Lieutenant Commander Alan Charteris, Royal Navy, was good at his job. Particularly if part of that job was to antagonise everyone to such a degree that he performed his work perfectly if only to spite the nagging, tight-mouthed instructor.
From first light each day they went through every possible evolution, cutting nets, some of which were exactly like those which had been laid to protect the Hansa, diving, surfacing, everything by the stop-watch. There had been several additional pieces of equipment added to the boats, one of which was a short-range radio telephone which could be used to link the boats while they were submerged and give support when it was most needed.
But at the end of each day it was back to the depot ship or ashore to the base wardroom, to listen to the news and try to determine what was happening.
One thing was certain, the moment of invasion had caught the Germans completely by surprise. Seaton could understand it. When he had seen the angry sea, low clouds made worse by a violent electric storm, he had expected the moment of attack to be postponed. But D-Day had gone on. The troops had landed, and in widening prongs of armour were spreading through the French countryside at an impressive speed.
The Tactical Air Force held the upper hand above the beaches and far inland, and each day that passed saw more and more equipment and men being ferried across the Channel.
Once again it sounded as if the top brass had over-reacted, been too cautious, as some had suggested earlier. Secret weapons, if there were any left, had not made a showing, and with the Russians advancing from the east and the Allied armies safely landed in France, what could go wrong?
Seaton watched the morale getting lower in his little flotilla. He had heard rumours that some of the crews, particularly the extra ones kept for passage or stand-by work, were thinking of volunteering for general service, if only to see some action.
The returning landing craft, with their lines and lines of wounded soldiers laid where the tanks had once stood, only added to the dissatisfaction.
Nina had written to him every week. Short but precious letters which he read when he was alone in his cabin. They did not tell him much, other than she was extremely busy. She mentioned that she had been allowed to see her brother, which suggested he might be on his way to another secret destination where she would not be able to visit him.
Seaton went into Weymouth and telephoned his father two or three times. His father never wrote, and even on the crackling telephone it was hard to find much to say. He had met another lady. ‘You’d like her, David. You really would.’
Only Jenkyn seemed to be thriving. When not working in XE 16 he was to be seen bustling about, writing letters, posting parcels and visiting the welfare office.
Seaton was sitting in his makeshift flotilla office in the depot ship when Jenkyn came to see him.
‘Well, Chief?’ It amused him to see the way Jenkyn’s new rank seemed to have left him unmoved, as his own promotion had.
Jenkyn beamed. ‘I’m gettin’ spliced, sir. Really nice little party she is. ’Er bloke bought it in Burma. Got a kid, too. Really nice.’
Seaton walked round the desk. ‘I’m glad for you, Alec.’ He shook his hand. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had for a long time.’
‘Ta. But I’d rather you didn’t let on to no one else. But I wanted to tell you. Special, like.’
Seaton was moved. He was sad too, that he out of them all was alone.
He said, ‘We’ll have a drink on it later.’
‘There’s one thing, sir.’ Jenkyn looked uncomfortable. ‘If anything goes wrong …’
‘If it does, Alec, I’ll go with you.’
‘I know that, sir.’ He shifted awkwardly. ‘But if it’s later on, when the crews split up, I – I’d like you to ’ave a word with ’er first. I saw ’er when th’ bloody telegram come to ’er. It’d be better from you.’
Seaton looked down. ‘Sure. Glad to.’ He tried to smile. ‘Thank you.’
The telephone rang on his desk and he said, ‘Seaton?’
A bored voice replied, ‘Outside call, sir. Hold on, please.’
Across the desk again Jenkyn watched him. Glad he had come.
‘David?’ Her voice was right beside him.
‘Nina?’ He gripped the handset and leaned forward as if to draw her closer. ‘Where are you?’
Her voice faded as if she had turned away suddenly. ‘I have been told that you have finished what you are doing?’
If anyone was eavesdropping he would not have a clue.
‘Yes. All but the usual exercises.’
‘There is a cottage. Twenty miles from where you are.’ Her voice shook as if she was finding it difficult to translate clearly. ‘The village is called Maiden’s Nettle.’ This time she did laugh. ‘Sweet, isn’t it?’
There was a silence and he said anxiously, ‘Are you there?’
‘Sorry, David. I was being silly.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I am all right now.’ In a stronger voice she added, ‘I can have some leave.’
Seaton said, ‘I’ll meet you there. Oh, Nina, you don’t know how much –’
She gave what sounded like a sob. ‘Don’t say any more. They’ll cut us off. Bring all the food you can.’ She started to laugh. ‘I am told the cottage is falling down, full of what do you say, wet rot?’
‘If I’m late getting there –’
She said quickly, ‘I will be there, David. Just come.’
The bored voice said, ‘I’m sorry, but this line is needed for a priority call.’
She said, ‘Take the road to the north and turn left at Dorchester!’
Seaton could almost feel the switchboard operator dragging out the lead.
‘What’s the name of the cottage?’
She was laughing again. ‘I don’t know! It’s the last one as you leave the village!’ The line went dead.
Seaton put down the receiver and looked at it for several seconds. Then he realised Jenkyn was still there.
Jenkyn said, ‘Seems I’m not the only one, sir.’ He grinned. ‘Smashin’.’
By the time Seaton had reached Cephalus’s captain’s office he had decided that nothing short of an immediate mission was going to stop him.
But, as is often the case, things went rather differently.
The captain met him with a broad smile. ‘Funny you should anticipate a bit of leave, David. Captain Venables has just been on the line. Thinks you should shove off for a few days. It’ll be good for you, and you deserve it more than the rest of them. Besides, it will give Gervaise Allenby the chance to act as your understudy for a bit.’ He tamped down his pipe. ‘But you will be on call. I’ll see you get transport of some sort from the pool. I suggest you get going before Venables changes his mind.’
An hour later Seaton was speeding along the road in his transport, a jeep which had seen better days, but which had a very good engine.
Turn left at Dorchester. The roads and quiet lanes merged and divided as if in a dream. Once he stopped and bought a few items to supplement a bag of food he had begged from the wardroom chief steward.
The smaller roads were very quiet, and he could smell the hedgerows and the heavier aromas of hidden farms as he sped towards the tiny village of Maiden’s Nettle. He need not have worried about navigation. The village seemed to consist of about a dozen cottages, a post office cum grocer’s shop and a small pub called the Blue Boar.
He slowed down as he entered the village, conscious of a few curious glances, the twitch of a curtain or two. Sailors were probably rare here. Strange how naval men preferred to stay near the sea, even when off duty.
The cottage greeted him as he rounded the last bend past a tiny war memorial. Beyond was open road and the browns and greens of the Dorset countryside.
He jumped from the seat and hurried through the front door. A few more seconds of suspense, then he saw the W.A.A.F. cap on a chair, her tunic on another. There was a lot of wrapping paper scattered about, and two jugs filled with flowers on a table.
>
The far door opened and she stood looking at him, her hands hanging at her sides. She was wearing a white Norwegian blouse, with embroidery at neck and wrists, and a dark red skirt. His mind recorded all these things and more, but he only saw her.
She said, ‘You were quick. I’m not ready.’ She brushed some hair from her eyes. ‘Oh, David.’
They came together in the centre of the low-ceilinged room and stood motionless for a long time, neither knowing what to say or wanting to break the spell.
Then he asked, ‘Where were you when you called me?’
She looked at him, her eyes very bright. ‘Dorchester. Air Marshal Ruthven offered me a lift, as he was on his way somewhere. He put the call through for me. Made it sound official. I – I could not wait back at the headquarters. I needed to be close, in case you tried to get out of seeing me!’ She laughed and turned lightly out of his grasp. ‘Mind where you tread!’ She pointed at several very old telephone directories which were strategically placed around the room. ‘There are rot holes in the floor underneath those books!’ She could not stop laughing, and he sat at the table to watch her happiness.
She said, ‘I feel terribly wicked. I think this cottage used to be a place where the owner took his girl friends for a black weekend!’
Seaton grinned. ‘Dirty week-end!’
‘So?’ She arranged the flowers around the room and then took his hands in hers. ‘Now we are here. Do you mind?’
He stood up and held her tightly, feeling her body returning the pressure, the warmth of her skin against his cheek.
‘I don’t care if it’s the moon.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Anywhere.’
He walked with her into the small, overgrown garden. It was evening, and he could sense the peace of the place.
She said quietly, ‘There is a telephone. I had to make sure. I knew you would be on recall.’
Seaton nodded, holding her shoulders more tightly. Ruthven had probably engineered the whole thing. It was hard to imagine him as the owner of the cottage, but he doubtless knew him well enough to borrow it.
‘I like the sound of your boss,’ he said. ‘Full of surprises.’
While he telephoned the base at Portland to give the number to the O.O.D., he heard her working in the kitchen.
He had brought some wine, which tasted remarkably good considering the shake-up it had endured in the jeep, and long into the evening they sat enjoying it, watching the trees’ black outlines, and then the moon touching them with metallic light.
The cottage did not run to blackout curtains, but neither of them had even considered the fact.
She placed her glass deliberately on the floor and turned towards him on the old sofa, holding his face in her hands as she had done before. He watched the oval of her face, the top of her hair catching some of the filtered moonlight. Then they kissed. Slowly at first, and then with all the hunger of desperation and want. When he slipped his hand down to her breast and further still, she tensed and then pulled herself even closer. Just as quickly she stood up, her voice husky as she said, There is a bed.’ Then she took his hand, and they walked together into an adjoining room.
She stood trembling as he undressed her with infinite care, pausing only to touch her body or to prolong the pain of their need with another embrace.
Then with her knees drawn up to her chin she sat in the centre of the bed watching as he threw his clothes in disorder on the floor.
He knelt beside her, his hand exploring her perfect breasts, the gentle curve of her stomach. Neither of them said a word. But then, as he knelt over her, and she reached out to hold him and to receive him, she said with a quiet fervour, ‘I want you, David. I’ll not live without you.’
It was like falling, and it was like nothing else. He felt her body responding to his desire, his love for her, and all that she had been before he had even seen her.
When they fell apart he leaned on his elbow, looking at her clean limbs bathed in moonlight, the depths and shadows of her body which he had found and aroused until both of them were completely spent.
She pulled his head down on her shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her body, tasting the heat, the returning desire.
Much later, when he had fallen asleep, she watched and held him tenderly, afraid to wake him, yet unable to leave him alone.
Captain Walter Venables looked at a half-empty cup of tea and rejected it. It was stone-cold, and his tongue felt raw from telephone calls and dictating signals.
Above his head, beyond the layers of steel and concrete, was a London dawn. Here, it could be anytime, anywhere.
A petty officer Wren, her lipstick unnaturally vivid against her tired face, looked in at him.
‘Rear Admiral Niven has arrived, sir.’ Her eyes, weary or not, flickered over the desk, the tables with their charts. Nothing to worry about. Neat and tidy.
Venables rubbed his eyelids and yawned. She would make a good secretary.
The door squeaked open and Rear Admiral Niven came in with big strides. Powerfully, angrily, a man of the moment.
He glanced at Venables. ‘Been here all night, I suppose?’ He sat down. ‘So it’s started.’
Venables nodded. ‘Like the one yesterday, sir. Now we’ve had reports of two more flying bombs. Our people think they were launched from Le Havre.’
The Wren came back with fresh tea.
The admiral watched her. ‘Casualties?’
‘Civilians. But the point is –’
‘The point is we’ve no more time, Walter. The Jerries must be going all out to stalemate the invasion and destroy any advances by an all out barrage of rockets. The other V-weapon will be over next, I suppose.’
They looked at each other. They were both thinking of the third rocket. The one nobody ever spoke about.
The Wren looked in and said, ‘Your Mission Training Officer is here now, sir.’
As she withdrew the admiral remarked, ‘Pretty girl.’
Venables fished out his silver case. All you think about. He could even smell the lingering aroma of whisky, or was it brandy? After a night of it down here, and the days before, he didn’t recognise any of the ordinary things.
Lieutenant Commander Alan Charteris came in stiffly, his face lined, his chin blue and in need of a shave.
He saw the admiral and became very formal. ‘Sir!’
‘Sit down.’ Venables hated to waste time. He took a folder from his private drawer. ‘You’ve heard all about the flying bombs?’
‘It was to be expected, sir.’
Venables dropped his eyes to hide his impatience. Men like Charteris were very necessary. They got things done. But they were as thick as two planks.
‘Quite. I want the flotilla brought to readiness at once. Go yourself.’
‘I’ve just driven all night from Portland to get here, sir!’
The admiral lowered his cup. ‘So?’
Venables added, ‘I’d come myself, but things are hotting up. I’ve just put a sabotage team of frogmen ashore in Normandy to help the Canadians. I’m still waiting to hear from them.’
Charteris had recovered his in-built caution. ‘I’ll leave now, sir.’
Venables thrust the folder across the desk. ‘Sign for this. Don’t let it out of your sight.’ He watched the other officer scratching his signature on the flimsy. ‘Operation Citadel. It was the P.M’s idea. I suppose it does have the right ring to it.’
Charteris cleared his throat. ‘Lieutenant Commander Seaton is still on leave, sir.’ It sounded like an accusation.
‘I know. I arranged it.’ Venables smiled coldly. ‘Leave all that to me.’
As the door closed Rear Admiral Niven breathed out noisily. ‘Bloody man. A proper belt-and-gaiters type!’ He yawned. ‘But maybe he’s like me, and doesn’t go much on all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.’
Venables wanted him to go. So he could get on to the marines at Eastney and find out about their frogmen.
He said, ‘It’s th
e real war. A handful of determined men can change a nation. Big fleets, grand armies are the trimmings. My sort of people win the prizes. After this one’s over, we’ll not see the same world again, or our kind of Navy.’
Rear Admiral Niven stood up, feeling his age. He might go to an hotel and have breakfast. Or give that damned woman, what-was-her-name, a ring.
He paused by the door. ‘Young Seaton. You fixed it for him?’
‘With our new chief, yes.’ Venables smiled. ‘The air marshal has the right ideas sometimes.’
‘I’d have thought a suite at the Ritz would be more the thing.’
‘Would you, sir? Rather like the gladiator before his most testing and usually fatal conflict, you mean? A bounty for services rendered?’
The admiral felt his cheeks flushing. ‘No, I damn well didn’t!’
‘Anyway,’ Venables was already flicking through his telephone book, ‘Lieutenant Commander Seaton would probably tell you what to do with your offer.’ He smiled again. ‘Or tell me.’
The petty officer Wren passed the admiral in the doorway and waited by the desk.
Venables said, ‘I want you to get me a Dorset number.’ He glanced at the clock. They were probably together right now. Lost in each other’s arms.
He thought of his admiral’s inability to understand how men and women could fight and still stay above the stench of war.
He added, ‘If I ever get like him, tell me.’
The Wren left the room. It was said she was the only girl who could stand working for Captain Venables. She could not understand why.
16
Citadel
TWO DECKS DOWN in the old Cephalus’s hull Seaton sat with Venables’ folder on his lap, leaning slightly forward as he read the carefully listed contents.
At his desk the captain sat smoking his pipe, careful not to look at Seaton in case he should break his concentration. The new mission training officer, as well as the ship’s first lieutenant were also present.
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