He studied her face, and then very carefully lifted her to the edge of the bed and lowered her feet to the carpet.
Again, her body lolled against him and he said, “Whatever it is, my darling, we shall sort it out. This is no way to act.”
Joanna had come into the room with a mug of black coffee but paused to watch as Frazer stroked her hair and kept talking to her in a low soothing voice. He saw her and said, “Here, I’ll take it.”
Together they forced some of the coffee between her lips.
But she showed no sign of life, and even when Frazer spread a towel across her to protect her from the coffee, she did not react. How many pills had she taken? He did not even know what they were.
He said, “See if you can run a bath.” Their eyes met over the short, tousled hair. “It might help. Pills and gin don’t mix. Did you know?”
She met his gaze calmly. “Some of us did.”
He put down the mug and held Lynn’s face against his shoulder. “But why?”
The other girl paused by the door. “It’s the war, isn’t it, sir?”
Frazer stared with sudden anxiety and waited for some sign that she was still breathing.
He saw her lips part slightly, the faint movement of her breast.
“Come on, you can do it.” He got her to her feet and carried her around the room, their shadows leaping across the walls like two wild dancers.
He could hear Joanna running a bath and wondered what they could say if the duty officer or almost anyone else walked in. It did not seem to matter that he had broken a man’s wrist during the raid on the Italian general’s house. This would be seen in a very different light.
He lowered her to the bed and reached for the coffee again. He had to keep trying, no matter what. Or should he call the MO? With a sudden start he realized that her eyes were wide open, unmoving as if she had indeed died.
There was no recognition, no understanding. She just watched him, their faces almost touching. How blue her eyes were, so close they filled her face.
“It’s you.” She lifted one arm very slowly and tried to put it to his shoulder but it fell to the bed again, and she moved her gaze for the first time to stare at it.
“It’s you,” she tried again. “You came.” She sounded different, far away.
Frazer hardly dared to move. She thought it was the lieutenant in the photo. Somehow he had come back. It was all she ever wanted. He was sad for her, hurt for himself, as if a stranger stood between them.
He said, “You must try to get up, Lynn. You have to walk. “
But she was looking at him again, her features relaxed.
“I shall try.” He helped her to stand but she rested against him, unable to move further. Her shoulder had fallen bare again and as he lifted the shoulder strap to cover her breast she said, “I knew you would be like this.” Her head lolled against him. “Gentle. So gentle.”
The door opened and the Wren said, “She’s looking better.” But her eyes were anxious.
Lynn stared at her. “Hello.” Then she smiled. “Jo.”
She allowed herself to be guided to the bathroom and Frazer said, “Can you manage?”
Joanna nodded.
Lynn Balfour turned her head. “Don’t go yet.”
Frazer shook his head. “I’ll Nt’ait in there. Don’t worry about anything but getting better.”
As he made to leave she said, “I’m glad it was you, Keith. “
Frazer shut the door, stunned.
She had not thought him to be someone else.
He- looked at the framed photo. So perhaps at long last he was dead in her eyes as well.
15
NO SECRETS
IT WAS A bright clear morning with a hint of overnight frost still in the air. Commander Prothero stood before a fire and rubbed his hands. He felt tired after a fast drive from Plymouth, but wide awake with excitement. His companion, the admiral’s Staff Officer, Operations, Commander Whitley, perked up as a Wren entered the office with a tray of coffee.
Prothero said, “They pulled it off, dammit. The reports are coming in now.” His small eyes looked through the window as if he could see it. The explosions, the midget submarine, the victors.
Whitley allowed the coffee to sear his throat, then said, “You sound as if you thought it would end otherwise, Aubrey?”
Prothero nodded. “I did. It was asking the impossible. That’s commonplace these days.”
“What about this two-ringer of yours, Allenby? Is he the hero everyone thinks?”
Prothero would not be drawn. He smiled. “You’ll meet him soon. They entered Falmouth last night.” Hero? What a question. Of all the brave men Prothero had met and used Allenby was probably the most remarkable. He seemed unable to stop himself, even though he must be half crazy with fear.
The other commander persisted. “Captain Heywood says-“
Prothero held up his hand and grinned. He had just remembered what Goudie had said to the captain. He toned it down and said cheerfully, “I don’t give a damn what he says!”
Leading Wren Hazel entered with a sheaf of signals.
Prothero eyed her gravely. She looked clapped out and her eyes were red.
He said, “You can stop worrying.”
She stared at him, unable to speak.
Prothero added gruffly, “He’s back, safe and sound.”
She left the office and Whitley said, “You have an odd
way of dealing with your people, Aubrey. Just like a family, eh?”
“Yes. They are to me!” He pressed his buzzer and frowned. He had heard something about Second Officer Balfour. He could not keep ignoring it. Things were getting keyed up for the invasion. It had to be sooner rather than later. Everyone was screaming for it. Those, that is, who would not have to take part in it.
Lynn Balfour entered and smiled to Commander Whitley. “Sir?”
Prothero studied her curiously. Bright as a button, her skin glowing, a sight on any morning.
He said awkwardly, “Lieutenant Allenby will be here shortly, Lynn. He is being debriefed.”
She said, “Won’t you send him on leave, sir?”
Prothero toyed with her wdrds, her voice. She had changed in some way. For the better? He could not tell.
He replied, “I expect so. We’ll see.”
“That means you might be thinking of transferring him back to general service, is that it, sir?”
“Can I ask you something?” Whitley leaned forward in his chair. “Is it your place here to question a superior’s orders?” Prothero moved as if to defend her but she said, “I think it
is, sir.” Her eyes flashed and she went very pale. “May I ask you something, sir?”
“Of course.”
“When did you last go to sea?”
Whitley flushed. “I wanted to.”
He had been on staff work since being recalled to the navy from an unwanted retirement.
She said, “I’m sorry, sir. That was cruel.”
Prothero looked from one to the other. “You’d both better know that I make all the decisions round-” He snatched up the telephone as it broke the tension. “Yes!” He had not meant to shout. It was just in time, he thought. Lynn Balfour looked as if she was about to throw up.
“He’s here.”
Outside the building Lieutenant Richard Alleenby paused with his raincoat slung over one arm as he stared down at the river. It was bitterly cold, but it helped to clear his head, to think. He had seen several people watching him both here and at Falmouth when he had said his goodbyes to Quinlan and his crew. What had those glances said? Surprise that he was back? Or were they merely curious to see what it had done to him?
He tried to examine his feelings as he had taught himself to do. In the past he had laid them out seemingly alongside his tools as he had prepared to defuse a mine.
This time it was different. He felt nervous, afraid that he had lost control in some way.
A shadow fell acros
s the wall and he turned to see a tall petty officer saluting him.
He returned the salute and would have continued towards the door had not the man blocked his way. It was Ives.
Ives looked at him anxiously. “It’s me, sir!” He saw Allenby’s uncertainty and added, “I’ve been made up to PO.” He grinned. “Lieutenant Commander Goudie says it’s to make more room on the messdeck for the others.” He leaned forward. “You all right, sir?”
Allenby held out his hand. “I-I’m sorry. Congratulations. You earned it ten times over. I’m glad.” He stood staring at him helplessly, unable to go on.
Ives said, “Look, sir. I know what you must have gone through. Why not let me see the Boss and tell him you’re going to get your head down for a bit, eh?”
Allenby stared at him, his nerves screaming. Stop it. I can’t take any more. Not even your kindness. Especially that. He said, “No. But thanks all the same.” He walked to the door and knew Ives was watching him as he entered.
The entrance hall was deserted although he heard a man’s voice coming from the communications switchboard. He braced himself, remembering the Chief Yeoman and his bicycle. In turn that reminded him of the Jersey engineer on his cycle. The bravest, most courageous act he had ever seen.
A door opened and he saw her standing there, hands at her sides, her eyes fixed on him as he walked across the hall.
Just a few paces yet it took an eternity. In that time he saw her concern, the pain in her eyes as she looked at him.
He had it all ready. What he had intended to say. If he ever got back.
He threw his arms round her and pressed his face into her hair.
She held him tightly, her voice muffled against his chest. “It’s all right, Dick. It’s all right now.”
Allenby tried to hold back but it was useless. He could hear himself sobbing uncontrollably, and hated what she must think of him.
And all the while she spoke to him, small, lost phrases as she held him. If she felt anything at that moment it was a combination of pride and surprise.
Pride that he could show his innermost feelings to her and nobody else. Surprise that she knew she loved him, and had since his letter.
Captain Jocelyn Heywood, Royal Navy, surveyed the seated officers and gave a small smile.
“You have had a full week to grow accustomed to your boats and to each other’s idiosyncrasies.”
There were several grins as he had expected. He had used this introduction many times.
“There won’t be much spare time from now on. You will be working with the other special units and alongside the assault groups which will eventually spearhead the invasion into Normandy.”
Frazer sat near a window and saw the bare trees bending to a stiff southwesterly. It had been good to get back to sea again, in his own boat. Goudie had driven them through every possible maneuver, in the Channel, and into unfamiliar waters as far as the Welsh coast. They had watched commando units and infantry sweating ashore from their strange, boxlike landing craft, and clambering up seemingly vertical cliffs in full kit.
It was doubtful if anyone round here knew or guessed much about Prothero’s new flotilla. A navy within a navy. The three boats had been painted in accepted patterns that you would see in any Coastal Forces base along the southern coast and the eastern coast as well. Frazer was glad that he had the same boat for his own. Once known as Able One, it now sported new pendant numbers, as did the others.
He glanced across the big rectangular room which had once been the hotel’s billiard hall. Now, austere and lined with maps and warship silhouettes, it had cut all links with the past. Like us.
The others were outwardly attentive to Heywood’s words. Archer, now a lieutenant and in command of MGB 194, looked older and had lost some of his bite. As if he had not recovered from the Med. His second in command was a subbie named Lockyer from Coastal Forces, who had served a year in MTBs.
The skipper of the third boat was a Lieutenant Kellett who had also been in MTBs but had come to Prothero’s Navy via another mysterious section called the Levant Schooner Force. It was quite common for them to work amongst the Greek islands and even to make their bases on those occupied by the Germans. His first lieutenant, another subbie, had only just been commissioned. “Biff” Tanner had apparently been too good as a boxer for his squadron to be allowed promotion to the wardroom. His admiral had rated sport and athletics far higher than the business of waging war.
Frazer considered his own small command. Allenby, his acting first lieutenant, was listed first as the section’s explosives expert. Just as his young sub, Alex Balfour, would be used mainly for intelligence and radio work where his knowledge of languages would be of paramount importance.
Goudie commanded all of them. Despite his wound and the pain it obviously gave him, he showed no sign of slowing down.
He had just said this morning, “Well, Keith, if I buy one in the next fiasco, you’ll be in my shoes. How does it feel?”
Frazer could not recall his reply. He knew Goudie better now and did not rise so easily to his brutal wit.
He ran his eye quickly over the newcomers. To the public at large they would look like typical wartime officers. Young, keen, and somehow vulnerable.
Did we look like that too, he wondered. Then he thought of Allenby. He would be back from his short leave today. He had heard that Prothero was worried about him, but too protective to show it. Heywood would expect results. If anyone died in the process, too bad.
There were a few staff officers at the back of the room and two Wren petty officers taking shorthand. Prothero and Commander Whitley sat side by side but were a hundred miles apart, Frazer decided.
He turned his head slightly to look at Lynn Balfour. He had barely seen her since that night when he had lifted her out of bed. They had all been too busy, and he knew she had the additional anxiety of her young brother joining Special Operations in spite of all her arguments. He was to have joined Archer’s boat, but she must have pleaded with Prothero to arrange the change to his own command. He was not sure that was a wise thing even now.
When they began training in earnest it would be even harder to see her. Perhaps impossible.
He looked up startled as Heywood said dryly, “You have been given a few new pieces of equipment and will have to squeeze in some extra hands. But radar,” his tongue lingered on the word even though his eyes were on Frazer, “will play an important, perhaps a conclusive, part in the months ahead. I assume, Commander Frazer, that you are well versed in such matters, however dull, eh?”
“Sorry, sir. ” He had not heard a word and saw the others grinning at him, glad it was him and not them.
He saw Lynn raise her lashes from her pad and look directly at him. Her mouth moved slightly, although it was hardly a smile.
Heywood tossed his folder to the paymaster lieutenant who was his secretary, a man nobody envied, and said, “Until tomorrow then. “
Lieutenant Kellett stood up as the others rose from their chairs. “Off to sea again, I’d say. It’s worse than the real thing. “
Frazer watched as Heywood murmured something to Prothero, and saw Lynn take up her pad as if to leave with the Boss.
He hurried across the room and confronted her.
“I wanted to see you, Lynn.” He dropped his voice as one of the Wrens watched them curiously.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I really can’t-” She looked at his face and said, “It’ll get busier from now on. It’s like a flood. Ships, men, vehicles, there’s hardly a square yard left in the southern counties.” She smiled sadly. “That’s not what you want, is it?”
“No. I need to see you. Talk with you.”
She dropped her gaze and said, “I’ve never really thanked you for what you did.”
“That was nothing.”
“It was everything.” She put her hand on his cuff and stared at it as if she could not believe what she had done. “I was ashamed.” Her eyes lifted again and fixed on his. “
I still am, deeply. Maybe it was what I needed-” She turned as Prothero called her name. Then she shrugged. “You can see how it is.”
She nodded to her two Wrens and said, “Anyway, I’ll see you at the admiral’s party tonight. You are coming?”
He raised an eyebrow. It sounded like a royal command. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
She smiled. “You’re off to sea again tomorrow.”
“You know everything about us, don’t you? Where we go, what we do.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I care about you and what you think. You must know that. “
Prothero called testily, “Lynn, when you have a moment!”
“Blast him!” Frazer said quickly. “Tonight then. I must talk. “
She studied him gravely, her eyes very steady. “Yes. If we get the chance.”
Later that evening, as the stewards finished the ritual of fixing the blackout screens and curtains, Frazer understood what she had meant.
The place was crowded with noisy, jostling figures, most of whom were in uniform. All the services were represented including the Wrens and some VAD nurses from the local military hospital. There were even some Royal Marines officers, attached to another hush-hush unit along the Cornish coast, who were said to be doing “things” with canoes.
In the midst of it all Rear Admiral Percival Oldenshaw, the head of Special Operations (Navy), stood and beamed like a small monkey. He had been retired years ago, but had been recalled to the service he loved and offered a post that most people thought would soon cease to exist.
Dunkirk, Singapore, names written in blood, had made most doubters see the war as purely defensive. Oldenshaw, with his ruthless and eccentric enthusiasm, had changed all that. Small raids on enemy-occupied coastline, pinpricks at first, had been the start. Then more daring attacks with carefully picked volunteers, most of whom were misfits in their more conventional roles.
Now.the talk was of a final invasion of Europe. It presented problems undreamed of by any previous military planners, and would involve an armada so vast that it was a wonder the enemy had not already discovered the plan and the objectives.
A small orchestra made up of part-time musicians-Frazer recognized the violinist as one of the base cooks-did its best to compete with the buzz of voices and laughter.
The Volunteers Page 22