The newspapers were full of stories about the Allied advances in France and the U.S. Marines’ progress in the Pacific. There was plenty of speculation about the American hopes of returning to the Phillipines with a full-scale invasion. Luzon, as it was pointed out, was the real stepping-stone into Japan.
Dances and parties were arranged for Growler’s company, picnics and swimming at Bondi became as natural as fish and chips, and many of the unattached sailors soon had Australian girlfriends. Quite a few of the married ones did, too.
It sounded as if the support group would be operating from Sydney when the orders were eventually received.
Of Chadwick they saw little, which suited almost everyone. He was said to be visiting the various chiefs of staff, and in contact with London about the group’s eventual role.
Growler put to sea only once during these weeks, and flew-off all her aircraft to a local Australian field. There they could be serviced and used at regular intervals to keep them and their pilots from getting rusty. To Rowan it looked as if Growler and the other ships were taking root at their moorings.
After one such session at the airfield, Rowan and Bill returned to the naval base in a small bus kept for the purpose. It was a blazing hot afternoon, and it seemed a long long way from Britain. The streets were crowded with tanned Australian girls, and servicemen of every shape and size, mostly Americans from the warships and troopers in the harbour.
Bill said, ‘I’m thinking about asking for a transfer. What d’you say? This is useless being here.’
Rowan thought about it. He knew what Bill meant.
‘We might have a word with the Old Man. He could have heard something by now.’
Bill grinned ruefully. ‘Where were you, Daddy, when the war ended? In Sydney with all the lovely sheilas, son, that’s where!’ He sighed. ‘Trouble is, I don’t feel like it any more.’
Aboard Growler they discovered Lieutenant de Courcy in a rare state of excitement.
He said, ‘A ship was torpedoed some weeks back. She had mail aboard. Some of it was for us.’
Bill chuckled. ‘I don’t suppose the torpedo knew that at the time, Flags!’
‘You don’t understand.’ De Courcy eyed him severely. ‘There was a letter for the admiral. Apparently his wife is coming out here. She must have pulled a few strings through the Red Cross or something.’
‘Well, what about it?’ Bill darted a quick glance at Rowan. ‘That’s good news surely?’
De Courcy picked up his cap. ‘The ship arrived today with the new convoy.’
Rowan swallowed hard. ‘I saw her docking when I was in the air.’ He tried to think clearly, to discover his immediate reactions. ‘Has anyone gone to meet the admiral’s wife?’
‘You’ve not been listening.’ De Courcy looked near to tears. ‘I’ve only just been told. Mrs Chadwick will probably go straight to the hotel where her husband has a suite.’ He peered at his watch. ‘He’ll never forgive me for this.’
Rowan snapped, ‘Has he got a woman with him?’ He seized his arm and shook him. ‘Is that it?’
‘Well, I’m not supposed to say, but . . .’
Bill said quickly, ‘I know what hotel he’s at. The best. I’ll go and tell the O.O.D. to get us a car.’
But it took time to get off the ship and away from the island base. As they sped through the busy streets again Rowan tried not to look at his watch. Wondered what she would say. How they would be together.
‘Stop!’
The car screeched to a halt and the driver exclaimed, ‘Jesus, lootenant, you sure know what you want!’
Rowan hurried through the glass doors and paused to accustom his eyes to the cool shadow of the hotel foyer.
Then he saw her. She had her back to him, but he recognised her instantly. She was wearing a plain green dress, and there were some suitcases beside her. She was speaking to a desk clerk, who was obviously confused.
Rowan hurried towards her, just in time to hear the man say helpfully, ‘I am very sorry, ma’am. Rear Admiral Chadwick is out of the hotel at the moment. But his wife is in the suite, if you’d like to speak to her?’
Rowan said quietly, ‘Hello. I thought you might be here.’ His heart bounded as she turned to face him. If anything, she looked lovelier than he remembered her. ‘The ship with your letter was sunk. I just heard.’ He dropped his eyes and added, ‘I wanted to stop all this happening.’
She took his hands in hers and waited for him to look at her.
‘I’m all right, Tim. I’ve known for a long while. But until I met you, I think I wanted to sweep it under the carpet. Not see it.’
Rowan replied, ‘You can’t stay here, Honor. But when he comes back he’ll know. That you know. You can’t keep a secret like that out here.’
She looked suddenly helpless, and he wanted to hold her in his arms, as were some people greeting friends nearby.
She said, ‘I don’t want you to get into trouble, Tim. If he found out about us . . .’
Rowan made up his mind. ‘Welcome to Sydney, Honor.’ He lowered his head and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Let’s make the most of it.’
He saw Bill and beckoned him across. ‘This is Bill, my friend.’
She took his hand. ‘Hello, Tim’s friend. I met you in Edinburgh.’
Bill grinned, towering over her. ‘We’d better arrange another hotel for you. I’ll fetch the luggage.’
She slipped her hand through Rowan’s arm. He could feel her bunching her knuckles and knew she was only just able to put a brave face on it.
She said, ‘Take me away from here. I keep thinking of that woman up in his room. I suppose I’m no better than she is, but he doesn’t care. Any woman will do.’
Fortunately, Bill had discovered a taxi, and he said quickly, ‘I’ve told him where to take you. You’ll be fine there, Mrs Chadwick, until you’ve decided what to do.’
He slammed the door and stood to watch them drive off.
She said, ‘He’s nice.’
Rowan squeezed her arm, still unable to believe she was with him.
‘He’s been here before. Playing rugby of all things. If he says it’s a good hotel, it will be.’
As soon as he had seen her booked into a comfortable room which overlooked the harbour he said, ‘I’d better get back to the ship. We don’t want to upset the applecart.’ He saw her sudden anxiety, the way one hand moved to her breast, and added gently, ‘I mean, I’m not having your name damaged because of my clumsiness.’ He held her against him, smelling her hair, the fresh warmth of her skin. ‘I love you. I want you for myself. I’m selfish like that.’
She twisted in his arms, looking at him, laughing and part-crying.
‘It’s better you go, Tim. We both know why.’
Aboard Growler he found Bill waiting anxiously in the wardroom.
Rowan asked, ‘Did the admiral come aboard?’
‘Yes. He’s seen his bloody flag lieutenant, too. I’ll bet he’s gone back to the hotel like a mad bull.’
Rowan signalled to a steward. ‘I need a drink.’
Bill watched him gravely. ‘You will when I tell you. We’ve got sailing orders. The day after tomorrow. I know, because Kitto told me to telephone the airfield about getting our planes back.’
Rowan sat down and stared at the bulkhead. The day after tomorrow.
Maybe, deep down, he had been like the others. Thinking that for Growler the war was almost over. That she had outlived the role for which she had been thrown together in an American shipyard.
Bill asked, ‘How does she feel?’ He watched his friend’s face. ‘I know how you feel. But she’s got a lot to give up.’
Rowan looked at him. ‘I know. You should have seen the house and the estate it stands on, Bill.’
Bill nodded. ‘Would you give up so much for her?’
‘You know I would.’ There was never any doubt. Nor could there be.
‘Right. Then it’s full ahead both engines, Tim. It’ll be roug
h on you and her, I expect. But, by God, I envy you.’
Rowan stood up and walked to the bulkhead and straightened a framed picture of Growler’s first air crews. In the few seconds it took him he saw the dead faces looking at him from the past.
He said despairingly. ‘But I don’t know what to do. If I go for a Burton on this next tour of operation, what then? She’ll be left with nothing.’
Bill shot him a warning glance as James and de Courcy entered the wardroom.
‘It’s my guess she’ll make up her mind, and yours too, Tim.’
Rowan sighed. ‘If I let her.’
Rear Admiral Lionel Chadwick opened the bedroom window and allowed the night air to cool his body. He was naked but for a towel round his waist, and he had a glass of Scotch in his hand. It was the middle of the night, but with the window open he could hear the steady hum of traffic and see the occasional activity of Sydney’s restaurants and clubs. The sky was very clear, and there was the brightest, fullest moon he had ever seen.
He could see the great, single-arch Harbour Bridge, nicknamed the coathanger, the span shining in the silver glare like ice.
He swirled the drink round his glass and tried to think methodically.
Behind him, sprawled with arms and legs outstretched like a fallen statue, the girl was still asleep, her breathing regular and untroubled.
Chadwick swore under his breath, recalling the shock and momentary anxiety which de Courcy’s news had given him aboard the carrier.
He had had so much on his mind lately, otherwise he might have suspected his wife would do something unusual. He should have guessed that even in wartime she might fix a passage on some pretext connected with her work for the Red Cross, or one of the other organisations she took an interest in.
The glass almost fractured in his powerful grip. It was so bloody unfair. Especially on top of everything else.
But why had she come? Not for his sake certainly.
He walked through the darkness and slopped another drink into the glass.
If she had heard about London, things could get really difficult.
He sat in a chair and tried to reason. Again, if he had not become so involved with the Admiralty department which was trying to formulate a plan for a new British Pacific Fleet, he might have been more careful. He thought of the girl in London. He had known her on and off for two years. Tall and blonde, it had been a pleasure to tame her. He had never grown tired of her demands, her uninhibited sexual appetites. Somehow or other she had become pregnant. In itself it could have been managed. But she was the daughter of a very senior civil servant in Whitehall, a man who had the ear of many a cabinet minister. When something as personal as this leaked out, it needed more than rank and friends in Admiralty to stay safe.
It had required all his old skill to start a salvage operation, which with luck and a few chums in high places might still have kept his name clean.
Chadwick had become deeply involved in the Pacific planning. He had been to Pearl Harbour and to Sydney to meet the new British Commander-in-Chief, and several of his American counterparts.
It was obvious that the Americans were not keen on having their operations altered to include a new fleet. They had suggested the British would be better employed hitting at Japanese oil supplies in the East Indies. Or if they came to the Pacific, acting as part of the Fleet Train, as it was called, which included small carriers, oilers and ammunition ships, the logistic tail of the larger, active fleet which would eventually be backing General MacArthur’s assault on the islands where distances between bases were not so great.
The British authorities were eager to play their part, and soon the bigger fleet carriers and battleships would be freed from home waters and would then fight alongside the Americans.
Until then . . . Chadwick knew he should have seen it. That someone had purposefully steered him to what would surely be a naval backwater, well out of the main scheme of things.
Chadwick could remember the words of his best friend at the Admiralty. The one who had tried to persuade him not to take on the Air Support Group in the first place. He had said that Chadwick should make the best of it until a better appointment came along. There was a job on the horizon in Washington for an officer of Chadwick’s standing. The war could not last more than a year or so, and even if it did, as the pessimists kept insisting, the real struggle would be in the Far East. When that happened, the power would be in Washington, at the doorstep of the President.
But, his friend had made it equally clear, Chadwick would have to be careful. His fondness for women was well known to many. But when others in high places became implicated, it was a different matter. Chadwick might find himself on the beach before the final notes of the bugle had died.
And Chadwick loved the life the Navy offered him. He had never allowed anything or anyone to damage his reputation in the Service, no matter whose name got hurt in the process.
Like Buchan, for instance. At the court of enquiry after the loss of life and the Camilla’s collision, Chadwick could have saved him, cleared his reputation with a word. Buchan was a dedicated seaman and an officer of the old school. But Chadwick’s careful, non-committal evidence had finished him.
But to Chadwick it was right and proper. He had a useful life to offer. Whereas Buchan was a day-to-day man, who lived for this ship or that, with the solid dependability of an old sailing master. Old, that was the point. Not in years, but in attitudes. Out of the goodness of his heart Chadwick had got him appointed to command Growler. He would never admit that he enjoyed watching people like possessions.
He stood up and massaged his stomach vigorously. He kept in trim. People often told him he looked younger than his years. The flattery did not console him as it usually did.
He thought of Honor. De Courcy would find out which hotel she was at. Then he would have to go and ‘explain’ to her. He had done it before. She would have to accept that this matter was vital to his position and future, and therefore to her as well.
It was strange what his stupid flag lieutenant had told him about Rowan. Had he tried to shield his admiral from shame? Was it as well known in the fleet and around Sydney that he was living with Grace? He looked at the nude girl on the bed. Gracie, as she liked him to call her. Tall and strong, with a power which sapped even his demanding appetite. He could see her large breasts, still feel her urgent passion for him. Any other time and he would have awakened her in his usual way, enjoying her gasp of pain and then enjoyment.
Rowan had been all that time in the house with Honor. He shook his head, smiling in the darkness. He might, but not Honor. He recalled when he had first met her. It was shortly after his first wife had been killed in a car smash. Honor had been a friend of hers. She had hardly changed since then. Beautiful, obedient, completely devoted to the house and being the wife of a senior officer. He had already been a captain when he had married her. A yachtsman and pilot, squash champion, too. No wonder she had been willing to marry an older man. He frowned, the pleasure gone. But not Honor. She was too quiet. Too content at being the admiral’s wife.
What had that fool Buchan said? Something about age and Rowan’s ability?
The girl stirred on the bed and moaned, ‘Come back to bye-byes, baby. Stop worrying, for God’s sake.’
He walked to the window again. He would have to get rid of Grace, double-quick.
He took a deep swallow from the glass and felt some of the old confidence returning. It was more than likely that Honor had come all this way, despite the risk of being torpedoed, merely to stand by him. She must have heard about the girl in London.
Chadwick felt his face flushing with righteous indignation. By God, it was at time like these you discovered who your friends were. He pictured Honor in an hotel somewhere. Probably quite near.
Small and demure Honor. There must be more to her than he had thought. He would go and see her first thing in the morning. The fact he was under sailing orders would help. A few soft words, a
hint of behaving himself in the future. He nodded in the darkness. That was the ticket.
He walked back to the drinks table and struck his shin on a chair.
‘Sod it!’
‘What was that, baby?’ She rolled over on the bed, her legs moving sensuously. ‘What the hell have you got there?’
Chadwick felt much better. Get to sea. Show the Yanks how to run a support group. By that time everything would be calm again.
He let his towel fall to the floor.
‘Come and see, Grade.’ He waited for her to reach out and hold him. If she were a cat she’d purr, he thought.
Dropping the glass he threw himself on top of her. He would show them. God help anyone who tried to stop him now.
They sat side by side in a small booth watching the last couple dancing in the darkened restaurant.
Rowan kept his knee against hers and wished they could be alone somewhere.
He asked. ‘What did he say?’
She ran a finger round the top of a wine glass, remembering, fighting back the disgust.
‘I told him why I had come to Sydney.’ She turned and looked at him. ‘That was why I didn’t want to write to you. Until I had seen him. There’s been quite a lot of gossip about him at home, you know. Him and his women. And some people are beginning to disagree with his actions on the Russian convoy. So many lives were lost.’ She dropped her eyes. ‘He kept on trying to make me change my mind. He said that by leaving him his career might be damaged.’ She shuddered. ‘Then he came up to my room and tried to force himself on me.’ She tossed her head. ‘But I managed.’
She did not tell Rowan about his pleading giving way to sudden, frightening violence. He had torn her dress and struck her on the face. He had been out of control, like a stranger, a madman, until he had calmed again just as quickly.
‘So, Tim. It’s over and done with. I’ll never return to him.’ She faced him gravely. ‘But I’m not offering a bargain. I love you terribly, but I’d never use that to trap you.’
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