Love For An Enemy

by Love For An Enemy (retail) (epub)

  Too close to heaven to be real. To be deserved: or at least, accepted without astonishment.

  ‘Ned?’

  She’d spoken his name without moving. He ran a finger slowly down her spine. ‘Back again?’

  ‘Been back a while. Just – basking. Oh, that’s nice. Thinking, too, though. Ned – was it very bad, this last time?’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘When you were away this time. Since you’ve come back so soon – I wondered, perhaps you had some – battle, or—’

  ‘No battle. Anyway we don’t talk about it, do we.’

  ‘I worry, all the same. I think – I’m too happy, something dreadful must – as if to make up for it, serve me right – you know?’

  ‘Extraordinary. I had the same thought about ten seconds ago. Similar, anyway. That I’ve done nothing to deserve you, I could wake up and find I’m alone, I dreamt you.’

  Wiping her face – eyes – on his chest: one side, then the other. Sliding off, on to her side. ‘Poor you. You must be – squashed. But I think it’s different, what you said. I mean – you said “deserve”. Calviniste – not? Pleasure must be paid for, if you enjoy something it’s wicked, to be deserving you should be miserable? Such nonsense, Ned! What I’m talking about is being frightened when you’re away. This isn’t nonsense at all, I promise you, it’s real. Isn’t it very dangerous, what you do?’

  ‘No more than a lot of other things. Think how many of our civilians have been killed in German bombing raids. Wouldn’t have said what they do is particularly dangerous, would you? Or what about big ships – our battlecruiser Hood, for instance – crew of about twelve hundred men, three survivors. Eh?’

  ‘It’s horrible. But it doesn’t mean what you do isn’t—’

  ‘Think of it. Twelve hundred men. How many wives and sweethearts, mothers and fathers… In the Atlantic too – merchant ships, merchant seamen – imagine it, when a tanker full of petrol’s hit.’

  ‘I don’t want to imagine it.’

  ‘I don’t want you to, either. I just don’t want you to have any illusions about my job being more dangerous than any other. People who don’t know what it’s like have this concept of – oh, claustrophobia, all that stuff. It isn’t like that at all. No more claustrophobic than being in this room. In fact we feel safer when we’re under water, much safer than on the surface.’

  ‘Crazy.’

  ‘Well, you think so, but—’

  ‘Ned is the Italian navy any good?’

  ‘Oh – in spots. Individually, here and there. Otherwise—’

  ‘Not so good.’

  ‘They’re not bad at dropping depthcharges on chaps like us.’

  She was silent for a moment. Then: ‘Emilio could be one who does that.’

  ‘Emilio… Oh, yes. Yes, he could. Or he could have been in one of the ships I’ve sunk.’ He tightened his arm around her. ‘No way of getting round that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ve thought about it a lot. The possibility…’

  ‘Million to one against, but—’

  ‘That he could be responsible for – if you didn’t come back, one of these times.’

  ‘Won’t happen. Take my word for it.’

  ‘All right. I will. But – Ned, when you said “not long” this time, d’you mean only a few days, or—’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t know at all.’

  ‘When I get back from Cairo – late Sunday night, I suppose—’

  ‘Will you be at your consulate on Monday?’

  ‘Yes. Probably. Or here in the evening. They might want me to stay an extra day – in which case—’

  ‘In which case it’ll be Tuesday, that you’ll be back.’

  ‘You’d be here then? Well, of course—’

  ‘Touch wood. I’ll telephone, anyway.’

  Meaning – as she’d understand it – that if he did not telephone she could assume he’d gone. The probability – although for obvious reasons he couldn’t tell her this – was that he’d be here no longer than it took to repair Spartan’s depthcharge damage. Therefore might well not still be here on Tuesday. There was some kind of flap on – some fleet operation in the wind. When he’d brought Spartan in last evening – her Jolly Roger flying from a raised periscope, with a new bar sewn on it, representing the tanker she’d sunk – he’d had to lie off for a while before berthing alongside the depot-ship, because another boat had been about to sail. If he’d gone straight alongside he’d only have had to move again soon afterwards, to let her out. And she – one of the T-class boats, Spartan was the only ‘S’ in the flotilla at this stage – had only been back from patrol two days. Every other boat that was fit for sea had already sailed: Spartan, one ‘T’ and one of the big minelayers were the only submarines alongside now, and the repair work had started literally within minutes of her ropes and wires being secured.

  Repairs should take about four days. Out again Tuesday or Wednesday, therefore. This kind of mass exodus to sea nearly always presaged major fleet operations. As often as not submarines would be deployed on a picket-line – or lines, the Malta boats would probably be in it too – across likely routes from the main Italian ports. All the submariners hoping and praying that the Italian battlefleet might be lured out by whatever was going on elsewhere.

  Auchinleck’s rumoured offensive, for instance; it could be that. Cunningham’s big ships would be out in support. Queen Elizabeth’s and Valiant’s fifteen-inch guns blasting Afrika Korps’ positions along the desert coast. Or it might be a Malta convoy operation; there’d been none since July.

  Spartan of course might not be wanted, might be too late to get out there – wherever… They’d still be working flat-out to mend her damage, get her fit for sea again. That stern gland had been the most noticeable item at the time, but there’d been others too. Two smashed battery cells, for instance. Mitcheson’s ploy of cracking on power while covered by the noise of that last depthcharge pattern, passing under one of the attackers and then running silent, creeping away while they hunted in the wrong direction, had succeeded. He’d stayed deep until well after dark, then surfaced into the empty night and sent off a signal to Alexandria reporting one 7000-ton tanker sunk and listing the damage incurred, and their recall from patrol had come within the hour. They’d made it almost entirely on the surface, and there’d been some other good signals intercepted and deciphered at the wardroom table during the passage home. Four of the Malta-based U-class submarines had been out hunting for a reported Italian troop convoy, and on the 19th Unbeaten had wirelessed an enemy report of three large troopships – position, course, speed – which she herself hadn’t been in a position to attack. Then a few hours later, a follow-up message had come from Upholder – whose C.O. was David Wanklyn, V.C., D.S.O. and Bar – announcing that she’d torpedoed and sunk two of the three liners, each of them close to 20,000 tons and crammed with troops bound for the desert. There’d been a quiet cheer from the group at the wardroom table, and a louder one right through the boat when Mitcheson read Upholder’s signal over the Tannoy broadcast system.

  Wanklyn hadn’t been able to hit any of his targets, when he’d first brought Upholder out to join the Malta flotilla. Shrimp Simpson, the flotilla commander, had even been thinking of sending him home – very reluctantly, Wanklyn having been Shrimp’s own first lieutenant in Porpoise, before the war. Then Wanklyn had got his eye in, was now the top-scorer in that very hard-worked and highly effective flotilla. A flotilla which – à propos Lucia’s fears – had suffered appalling losses.

  Well. So had this 1st Flotilla, God knew…

  ‘Bath?’

  Breaking out of reverie…

  ‘Well.’ Turning to her. ‘Well—’

  ‘No.’ She kissed him. ‘Bath.’ Slithering away, off the bed. ‘Then out for supper – if that’s what you want. We could have something here, you know?’

  ‘Let’s go to the Greek place.’

  ‘All right. And then—’


  ‘Back here.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll say “Would you like to come in for a nightcap, Commander Mitcheson?”’

  ‘And I might accept… Lucia, listen to me, just a moment. I’m sorry, but I want you to tell me about Ettore Angelucci. Maybe it’s none of my business, but—’

  ‘I don’t want it to become your business, Ned.’

  ‘All right.’ Watching her: thinking that one out – or trying to… ‘All right. I’m not questioning your motives – although I’d like to know why you said that – but you see, when I bumped into him out there he began to say “Oh, I thought you were at sea” – or words to that effect. So I think really it is my business?’

  She’d put on a light dressing-gown – a peignoir, pale yellow, silky. Tightening its belt. ‘Well. In that case—’

  ‘Would he have known from you that I was at sea?’

  ‘Not directly. Of course not. But that you hadn’t been around – and I hadn’t, we hadn’t been seen out together – remember wherever we go there are eyes to see, tongues wag—’

  ‘Yes. All right. So he came to see you because he had reason to think he would not run into me. That a fair assumption?’

  Lucia nodded. ‘I would guess so. But not as this might sound – in the obvious way, I mean. He knows better than that.’

  ‘I believe you. But what was he after?’

  ‘I’ll tell you first why I’d have kept this from you. It’s because I don’t want trouble for us. That’s the only reason, Ned. I didn’t want to bring you into it, at all. All right, I have to, now – and consequently you’ll decide you have to do something about it – to protect me, or in some way officially. For me, that’s not so good either. Anyway – too late. Ned, here it is. In Ettore’s view, all Italians should be against you British. I should be, too. That’s what he’s telling me – was telling me today. Rather formally, pompously now – before he’s made remarks – vicious remarks, you know? This was – well, he’d come here to – to force his views on me, you might say. Not only his own views – they have an Association, you know. I should take an active part in all of this, he said. Take orders from them. Attend their meetings. They make speeches, and so forth, send messages of loyalty to the Army Command—’

  ‘Italian Army Command?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’

  This was worse than he’d expected. Much worse. He’d been ready to hear that Angelucci had expressed resentment at her consorting with an Englishman: something of that kind. But nothing like this. In fact it took a moment to adjust, come to terms with it. He nodded, staring at her.

  ‘How do they send messages?’

  ‘God knows. But he – Ettore – said that if I was wise I’d be with them. Who is not with them is against them, and if an Italian is not with them he or she is a traitor. When their army takes over here in Alexandria, I could be shot. Unless—’

  ‘Unless you sign on.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Because you’d be useful to them, or because he doesn’t want to see you shot?’

  ‘According to him, both. And he suggested that I could tell him things you told me.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise. Things such as what?’

  ‘I don’t know. If I agreed to work with them, I suppose they’d tell me what to ask you. They don’t realize you wouldn’t tell me anything in any case, that we never discuss any naval or military affairs. Anyway – I told him no, no, no. But the other side of it, now. Ned, I have to tell you something else I’ve kept from you until now. It’s not really a part of this, but I’ve felt bad about not telling you. And if you heard of it from some other source, you might think I was – well, dishonest with you, or—’

  ‘I don’t believe I would. ’

  ‘It’s this, Ned. I have an uncle – my father’s elder brother – who is an admiral in the Italian navy. I know I should have told you. I’m sorry. I’ve no wish to keep any secrets from you. That’s the truth, Ned.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt of it.’ He reached to take her hands. ‘I may be slow on the uptake, but I can’t immediately see that it affects us all that closely. He’s on the active list now, is he, this uncle?’

  ‘Yes. His name is Cesare. He’s Ammiraglio di Squadra. Isn’t that Vice-Admiral? It was very much his influence on my brother Emilio that made him ran away back to Italy and join the navy, when he did. They’re – they were – quite close. I think to an extent he took the place of our father, to Emilio. Although Emilio in any case wouldn’t have needed much persuading.’

  ‘Understandable, I suppose. Well – would be, except that he had the same father you had. But the uncle, too… Although brothers don’t have to see eye to eye, of course. His prospects weren’t damaged, I take it, by your father’s anti-Fascist record?’

  ‘It seems not.’

  ‘That’s the man I admire.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘Yes. That kind of courage. That’s—’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. I, too… Ned – coming back to Ettore Angelucci now. In Italy, I knew this boy by name of Vittorio Longanesi. He was in the P.N.F. then – Partito Nazionale Fascista, he’d been in the youth movement before that with my brother. Older than him, to Emilio he was a hero, you know—’

  ‘Is this the one you were – involved with?’

  ‘Oh. You recognize him – from that description.’ She shrugged. ‘And – yes. That one. The point is, Ettore knows him too. It’s how he and his family know the Seydoux family here now, you see – our families knew each other in Italy, so when the Angeluccis came to Egypt they naturally had introduction to my mother’s brother. But Ettore was also in the Balilla, when he was a young boy. And it seems he must still be in touch with Vittorio – Vittorio Longanesi – now. Vittorio joined the air force – Ettore told me he’s a major or something and he’d asked after me. Somehow. A letter, I suppose. Emilio had told him I was still here, and – that’s how he knew. Ettore asked me: “What shall I tell him? That you’re a traitor?” I said: “Tell him whatever he liked – or tell him nothing, I don’t care, it’s past, all that, it’s dead.” I’m sorry, Ned – but it was all long, long ago, in any case I never wanted—’

  ‘I know.’ Holding her close, and tight, her heart thumping against him through the flimsy gown. ‘It has absolutely damn-all to do with us.’

  ‘I still wish it hadn’t happened.’

  ‘Should I rake up a few things to confess?’ Holding her… ‘Things I wish I hadn’t done? I’ll make a list, some time. Hey, don’t cry now. Don’t, please!’

  ‘Will you do anything about Ettore?’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to!’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I thought.’

  ‘I’d be very remiss not to. You were dead right. That business of communications, in particular – with their Army command, you said.’

  ‘You see why I wasn’t telling you. If the police go to question him won’t he guess that I’m the one who informed on him?’

  ‘I dare say he would.’

  ‘And his friends in the Association, you see. There are a lot of Italians in this town, and I’d guess most of them are in it.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘But I still must – in fact all the more reason—’

  ‘So—’

  ‘I’ll fix it some way that won’t backfire on you.’ Thinking about it, stroking her hair. ‘My darling, I’ll see it doesn’t. Trust me, I’ll make sure it can’t.’

  Ned thought about that promise, in the bath. She was in it too, eating an orange – a habit she’d kept since childhood, apparently. Lazily watching her – he’d started with a cigarette but it was sodden now, in the soap-dish – thinking for about the thousandth time how quite astonishingly beautiful she was: and how damn lucky he was… Except for this bloody complication now, the possible threat to her and the problem of how to handle it.

  An obvious starting-point was Josh Currie, who had Intelligence connections. Sound him out first, make certain her name would be kept right out of it. Oth
erwise one could imagine Currie saying, ‘Look, I had to agree I wouldn’t tell you this, but there’s a girl involved. She has to be kept out of it as far as you can, but…’

  Could be maligning him. But one didn’t know him all that well, really. A few games of squash, a meal or two and a lot of drinks: on duty, business, you could be looking at a different kind of man entirely. And he in turn would be talking to some cloak-and-dagger specialist who might need to be persuaded to take action, or might be only too keen to, without regard to side-effects.

  ‘Piastre for the deep thoughts, Ned?’

  ‘Oh, they’re worth more than that.’

  ‘Five piastres.’

  ‘Deal. I was thinking that you’re the most stunningly lovely girl – outside of fantasy, erotic dreams—’

  ‘It’s not what you were in a daze about, is it?’

  ‘No. Truth is, I was still thinking about Ettore Angelucci and his friends.’

  ‘I guessed so. I so wish he hadn’t come. The one day we have together—’

  ‘Here’s a new thought. Right off the bat. If there is some actual danger to you – would you think of moving to Cairo permanently? If you’d be safer there?’

  She looked horrified. ‘So we’d see each other – what, once every six months?’

  ‘We’d do better than that. And if there is real danger—’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Lucia, I’d rather be with you less often and know you were safe. Although – talking like this – well, I mean it’s weird – the notion you could actually be in danger—’

  ‘Crazy notion. What could they do, those people?’

  Gazing at her. Preferring not to answer that question: despite the sense of unreality, which he’d just mentioned. She pointed a soapy finger at him: she was at the taps end of the tub, having to sit bolt upright while he lay back, wallowing. ‘Anyway, why would Cairo be safer than here?’

  ‘Well – as you say, this town’s full of Italians. Cairo isn’t: you’d see ’em coming, in Cairo. And if you lived in your mother and stepfather’s house you’d be much less vulnerable. Mightn’t you get a job working for the Free French, through your stepfather?’