‘You did say, Mr Bulstrode,’ he whispered when his wife had left the parlour to make a cup of tea, ‘you did say you had a, well, bit of stuff in Southampton?’
‘That’s right, Mr Smith, yes.’
‘Wife of the chief steward of a ship called —’
‘The Aurelian Star, yes.’
Alf looked round: the parlour door was still shut fast. ‘Convoy under attack, South Atlantic. Commodore’s ship, this Aurelian Star. Big losses believed but no ship names given. Anyway, not that I overheard.’ Alf paused, and gave Cocky Bulstrode a nudge in the ribs with an elbow. He also winked. ‘Could leave the coast clear, eh, Mr Bulstrode?’
‘Er … yes. Yes, indeed, and I’m much obliged.’ Cocky was in something of a mental whirl; his worst fears could possibly be about to be realized. He concluded his business as quickly as was decently possible and then, with the signed contract in his money bag he returned to the Morris Eight and drove back to Southampton but not to Roxanne Chatfield, whom in any case he hadn’t visited since she had become possessive, going to the pub to avoid her incessant telephone calls. Now he wouldn’t be seeing her again, not ever. Much too risky to a man who valued his freedom and his spare cash.
*
‘Acknowledged, sir. Correct reply.’
Kemp breathed easy: the battleship was not German. He said, ‘Get her signal letters, Yeoman.’
Lambert was using his signal lamp again when there was a startling yell from Finnegan. The battleship was now coming into view through his binoculars. ‘Oh, gee … oh, gee whiz … oh, daddy-oh!’
Kemp swung round. ‘I beg your pardon, Finnegan?’
Finnegan gave a yelp, a sort of war-whoop. ‘It’s the good old United States Navy! It’s the North Dakota! Oh, gee …’
Kemp grunted. ‘Custer rides again,’ he said. He levelled his binoculars. The Captain of the North Dakota was evidently a man of quick understanding and quicker decision. There was a flash followed by billowing clouds of smoke as the American’s for’ard turrets opened and moments later, as the great projectiles winged across the seas between, big spouts of water rose around the Stuttgart. The North Dakota was seen to swing so as to bring all her guns to bear, and then she opened in the form of a broadside. Salvo after salvo; and when the range and deflection came spot on the German blew up in a shattering roar, split from stem to stern as her magazines opened her up like a sardine tin.
*
One of Kemp’s first duties was to have Ordinary Seaman Featherstonehaugh brought before him officially. The proper formalities were gone through. Kemp listened and then pronounced; the situation had been eased by the shot native now being on the way to recovery. ‘I have good reports of you, Featherstonehaugh. You had a nasty experience at the after gun … and Petty Officer Biggar reports that you stood up to action well enough.’ He paused. ‘I propose — there being no evidence to the contrary — to accept your own story. I accept that you acted instinctively to put a stop to what looked like a breakout. On that score the case is dismissed.’ He paused again. ‘The fact remains, however, that you fired without orders to do so. That is a very serious charge and one that should normally be beyond my powers to deal with summarily. However, I propose to use my discretion and allow you the likelihood that you acted in the instinctive way I’ve referred to already. Now, I can’t say what view the members of the Admiralty Interview Board will take in regard to a potential officer who acts without orders, but I suppose there’s a chance they may remember Lord Nelson … as for me, I propose to stop your leave for fourteen days.’
Featherstonehaugh had looked much relieved as well he might. But, as Kemp began the task of rounding up the convoy’s surviving ships and shepherding them back into their formation, he had plenty to ponder. Had he handled the matter wrongly? Had he risked backing a potential officer who might impetuously lead men into unnecessary danger, an officer who at some vital moment might make the wrong decision? Well — that was in the lap of the gods now. He, Kemp, had made his own decision and that was that. But the affair still nagged at his mind as, some twelve hours later, they picked up the Duke of York and exchanged signals, after which the North Dakota detached to resume her original course; Finnegan was still cock-a-hoop about the arrival in the nick of time of the US Navy … feeling half inclined to shut him up, Kemp decided to allow him his natural enthusiasm. They had indeed been given salvation.
When some fourteen days later the convoy picked up Ailsa Craig, the great seagull-whitened rock at the entry to the Firth of Clyde, Kemp’s heart was heavy. Within hours now he would be at anchor off the Tail o’ the Bank, off the town of Greenock where news might be awaiting him, where there would be a telephone available to reach Mary. This could be the worst landfall of his career. When Maconochie brought his ship to anchor later that morning, the Commodore’s lips were moving in silent entreaty to his God. Throughout the ship, throughout the remains of the convoy, many other people had their worries, the worries that would come home to them when they disembarked. Old Colonel Holmes and his wife, taking their leave a little later of the Commodore, had a defeated look. They had seen Greenock town, dour and grey under a leaden sky with a hint of lashing rain. So very different from East Africa. They left the ship aboard the tender for Prince’s Pier, where they bought third-class railway tickets for austerity and obscurity and a sort of obliteration of so much of their past. Miss North way had tagged onto Captain Mulvaney, who was determined to ditch her as fast as possible though she didn’t know this because he had promised faithfully to call her the moment he got leave to London. Chief Engineer French, when Maconochie rang down Finished With Engines, was worrying about the mail that would probably give him news of what the magistrates had done to his two boys. And Chief Steward Chatfield, who though he didn’t know it had nothing to worry about now, was mentally attaching a bomb to the Morris Eight.
There were a number of letters for Commodore Kemp: an Income Tax demand, a tailor’s bill, letters from both his sons posted some while ago … two from Mary, one from the Chairman of the Mediterranean-Australia Lines. No telegram from the Admiralty. Hopes rose. He opened his wife’s letters first. One told him the first news, and that there had been no confirmation either way. The second was very brief: would John please telephone as soon as he possibly could after arrival? Reading that, Kemp went very white. There was no telephone connection when at anchor; that privilege was reserved for the flagship buoy. Kemp went ashore to RN headquarters and used a telephone to his home. The second letter from Mary had warned him. His hand shook so badly that he could scarcely hold the receiver steady when the confirmation of the bad news came. The German Admiralty had reported Harry picked up alive; but he had died shortly after, presumably from exposure or wounds received.
Kemp would be home the following night; that was the fastest he could make it, there being unavoidable convoy matters to attend to and an obligatory visit to the Admiralty on the way south.
First there was something else: the bar of the Bay Hotel in nearby Gourock: the Naval Officers’ Club in Greenock would scarcely do. He had a need to get drunk. He wouldn’t go the whole hog; but the pain had to be eased.
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Convoy Homeward (John Mason Kemp Thriller Book 6) Page 21