She opened a door and waited for him to enter. He saw her lock it behind them, then turn to watch his reactions.
'I don't think they'll be wanting their bed, do you, Gerry?'
Boyes felt his mind in a whirl. Mixed feelings of uncertainty, even fear, ran through him; he could not even speak.
Connie came towards him and held his blue and white collar with both hands.
She said, 'You'll have to help, Gerry. You sailors seem to wrap yourselves up like herrings in a barrel!'
He pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it on to a chair. When he tried to hold her she evaded him. He heard himself say, 'I'm sorry, Connie. I've never -'
She nodded very slowly. 'I know. That's why -' She began to undress until she wore only her underwear and stockings.
She threw herself on the bed and watched him. 'I should be in pure silk, not army issue, for a moment like this.' She giggled.
Boyes sat beside her and touched her skin, then her breasts. She moved to make it easy for him, until she lay quite naked, surprised that she could feel shy while he finished undressing.
She rolled down the sheet. 'Slip in beside me. It's bloody cold in here.'
But still Boyes waited, without knowing why. A girl all of his own, her curly hair in disarray against the pillows, her breasts full and pink-tipped, as he had known they would be. He tortured his dazed mind a little longer, then climbed into the bed.
At any second someone might come banging at the door, no matter what she believed, but nothing save this moment mattered, nothing but his Connie.
She lay back and felt his hands exploring her breasts, then down into her hair and her smooth thighs.
If he kept this up, neither of them would hold out for long. She reached out and gripped him, felt his body quiver as if he had received a shock.
'Come, Gerry!' She murmured against his skin but retained her hold of him. It was his first time, she had always known it would be, but there was no hesitation or disappointment after all.
Lieutenant Hargrave walked quickly across the hotel lobby and looked around at all the uniforms. It was the first time he had returned to the Savoy Hotel since his father had given a dinner party here when he had got his first ring. God, how long ago that felt.
Hargrave had come from their home in Hampshire, the same place he had known all his life. In fact, he had been born there. Old, comfortable and dependable — even with the grounds dug into vegetable gardens, with pigsheds kept as far away from the house as possible, it did not seem to have changed.
The hardest thing to stomach had been the gardeners who joined in the country's craze to Dig for Victory, even to be self-supporting in some cases. All the gardeners were Italian prisoners-of-war, with a foreman who was apparently a conscientious objector.
When he thought of the ships he had watched go down, men wearing the same uniforms as Rob Roy's company, choking out their lives while they drowned in fuel, it seemed unrealistic and unfair.
His mother had explained that the vice-admiral was staying in London again now that his headquarters had shifted back to England. To be ready for instant briefings, to advise Churchill, to send ships and men wherever they might be needed. He wondered if his mother really believed all of it.
At the Admiralty he had been politely informed that the vice-admiral was on tour, after his return from the West Country where he had witnessed Sherwood's success with the mine.
'You can leave your number, sir.' Which meant that they firmly believed that if Vice-Admiral Hargrave had intended anyone to know the address of his private billet, he would have told them himself.
But an old messenger had whispered, 'Your father often drops into the Savoy for a drink after he's finished here, sir.' His watery eyes had lit up as Hargrave had put a pound note in his fist. 'Why, bless you, sir.'
Unknown to Hargrave he often sold tit-bits of information to junior officers in this way.
'May I help you, sir?'
The concierge regarded him gravely. He probably thought this was no place for a mere lieutenant, a regular or not.
i was looking for my father.' He felt some of the others in the lobby watching him. He was suddenly angry with them and himself. His father would feel at home amongst them, he thought, there seemed to be no one less than a brigadier in the place. He continued, 'Vice-Admiral Hargrave.'
The concierge's eyes did not even flicker, i think not, sir. But I shall enquire right away.'
A small page marched through the throng of uniforms carrying a card on a stick. It read Air-Raid Warning in progress. Nobody took any notice. It could just as easily have been an announcement about a telephone call.
'Well, this is a surprise, Lieutenant.'
He turned, still angry, then caught aback by the girl who was watching him, her lips slightly parted in an amused smile.
Second Officer Ross Pearce looked anything but an admiral's flag-lieutenant. She wore a long dress of dark blue silk, and there was a diamond clip below one shoulder which must have cost a fortune.
'I hope it is a pleasant one?' She pouted, and although she was obviously well aware of the watching, envious glances, she was equally able to ignore them.
Hargrave began, 'I came looking for my father.'
'Oh dear. Well, I'm afraid he's not here.' She touched her lip with her tongue. 'I am not permitted to tell you where he is.'
Hargrave said, 'Well, I thought you would know!'
Her smile faded. 'I can understand your feelings, I think, but I do not have to tolerate your rudeness!'
Hargrave stepped closer. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to behave like a ten-year-old schoolboy, really. Could we begin again?'
He expected another rebuff and was surprised at his own surrender.
She was tall, cool, and extremely beautiful.
He added, 'It was just that I was expecting —'
She nodded slowly, her eyes examining him without curiosity.
'As I said, he's not here.' She gave a small shrug. 'But join me, if you like. You can tell me about Husky.' She mentioned it so casually she might have been on the beach in Sicily. 'I'd like that. All the reports, the despatches coming every hour to our H.Q. in Malta - well, it's not like the real thing, is it?'
A waiter hovered near her elbow, 'Shall 1 lay the table for two then, m'lady?'
She smiled at him. 'Please.'
Hargrave was floundering. My lady. 'I'm sorry. I wasn't told.'
'Does it make any difference? Anyway, the vice-admiral probably thought it less irksome this way. He likes to feel dominant — but I expect you know that?'
Hargrave did not know what to say. Her direct, challenging manner was like nothing he had experienced. He was in awe of her after just a few minutes, and yet strangely stimulated, as if the reason for his being here no longer counted.
She eyed the menu and said, 'Afterwards we can talk about you, and the command you hope to get. How does that suit?'
Hargrave had the feeling he was getting into something which was already out of control.
Ransome sat on the well-padded arm of a familiar chair and felt the warmth, and yet the unreality of his homecoming. His father, back to the blazing log fire, was in his favourite old sports jacket with the leather patches on the sleeves; Jack Weese held a pewter tankard of cider in his fist while he listened to the conversation, the reunion of a family he loved like his own. His wife was in the kitchen helping to prepare the Sunday lunch, which from what Ransome had glimpsed through the door threatened to be a gargantuan one.
Occasionally he let his hand stray close to Eve's shoulder. She was sitting below him in the deep chair, and whenever she felt or sensed his hand close to her she would move slightly against it, or turn to glance up at him.
Ransome looked at his brother and wondered. Even after the months of treatment, and two operations to repair the damage left by a wound which had gone bad on him, he looked thin and very pale.
He was finished with M.T.Bs, he had already been told that
. His first disappointment seemed to be behind him; now he was more concerned that the navy might find him unfit for any service at all. It seemed unlikely, but Tony had had plenty of time to brood about it, and what had done this to him.
He seemed as irrepressible as ever. He said, i mean, I'm fit enough - everything still works, as the bishop said to the actress!' He shot Eve an a apologetic grin. 'Sorry!'
She retorted, 'No, you're not.' Then, 'Can you remember what happened yet?'
Tony stared at his empty glass. 'Not really. We were working inshore, the skipper was hoping to catch one of Rommel's transports slipping out of North Africa.' He tensed and Ransome saw his fingers tighten around the glass like claws. 'There was a flash right under the bows.' He was speaking so quietly that they could hear the wind swishing against the windows. 'The next thing I knew, I was in the drink. I don't recall much else. Just vague pictures. A boat, the fishermen who later turned out to be partisans. Then there was the little doctor they brought from their village. He did what he could. I'd be dead otherwise.' He glanced up and realised his mother was in the doorway listening. 'Sorry, Mum.'
'Did you see the doctor again?' His father was looking at him as he might when he had been a child.
Tony lowered his head, as Jack Weese leaned forward and took away his glass.
'The Germans shot the poor little bugger when they pulled out.'
Ransome said, 'I shall never forget that day on the beach.'
Tony seemed to shake himself, to be glad of the interruption. 'And what about you?' His eyes moved between them. 'What have you been up to?'
She spoke first. 'We went to the concert at Buckfastleigh.'
Tony grimaced. 'Classics, eh? Seeing Fantasia at the local cinema is as close as I get to that kind of stuff!'
But his eyes asked, Are you in love? Have you become lovers ?
Eve turned and put her hand on his. Ransome could feel the others watching, just as he could sense her quiet defiance.
'The sun's out, Ian. Take me to see the boat, please?'
His mother called, 'Don't be too long. I'm dishing up in half an hour.' She beamed at her two sons. 'Officers or not!'
Ransome put a short oilskin coat about her shoulders before they left. There were always several such coats around the house, used by the family and boatyard workers alike.
Outside they were met by bright sunshine, cold and hard, the air crisply clean. There was even a slight vapour of steam rising from some of the canvas-covered boats in the yard, the winter sun drying out puddles of overnight rain.
He put his arm round her shoulders and together they walked through the rough, untended grass, past the familiar boatsheds and slipways, scattered pieces of rusting engines, bilge pumps and other discarded clutter.
They said nothing until they had gone to the lower slope of the boatyard where Barracuda stood apart from all the rest, covered from stem to stern by a black tarpaulin. That too was steaming slightly, and Ransome felt a pang of sadness. Was she a part of the impossible dream too? She might stay here forever, rotting away, forgotten.
Then she turned and looked at him, her long hair whipping across her mouth so that only her eyes were clearly visible.
'Something's wrong, Ian. What is it? Please tell me. Remember our promise - no secrets.'
He gripped her gloved hands, and wanted to hug her.
'The refit has been cut to a minimum. We're on the move again.'
She said in a small voice, 'Not home for Christmas?'
'Not this time.' Try as he might he could not raise the dullness from his voice. In war why was one day different from another?
Well, it was this time. Four years of it, and he had never been at home for Christmas. It had not seemed that important before.
'But why?' The words were torn from her, so that she became the girl he had first met in this yard once again.
He thought of Lieutenant Commander Gregory's explanation when he had been told the same thing for Ranger. 'Can't give us a bloody minute, Ian. They think we're expendable, the whole damn lot of us!'
But he replied, 'We have to keep all the lanes open. With the war moving as it is, big ships will be sent where they're in the most advantageous positions.'
She hugged his arm with hers. 'For the Second Front?'
Ransome nodded. He glanced around the yard, remembering Jack Weese's contempt for the boxlike landing-craft they were building. There were only two half-completed ones here now. That was all the evidence they needed. The Allies were ready to move again, or soon would be when the weather improved. All the people who had been screaming and demanding a Second Front would get their wishes. How many more had to die to satisfy those who never endured the agony of battle?
She sensed his mood and faced him, her hands gripping his arms while she looked directly into his face.
'Nothing is going to keep us apart, Ian! Now it's my turn to help you.' She pulled him around the sleeping Barracuda and pointed across the estuary, towards the tiered houses of Polruan on the opposite side. 'We're not going to lose it now! Remember how my family used to stay at that cottage over there, every year? I used to think of nothing else, dream of the moment when I would be able to come and see you, show you my paintings and sketches. Once, I came but you were away training with the navy.'
'I didn't know, Eve.'
She did not seem to hear. 'I went back to Polruan and cried my heart out. My father probably thought I'd got myself into trouble.' She gave a laugh, so bitter than Ransome barely recognised it. 'How could he know even if he wanted to? That I was yours then, and I've never looked at another man!'
Ransome held her, felt her body trembling through the rough oilskin.
She said, 'You're a wonderful person, and you just haven't any idea, have you? The way you treat people, make them smile when there's precious little to grin about nowadays — it fills my heart. With love, with pride, everything!'
Ransome said, i was afraid to show how I felt about you. But you know now.'
Something in his tone made her turn towards him again, her eyes shining.
'I want to be married here, to be with you always, to come down the aisle knowing we both mean it, and when the church bells ring -'
Ransome held her more tightly. Even that was a brutal reminder. No church bells rang any more. Only if German parachutists were reported to be landing. Many bells had been sent to the war effort for scrap.
She was crying quietly against him, but said in a stronger voice, 'That's how it will be.' Then she moved away and stood on the edge of the slope, framed against the swirling current below, her hair streaming in the breeze. 'I just want to be with you.' She must have heard his steps through the wet grass and said, 'Not yet.' Her arm pointed across the Fowey River. 'I can see the cottage, next to the one with blue shutters. Is it empty?'
Ransome watched her shoulders, the way she was holding herself by force.
He said, 'Yes. Most of them were for holidaymakers. They're not suitable for the military either.'
Then she swung round, her eyes very large and bright, but not with tears anymore.
'One day, soon, could we -'
'Could we what?' He thought he knew, but dared not even imagine it.
She joined him on the slope and stood on tiptoe to put her face against his cheek.
'Have the cottage? Just for us? To make it come true?' She leaned back as he put his arms round her. it would be ours for just a while. Not some hotel room with all the remarks and leers. Just us.'
He pulled her closer. Was it her heart he could feel or his own?
'People will know. It's like that here.' When she remained silent he said, 'I must tell you, Eve, I don't know when it might be, but I would like it better than anything in this world.'
She walked towards the tarpaulined boat and reached up beneath the wet cover with her hand.
Ransome heard her say, 'Wish us luck, funny old boat.'
Then she ran to him again and whispered, 'Take care of yourself
this time, dearest of men.'
Someone was calling from the house and Ransome said, 'Just in time. And yes, I shall take care.'
They walked back to the house, his arm around her shoulders as if it had always belonged there.
From the window Ted Ransome watched them coming down the path and asked, 'What do you make of it, Jack?'
'Fine pair.' Jack Weese raised his tankard in salute. 'God bring 'em luck!'
Tony, sitting in his chair, grinned, then winced as his savage wound made its presence felt again. He was rarely free of pain.
In his heart he had always known about Eve and Ian. He recalled with sudden clarity Ian's face, inches from his own, while he lay helpless on that damned stretcher.
It was hardly surprising, he thought, they were closer even than brothers.
As darkness closed in over Devonport Dockyard the rain returned, heavier than the previous night's, to make a mockery of the Sunday sunshine.
Sub-Lieutenant Robert 'Bunny' Fallows paused to fix his bearings, breathing hard, his head swimming after stopping at several bars. He had not gone on leave, although he was entitled to it. The idea of facing his home and all that it represented made staying aboard an easy choice, and as happened only too often he did not have the cash to spare for a hotel, something he had often dreamed about.
The blacked-out dockyard was always a trap for the unwary, drunk or sober, and Fallows had consumed too many gins to take chances on the maze of catwalks and bridges which separated the various basins from one another. The dark silhouettes of ships loomed out of the downpour, under repair or enjoying a complete overhaul as Rob Roy was supposed to have had. But all that was shelved. The minimum repairs possible, and already the dockyard workers had left the ship to work on something more important.
But Fallows, despite the ache behind his eyes and the sour sickness in his stomach, had other things uppermost in his blurred thoughts. That morning he had met Tudor Morgan and had been astounded to see he was wearing a second gold stripe on his working dress, several shades brighter than the old one.
He had been retained aboard instead of going on a long navigation course, but his promotion to lieutenant had unexpectedly come through all the same. Fallows still could not accept it. Although Morgan was a professional sailor who had started in the merchant service, their seniority was about the same, surely?
In Danger's Hour Page 28