He had mentioned this again to Eve when he had telephoned her to say that he was free at last to come to her.
She had replied, 'Just come. I'll be waiting. It has to be there, Ian. Don't you see? I want it to be clean, decent. To be able to face anyone and say, This is how it was. No matter what.'
Ransome turned and looked at the little pub, The Lugger, where he had taken her on that, sunny day. Bare-legged, her eyes sometimes so grave, at other times laughing like another voice. Too young to go inside for a drink, but now he knew that she had loved him even then.
When he had called her from Falmouth to tell her he had secured the cottage she had gasped with disbelief.
'How did you manage it?'
He smiled now. Manage it? Old Isaac Proby who owned three of the little cottages had been more than eager to let him take it. People did not come here for their holidays any more. There were too many restricted areas, warnings of minefields, forbidden walks along the cliffs.
Old Proby had added, 'I'll air the place out. They gets a bit damp, y'know.'
Ransome walked up the little pavement. On one side it was a wall, to lean on and reflect, with a lower bank of cottages below, and then the water.
He paused to rest his elbows on the worn stones. It was really happening. So it must be as she wanted it. There might be pain enough later. He stared hard at the racing current, the way some moored landing-craft tugged at their cables and nearly dragged their buoys beneath the surface.
It was going to be soon. They had been briefed and briefed until they could digest no more. Ships, commanders, landing instructions, army units, the whole strategy of invasion.
Many would fall that day, whenever it was. Some, like the disfigured airmen he had seen in the abbey, would wish they had.
He must give her no hint, no suggestion of what might smash down their happiness. It was a matter of odds, luck, and fate. He had now been over two years in command of Rob Roy, with thousands of miles steamed, and countless mines swept and rendered harmless. At the beginning he had imagined he would survive six months, and no longer. Today he was on borrowed time. The most dangerous of all.
He shook himself and walked more quickly up the sloping pavement.
There were plenty of khaki and blue uniforms about and he was glad to reach the tiny passageway which led to the cottage's entrance. Away from the salutes, the curious stares, an occasional twitch of curtains as he passed.
The rugged stones of the cottage were newly painted, and the tiny garden at the rear was a vivid confusion of rhododendrons and blue and purple lupins. The gardens of these cottages were allowed to grow much as they pleased, but Ransome knew that somebody had made an effort to tidy this one up.
The door flew open and she held out her arms to him.
He held her very tightly, his mouth brushing her long hair, neither of them speaking.
Beyond her he saw more flowers, and some fresh rhododendrons which she must have cut from the bushes and had arranged in a large copper pot.
There was a fire burning in the grate of the living-room and she twisted round in his arms as he took her through the door.
She said, 'I had to light it, May or not. It was so damp!' She was laughing, helping him with his cap and jacket, waiting for him to lose his nervousness. It was something she had not felt for a long while. Since the last time they had been together? Or when she had discovered the hidden photograph? It seemed like something destined. What she had wanted, always wanted. Now, with the door closed, and the sunlight reflecting on a framed print of Polperro, she wanted only for him to be happy, to feel at peace.
Ransome looked at the table, the knives and forks. 'But they're -'
She nodded, her eyes shining. 'Your father sent them across from your house, and some other things too.' A little of her courage faded and she added, 'I didn't bring much. It was a bit difficult.'
She waited for him to sit beside, if not in front of the fire, and watched as he filled his pipe. She looked around the room, remembering all those holidays, but picturing it as it might have been. A dog perhaps, or a cat like Jellicoe drowsing on the wall with one eye on the gulls.
She knelt by his legs and rested her head on his knees so that her hair hung down to the floor.
She said, 'I must ask. How long do we have?'
Ransome tried not to picture the ship, the other minesweepers waiting for the final decisions to be made. Sherwood had suggested that the whole thing might be postponed indefinitely despite all the weight of preparations. The Met reports were unfavourable. But so had they been before Sicily. And all the while the great armada waited. Ships and men. Flesh and steel.
if I'm not recalled, two days.'
'There's no telephone here.' It was like a cry of protest.
He ruffled her hair. It was like warm silk. 'They always find a way.'
The coastguard knew where he would be. A message would reach him in minutes. After that —
Eve said, 'We can have some walks?' She looked up at him, searching his face. 'Please?'
'Of course. Lots.'
She lowered her chin to his knee. 'Your father sent a message too.' Her mouth trembled but she made another effort. 'He wrote that he would look after me when you left. That he would drive me —' She broke off and wrapped her arms around him. 'Not yet, dearest Ian. Please, not yet.'
Ransome reached out to his jacket, which hung on a chair. He had intended to wait, but now she needed him: it was no longer just the other way around.
He took out a small package. 'I meant to get a proper box. Anyway you might not like it, it was just an impulse. I -'
She pulled off the wrapping and held the ring up to the sunlight. It seemed to glow, first red then white, the tiny rubies and diamonds flowing into each other.
In a small voice she asked, 'Where did you get it?'
Ransome took it gently from her and looked at it. Rob Roy had been in Alexandria and he had been ordered to Cairo, to meet some senior officers who had apparently been involved in supplying weapons to the partisans. Their beliefs and their politics did not matter. If they hated the Germans enough to pull a trigger they would be given arms to use for the job. God alone knew whgt would happen when the partisans and the vague resistance groups went back to being bandits again.
Without effort he could see the shop, the old jeweller watching intently while he had picked out this ring.
It was neither a wedding nor an engagement ring in the accepted sense. But it had seemed right for Eve.
When he had told her about the strange little shop she said, 'I think it's lovely.' She lifted herself higher and kissed him gently on the mouth. 'You're always full of surprises!' Then she looked at him, her eyes big and very steady. 'Put it on for me.'
She offered her left hand. 'Please.'
He held her wrist and said, 'It may not fit.' It was as if this very moment had also been a part of destiny.
He said, 'I do love you, Eve. One day -'
She raised her finger very slightly. 'Until that day —' Then she withdrew her hand and held it to the sunlight again. 'We're engaged!'
They faced each other and laughed like conspirators. Like children. Then she got to her feet, and when he attempted to hold her she shook her head.
'I was going to be sensible. To make you eat something, or at least have a drink.'
She was backing away very slowly, as if she could not bear to lose sight of him.
'I can't be sensible, dearest Ian. I've wanted you for so long. Why be sensible now?'
He stood looking at her, watching the firelight playing in her eyes. So many emotions. Determination and a sweet unsureness, even fear.
She whispered, 'Give me five minutes.' Then she held up her ring and exclaimed, 'I'm so happy!'
She ran into the adjoining room and closed the door.
So his father knew all about it, but not, it seemed, her own. The consequences neither of them could guess; but there would be no regrets.
The war and
the danger were alien, not even intruders in this place.
He hesitated, then pushed open the door.
He did not know what he had been expecting. That Eve might be in bed, her eyes on the door; nervous perhaps, shy now that the moment had arrived. Wondering if the reality would spoil the dream they had both cherished.
But she was standing by the window, one hand gripping the heavy black-out curtain while she peered towards the darkening estuary. She was wearing a white nightgown, with small delicate patterns of lace around the neckline and hem. Just two thin cords across her shoulders, her hair hanging free and shining faintly in the light from the solitary bedside lamp.
He saw her tense as he walked towards her.
She said, 'I - I wanted to be perfect for you.'
Ransome put his hands on her shoulders and was shocked to discover they were so cold despite the humid air and the fire they had left in the other room.
Very gently he turned her to face him, holding her at arm's length. Her hand released its grip on the curtain and fell to her side; she did not look up, as if she could feel his eyes on her.
He said in a whisper, 'You're so lovely, Eve.' He put one arm around her and pulled her against him. He could feel her supple body through the thin silk, the pressure of her breasts against him, and when she did at last look into his face he saw the warmth, the pleasure of his words shining in her eyes.
She threw her arms around his neck and shook some hair from her face.
'Wanton, and I don't care. I'm not going to spoil anything because I'm inexperienced. I want to be adult—' It would not hold, and she nestled her face against his, her body trembling as she sensed his need of her.
'You may have grown up, Eve. But you're the same girl.' She did not protest as he led her to the bed and sat her down. 'You couldn't spoil anything, as you put it.' He sat beside her and kissed her gently at first, and then with a passion he had never known before. He felt his heart pounding like blood, and gripped her more firmly as her mouth responded to his, her lips parting while she drew him closer.
She lay back on the bed and spread her arms as if crucified. He touched her body, her breasts, caressing them through the silk. Then he leaned over her and kissed her, he did not know how many times. Through the nightdress, across her bare shoulders until she gasped, 'Oh, Ian, I never thought -'
She raised herself as he slipped the nightdress away, watching his eyes while she lay naked, her long hair across the pillows and over the side of the bed.
She whispered, 'Don't turn away.' She did not move as he undressed, and only the beat of her heart below one uplifted breast gave away her emotion, her longing for him, not just for this moment but for all the months, the dreams, the fears.
Then he knelt beside her and ran his fingers over her breast, down still further to the dark triangle he had seen through the nightdress when she had turned from the window.
She reached up and held his shoulders. 'I've never been with any other man. You know that, don't you?'
He nodded. '1 shall be gentle, my darling girl.'
it's not that. I'm — quite small. You may hurt me.' her fingers gripped him more tightly. 'But I don't want you to stop.' Her eyes were pleading. 'I can bear the pain ... it will get better in time.'
She gasped when he touched her, as she felt his body dividing hers. Ransome slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and kissed her very slowly. He wanted to hold his breath, to prevent hiinsell from crying out. He felt her back arch to receive him, then tin-first precious moment. She drew him down, her hands slipping down his back, pulling him until her nails must surely have broken the skin.
She gasped, 'Now, lan, please, now Ransome felt her body surrendering, then kissed her hard on the mouth as he entered her and was enclosed, received like part of herself.
They lay together for a long time, she on her side with one leg thrown across him, her foot playing with his.
She said, it was beautiful.' Her eyes were very near to his, filling her face. 'I knew it would be like that. I just knew. Now nothing can keep us apart.'
Ransome stroked the hair from her cheek. 'And I knew you would be as you are. When I saw you lying here it was all I could do not to take you then and there. You're so lovely, you've no idea.'
She moved closer. 'I want us to make love again as soon as we can.'
He smiled. 'Yes, you are wanton.'
They kissed, but this time the embrace did not break.
The next day they went for a long walk along the cliffs, and watched the sea. It looked angry and hostile, with serried rows of jagged breakers and blown spume.
Then far, far out to sea, almost hidden in horizon haze, they saw the ships. Ransome's heart sank: it was something he had hoped to avoid. Like the long arm reaching out, leaving nowhere to hide.
'What are they, Ian?' She clung to his arm, her hair barely contained by a scarf, her face so relaxed and happy he did not want to reply.
Suddenly a thin white waterspout made a flaw in the dull horizon, and seconds later a muffled boom thudded against the cliffs.
She said quietly, 'They're minesweepers, aren't they?'
He nodded. 'Trawlers out of Falmouth, most likely.'
She gripped his arm more tightly. 'They look so small. It's a wonder they hold together with great explosions like that.'
Ransome turned her towards a different path. No escape. The field where he and Tony had once hiked was commanded by a slit-eyed, concrete machine-gun bunker, the lush grass dotted with tall poles to prevent gliders or small planes from landing here.
She whispered, 'You will be careful. Promise!'
'Trust me.' He turned toward her and kissed her, tasted a tear on her cheek. 'I love you. We love each other. We were meant to share.'
They walked down the path, the sound of the sea fading behind them.
'Will you be going back to Codrington House?'
She shook her head. 'Not yet. Your father said I could stay with them for as long as I want. My mother knows. She likes you very much.'
'I'm glad.'
What was wrong? Was it seeing the minesweepers? She was going to stay with his parents. She would not feel so cut off there. His father's hand was in this too, he thought. He would know that the invasion was on the doorstep; he met more Admiralty officials and naval officers than anyone.
The thought touched his mind like a scalpel. They were his next of kin, and would be told first if anything went wrong.
He tightened his grip around her shoulders. She would be there, sharing it.
'It's been wonderful —' They turned into the street, and he saw the coastguard's car parked as close as it could get to the cottages.
Ob God. He slowed his pace, trying to find the words. I am afraid.
He said, 'He's here to fetch me. It's a recall.'
She turned and stared at him. 'Not yet, Ian! We've only had one night together . . .' She tilted her chin and said in a controlled voice, 'I'm not being very much help, am I?'
They walked down to the car and the coastguard handed Ransome a sealed note.
He said, 'Came just now, zur, must be urgent. They'm sending a car for 'e.'
'I'll not be long.' They entered the cottage and stared around in silent desperation.
She said brokenly, 'I loved it here, darling!'
He watched her roll her nightgown and place it in her bag witli great care.
'Just a moment.' He took it from the bag and held it to his face, the memories of their brief time together sweeping over him to torment him further.
'Such a lovely smell. I shall never forget.'
Their eyes met and held like a last embrace.
She said simply, it was the sachet. Roses and rosemary.' Then she came to him and whispered against his face. 'Love and remembrance.'
Day of Reckoning
HM Minesweeper Rob Roy completed another slow turn and settled on to the next leg of her prescribed sweep.
Standing in the forepart of the bridge Ransome w
atched the sweep-wire's float with its little green flag cutting above the waves, then trained his glasses on the other ships taking up station astern.
It was evening, very dull with a hint of drizzle, not at all like the end of a June day.
He heard Beckett's voice from the wheelhouse. 'Steady on two-zero-zero, sir.'
Ransome tugged his cap down over his hair and shifted restlessly. Like any other day and yet so completely different. He could feel it all around him: expectancy, relief, anxiety, and, most of all, the sailor's attitude of resignation. The waiting and the doubts were all behind them, although to the men working aft by the sweep, or at their guns and lookout positions, they could have had the Channel to themselves.
Ransome heard Morgan speaking to the coxswain again, and pictured his small company throughout the ship, on deck and in the engine-room. Commander Bliss had called a conference of all his captains as soon as Ransome had returned to Falmouth. The group was to be at first-degree readiness, no matter what the Met buffs had threatened about the weather. More delays and uncertainties, with some of the old hands already suggesting that the top brass had made another timely cock-up. Forty-eight hours of conflicting signals, more intelligence packs and recognition instructions.
Then Bliss had sent for Ransome and had announced without fuss, 'It's on. Tuesday morning we hit Normandy as planned.'
Now they were here in mid-Channel, heading towards the French coast. It was no longer a plan or a conception of one; it was not even next month. It was dawn tomorrow.
Ransome felt a shiver run through him. It was hard to imagine it. All those vessels, hundreds of them, converging from east and west to the great assembly point south of the Isle of Wight, already aptly nicknamed Piccadilly Circus. From Harwich, Chatham and the Nore. From Portsmouth and Weymouth Bay, from Plymouth and every inlet in the West Country; all those ships. Only a cruising gull would be able to get a complete picture. The forty-eight hour delay might cost them dearly. Too much. For even with air supremacy over the south coast, with the American and British squadrons keeping up unbroken patrols by day and night, the enemy must surely know by now what was coming.
In Danger's Hour Page 31