore. To Kuala Papan and the end of more than a journey.
The thought of her leaving, walking from the ship and his life moved him more than he would have believed credible. Maybe she was just another escape, a momentary distraction from his own uncertainty. He sighed and returned to the radar repeater and its small enclosed world of dancing reflections.
He found himself wondering what the girl’s proposed husband was like, and discovered at the same time that he was filled with envy.
Dalziel sloshed across the bridge and squinted at the compass. Then he said, ‘Bring her round. But pass the word first. Don’t want the rest of our crockery broken up, do we?’ He watched Standish thoughtfully and added, ‘I’d leave it alone if I were you. There’s enough trouble in the world without begging for it.’
Standish looked at him in silence. Two men separated by a patch of rainsoaked steel. What did they know of each other?
He replied flatly, ‘New course is two-nine-zero, sir.’
Dalziel shrugged. ‘Carry on then.’
Resentfully the Terrapin turned her stern into the following sea, her twin screws churning to retain a grip, a hold over her constant enemy.
Below in the wardroom Mrs. Penarth still sat at the deserted table, an untouched cup of coffee vibrating in the fiddles, her eyes on the door as the girl
came inside.
‘Are you all right, Suzane?’
The girl had discarded the oilskin and her hair hung around her shoulders, damp and unmoving.
She replied, ‘Cold.’ Then she asked quietly, ‘Do you think he’ll still want me?’
The older woman left the table and reached her as she began to shake uncontrollably, her body pressed against hers as the sobs were muffled in the thick tweed coat.
Mrs. Penarth did not reply, for she knew the girl was no longer listening. And she was thinking of her own youth and the way her husband had looked at her all those years ago when she had been released from the Japanese prison camp. It had taken a long while, but for them it had perhaps been that much easier. They had known the same suffering, the same torment of separation. She squeezed the girl’s shoulders more tightly. Something must have happened up on the bridge, she thought. A careless word or a curious glance. Eyes which asked, what was it like? Or, how did you feel?
Then she remembered Standish and knew the answer. In other circumstances he might have been good for Suzane, she decided. He was quiet and understanding, with that touch of outward recklessness which was always appealing.
Wills entered the wardroom and began to gather up the empty plates as the two women stepped into the passageway, their bodies angled to the deck as the ship continued to turn towards the shore. He had only three more years to do in the Service. After that he would get himself a little pub in Hampshire. Somewhere between Pompey and Southampton. His eyes were distant as he clattered between the table and his pantry hatch. A pub with a nice snack counter for holidaymakers and matelots on a run ashore. No more officers, no more clapped out ships like this one where you never knew if you were on your arse or your elbow. Just a nice, friendly pub.
Lieutenant Hornby lurched through the door, a handkerchief clapped over his mouth. His face was the colour of porridge.
He managed to gasp, ‘Does someone want me, Wills?’
The Greatest Enemy Page 20