Complete Works of Nevil Shute

by Nevil Shute

  She said, “You’d rather have your lunch in here, sir, wouldn’t you? You don’t want to mix with the other passengers?”

  He said, “Er — if it’s not an awful lot of trouble.”

  “Of course it’s not,” she said. “I’ll bring it you about one o’clock. There’s cold meat, or hot Irish stew, and I saw some cold salmon in the larder, but there’s not enough of that to go round so I think the staff are having it. Would you like a salmon mayonnaise?”

  He said, “I’d love that, if it’s going.” And he gave her one of his shy, warming smiles.

  She nodded. “There’s treacle tart afterwards, or semolina pudding.”

  “Treacle tart, please.”

  She nodded. “And coffee?”

  “Please.”

  “Bottle of beer?”

  “Well — if there is one — yes, that would be very nice.”

  She nodded. “Have you got enough to smoke?”

  “Well — I would like another packet of cigarettes. Player’s, if they’ve got them.”

  “I’ll get you those at once.”

  She brought his cigarettes and a box of matches, and a few minutes later she took an easy chair from the lounge and carried it along the passage and put it in the office for him. Mr. Honey sat reading the Cosmopolitan and smoking his cigarettes in some comfort, warmed by the solicitude of the girl. He felt in better spirits now, ready to face whatever might be coming to him.

  The Hermes from Quebec came in and landed before lunch; Mr. Honey stood at his window and watched it taxi in. Miss Corder brought him his tray of lunch, with the salmon and the bottle of beer. “All the other passengers are having their lunch now,” she said. “They’re going on in the Hermes as soon as it’s refuelled. All except Miss Teasdale, who’s decided that she wants to go back to England.”

  He said, “She’s very kindly offered to take a note back to Dr. Scott for me. It seems an awful imposition, but she offered to, and it really is a great help.”

  The girl said, “I should think she’s very nice, when you get to know her.”

  “I think she is,” said Honey. “Of course, one thinks one knows her from seeing her films, but really, she’s quite a different person altogether.” He laughed. “It’s a bit confusing.”

  Miss Corder said, “I think her films are lovely. I never miss one, if I can help it.”

  She went out, and Mr. Honey ate his lunch, and presently stood at his window watching the Hermes load up with its passengers and taxi out towards the runway’s end, watched it as it left the ground and slid off into the distance. He turned again to the Cosmopolitan; presently the stewardess came back to take his tray.

  “You don’t have to use this office any longer, sir, unless you want to,” she said. “There’s nobody here now except the crew and Miss Teasdale.”

  He said, “Well — I’ll sit in the lounge. Where is Miss Teasdale?”

  “I think she’s lying down, sir. Shall I bring your coffee to the lounge?”

  “Oh — yes, please do.”

  He stayed in the lounge all afternoon. Three or four aircraft landed to refuel, and there was a stream of passengers from them in and out, stretching their legs and gossiping together over cups of coffee or short drinks. Mr. Honey sat insignificant in a corner, unhappy. Now that the first excitement had passed, he was miserably anxious about his own position; clearly there was going to be a most appalling row about the Reindeer, and he was quite unused to rows, and hated them. Personal unpleasantness always upset his work; he could not think clearly if his mind was full of hard things that had been said about him, and he liked thinking clearly. Rows frightened him; he would go to considerable lengths to avoid them. For the first time in years the thought of resigning his position at the R.A.E. entered his mind.

  If things got too nasty, he could always do that. He could resign, and not go there any more. True, it would be a terrible wrench to part from the work he loved; true, he would have to find another job. But he was not unknown in the intimate, unpublicised, middle world of science; he was on blinking and smiling terms with the heads of several other research departments. Perhaps a little niche would open out for him at the National Physical Laboratory, or the Admiralty Research Laboratory. He knew people at both places, and he could be happy there, though not so happy as he now felt he had been while dealing with fatigue in light alloy structures.

  By tea-time he was in a state of deep dejection. When Marjorie Corder brought him his tea, unasked, she noticed his preoccupation. “Haven’t you been out?” she asked. “Have you been sitting here all the time?”

  He nodded. “I’ve had a lot to think about.”

  “It’s nice outside,” she said. “There’s a cold wind, but if you wrap up well it’s rather lovely.”

  He was not listening to her words; he only heard her sympathy. “I wish they’d cable and say what I’m to do,” he muttered. “I’m afraid I shall have to resign.”

  “Resign your job?” she said. She looked down at him with deep compassion; he was such an unhappy little man, and yet so terribly clever. “You mustn’t think of that. They’ll understand, back at your office.”

  “I think I’ll have to,” he said miserably. “I think it’s the only thing to do.”

  She said gently, “Look, I got you some buttered toast, and there’s anchovy paste here, and jam. I got you strawberry jam, but would you rather have apricot? There’s apricot if you’d rather have that.”

  He roused, and smiled at her. “No — I like strawberry, thank you.”

  She poured out his tea for him. “Is that how you like it? I brought you a piece of cherry cake and a piece of madeira, but there’s more of either if you want it.”

  “Oh — thank you very much, but I don’t think I shall want any more. I don’t think I shall get through all of this.”

  “Well, let’s see you try.”

  She went away and had her own tea in the staff room, but in her turn she was preoccupied. She recognised in Mr. Honey a man of moods, capable of deep depression; all geniuses, she had read, were men like that. She was not a very talented girl herself, nor very highly educated; she had had to go to work too early. She was firmly convinced that Mr. Honey was a genius and that he was right about the Reindeer tail. She could not help him in the matter of the Reindeer directly, but she might be able to do something to ease the burdens on his mind. It shocked her that he should be talking of resigning from the R.A.E. She felt, dimly, that if that were to happen her country would have suffered an irreparable loss, because he was the cleverest man that she had ever met. He had seen through into her secret places at one glance, and had known that she would be good with children.

  When she went to take his tray, she asked, “Do you play chess, Mr. Honey?”

  He looked up in surprise. “Chess? I haven’t played for years. My — my wife and I used to play in the evenings, sometimes. It’s a very good game.”

  “I can play a little,” she said. “I’m not very good. Would you like a game, or would you rather read?”

  He roused. “No — I’d like a game of chess. Are you sure that you can spare the time, though?”

  “I’ve only got two passengers left now,” she said, “ — you and Miss Teasdale, and she’s still lying down. I’ll bring the things along.” She took his tray.

  She played three games with him, and beat him once; she suspected that he had contrived to be mated by her, and she liked him for it. In the course of the two and a half hours she had learned a good deal about Elspeth. “What do you do about her clothes, Mr. Honey?” she had asked curiously. “Who buys those for you?”

  He said, “Oh, whenever she needs anything I take her to a shop in Farnham. The woman that keeps it is really very helpful, and I buy what she says.”

  She stared at him. “But do you just take what’s in the one shop?”

  He replied, “Well, yes I do. I suppose one ought to go to other shops sometimes, but it’s so much easier to do it that way.” He h
esitated. “I’ve sometimes thought that Elspeth isn’t dressed quite like the other girls at school,” he admitted. “I suppose I ought to learn a bit more about what schoolgirls wear. Do you think if I took in Vogue or some paper like that it would help?”

  She was at a loss. “I don’t think that’s quite the right sort of paper,” she said. “I’ll think of something, and let you know, if you like.”

  “I wish you would,” he said. “She’s getting so big now that I think I ought to do something.” He paused, and then he said, “Mrs. Higgs gives me a lot of advice, but I don’t know that Elspeth isn’t outgrowing that.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Higgs?”

  “She’s the charwoman. She’s got a lot of children of her own, and she’s really been very helpful.”

  “Oh ...”

  Later on she asked him, “What do you do at the week-ends?”

  He said, “Well, we don’t do very much. Cleaning the house up takes us a lot of time, of course, and then there’s the garden to be done, and cooking. It just seems to go.” He turned to her. “There never seems to be time for anything. When — when Mary was there we always had time to do things on a Sunday — photography, or hiking in the summer. But now there just doesn’t seem to be time.”

  She nodded. “Are you fond of hiking?”

  “We used to do a lot,” he said.

  “Staying in Youth Hostels?” she inquired, her eyes gleaming.

  “Sometimes. Have you done that?” He was interested.

  She nodded. “I had a lovely holiday in the Lake District once,” she said thoughtfully. “Four of us, staying in Youth Hostels every night, for a fortnight. It was fun.” She turned to him. “That was when I was engaged,” she said simply.

  “Oh ...” He glanced at her hand, but there was no ring. She saw his glance. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “He was in Bomber Command, and got shot down over Dortmund. I thought the end of the world had come. But I suppose it hadn’t.”

  “My dear,” said Mr. Honey, “I’m so very sorry.”

  She roused herself. “Your move,” she said.

  She went away after the third game to assist in serving dinner, and presently Miss Teasdale appeared, looking fresh and radiant and about eighteen years old. She said, “Say, Mr. Honey, I just heard my plane’s coming in around nine o’clock, so we’ll have time for dinner before I go.” She ordered an Old-fashioned for herself and persuaded him to join her; beer was his normal drink and he took the novelty gingerly, and under the influence he pulled out his wallet and showed her a photograph of Elspeth.

  “My,” said the actress, “doesn’t she look cute?”

  He agreed. “I think she’s more intelligent than children of her age usually are,” he said. “She’s only twelve, but she’s got a very good grasp of crystallography.”

  She stared at him. “What’s that?”

  He smiled. “Everything,” he said. “All matter is built up of the associations that result in crystals, like miniature universes. It’s an extraordinary thing that schools don’t teach more about it.” He turned to her. “Schools only teach results,” he said. “All the basic knowledge that Elspeth has, she seems to have got from me.”

  “I’d believe that,” she replied. “Say, does she get around at all — parties with boy friends, and that sort of thing?”

  “Who — Elspeth? She’s only just a child.” He was amazed. “She’s only twelve years old.”

  Miss Teasdale laughed. “From what you say about her crystal — crystall — what you said, she sounds to be about forty. Still, maybe English children don’t get around so early as they do at home. Has she got a flapjack?”

  “What’s that?”

  She stared at him. “For powder.” She rummaged in her bag. “Like this.”

  He was at a loss. “No,” he said weakly. “Ought she to have one?”

  She laughed. “It’s not obligatory. I guess she ought to have it when she wants it.”

  “I really don’t think she’s old enough for that,” he said. “I don’t think any of the other children at her school have those.”

  “Maybe not.” And then she said, “Tell me about this Dr. Scott that I’m to go and see. And how do I get to this place you work at, Farnborough?”

  He told her, and wrote a short letter for her to give to me, and presently they dined together. Then her plane landed to refuel and the lounge was filled with passengers stretching their legs after the flight up from New York. In the bustle he said good-bye to her as her luggage was carried out. “I’ll tell him just the way you’re fixed,” she said. “Leave it to me. And I’ll say that you’d appreciate it if you could get back to your work in England.”

  “Do please tell him that,” he said earnestly. “I really feel I’m much more use in the Establishment than on this sort of thing.”

  The passengers departed and the plane taxied away for the take-off for England in the dusk. Mr. Honey was left reading the Saturday Evening Post in the deserted lounge. At ten o’clock the stewardess came up softly behind him. “I’ve got a bedroom ready for you, sir,” she said. “Would you like me to show you which it is? It’s just over the road.”

  He said, “Oh, thank you,” and got up, and went with her out into the night. It was cold and bright and brilliantly starry out on the road. To the north the sky was shot with spears of glimmering white light reaching up towards the zenith. They paused for a minute, looking at it. “That’s the aurora,” the girl said. “They call it Northern Lights here. We often see it.”

  He said, “It’s associated with the cosmic rays, I believe. It would be interesting to find out more about it.” And then he said, unusually for him, “It’s very beautiful.”

  “It’s wild,” the girl said, “and uncanny. I don’t like it much.” She took him into a two-storeyed wooden hutment, one of a row upon the other side of the road, and opened a door. He saw rather a bare bedroom, but his bag had been unpacked for him, and his hairbrush and shaving things laid out neatly on the dressing-table, and his pyjamas put to air upon the radiator so that they would be warm for him to get into, and the bed was turned down invitingly. “I put a hot-water-bottle in the bed,” she said. “I hope you’ll find everything all right, sir.”

  He had not been treated like that for years. “Oh, thank you,” he said. “It all looks most comfortable. Did you do all this for me?”

  She smiled. “It’s what I’m here for, sir.” She hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind — I’ve taken two pairs of your socks to darn. They’ve both got holes in the toe. I’ll bring them with your tea in the morning.”

  He said, “Oh please, you don’t have to bother. They won’t show.”

  The girl said, “I’ve got nothing else to do, and you can’t go around like that.” She hesitated. “I did notice your pyjama coat has a great tear in the back,” she said. “If you let me have that tomorrow I’ll mend it for you. It must be terribly uncomfortable wearing it like that.”

  He flushed. “It’s so old,” he said. “I ought to get another suit, but there never seem to be any coupons.”

  She asked curiously, “Who mends your clothes when you’re at home?”

  “Oh, I do that myself,” he said. “It’s really very little trouble, and Elspeth’s getting quite good at it, too. We get along splendidly, only the coupons are so short.”

  Coupons, she knew, were always short for the bad managers. “I’ll take your jacket anyway tomorrow,” she said. “The material’s quite good — it’ll patch all right.”

  “I don’t like putting you to so much trouble,” he said.

  “I’d like to do it,” the girl said. “I like mending things.”

  She went away, and Mr. Honey went to bed in greater comfort than he had experienced for many years. He stood for a few moments in his torn pyjamas before opening the window, looking at the Northern Lights, noting the form of the radiation. Then he got into bed; with his feet resting snugly on the hot-water-bottle he was able to relax and think abo
ut the geographical distribution of the cosmic rays, a subject that was beginning to intrigue him. He lay in warm comfort doing mental calculations of the strength of the earth’s magnetic field in various latitudes and computing its effect upon the distribution of the protons and the positrons as they approach the planet, till sleep came to him.

  He was roused at eight o’clock in the morning by the stewardess, who brought him a cup of tea and a few slices of bread and butter on a tray. She pulled his curtains and let in the sunlight. “It’s going to be a lovely day, sir,” she said. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  He smiled at her. “What can I have?”

  “Orange or pineapple juice,” she said. “Porridge or cereals. Eggs anyway you like. Bacon, cold ham, sausages. Buckwheat cakes and syrup with a sausage on the side — that’s very good. Toast, hot rolls ...”

  He considered this. “Could I have porridge and bacon and eggs?”

  “Two eggs?”

  “Well — yes, if I can.”

  “Coffee or tea?”

  “Er — coffee, I think.”

  She nodded. “What time would you like it? It’s eight o’clock now.”

  “Oh, I don’t take long. Half-past eight?”

  “Very good, sir.” She paused, and then she said, “I want to go out for a walk this morning — it’s such a lovely day. Would you like to do that?”

  He considered this. “Well — yes, I would. It seems rather stupid to be in Newfoundland and see nothing of the country, doesn’t it? May I come with you?”

  “Of course,” she said. “The Gander River’s only about two miles away and there’s a road down to that, but there’s nothing much to do there except bathe, and it’s frightfully cold still. But going the other way, out past the restaurant, there’s a path that takes you to a lake; it’s awfully pretty there. That’s where people go to fish. Do you do any fishing, sir?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “The staff, the people stationed here, go fishing there on their days off,” she said. “They catch salmon and trout and all sorts of things. But apart from that, it’s terribly pretty. We could go there, if you like.”