Complete Works of Nevil Shute

by Nevil Shute

  The Group Captain nodded.

  The pilot eyed him, smiling a little. “First the Prince and all his family, and then Princess Anne and all hers. Looks like a general evacuation.”

  “It may do,” said Frank Cox. “But that’s nothing to do with us.”

  “No. Well, that’s the dope, sir. We can do it day or night, whichever they prefer. I’d like a day’s notice, because of the food.”

  “I’ll let you know in good time,” said the Group Captain.

  “The boys were asking about Christmas leave,” said David. “They’ve most of them got relations in this country.”

  Cox shook his head. “There’ll be no Christmas leave for your crew, Nigger,” he said. “At least, I don’t think so. I think you may be off upon another job.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not important,” said the pilot. “They’d rather be working than just sitting around. Where’s that one to?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t think they’ve made up their minds.”

  It was announced next morning in the Press that the Prince and Princess of Wales had left with their family to spend the Christmas holidays at the Royal Residence at Gatineau where little George and Alice would have their first skiing lesson. The Times, in an editorial, commented upon the happy effect on Commonwealth relations of these domestic movements of the Royal Family from country to country. No mention, however, was made of the forthcoming visit of the Princess Royal and the Duke of Havant to Kenya.

  That day, Thursday, David rang up Rosemary at the Palace and suggested they should dine together. “I’ll be going away soon,” he said. “What about tonight?”

  She said, “It’s just a question of getting off, Nigger . . . Things have been busy recently. I didn’t get back to the flat till after ten o’clock last night.”

  “My word,” he said. “You must be very tired.”

  “I’m all right.” There was a pause. “I don’t like to say we’d dine at Mario’s — the place in Shepherds Market — in case I can’t get there.”

  “What’d you do by yourself?” he asked.

  “Oh — I’d just cook up something in the flat and go to bed.”

  “I can cook,” he said. “I do want to see you, because of what’s going on. Would you think it out of order if I came up with some tins of things and waited for you in the flat, and cooked you something there? I won’t stay very long.”

  “Oh, David!” she said. “That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t have to worry about being late then. Can you really cook?”

  “Too right I can,” he said. “How will I get into the flat?”

  She told him about the caretaker in the basement who had a key. “I’ll ring her up and tell her it’s all right to let you in,” she said. “I’ll try and be back by seven, but I don’t know if I’ll make it. Don’t go reading all my love letters.”

  “Of course I shall,” he said. “It’s not often a bloke gets a chance like this.”

  He drove up to London in the late afternoon with a small suitcase full of tins that he had brought back from Australia in the Ceres, paid a supplementary visit to Fortnum and Mason’s, and went to the flat. The caretaker let him in and he put down the suitcase on the table, and looked around with pleasure, carefully studying her pictures and her books. A quarter of an hour later he woke up and took his jacket off, and began to investigate the resources of the little kitchenette. He unpacked his case and planned the meal, and then he found the cutlery and cloth and laid the table. He deviated from the path of rectitude then to peep rather shyly into her bedroom, but he did not go beyond the door and closed it again, feeling guilty.

  When she came hurrying back to the flat she found the table laid and the fire lit, and a glass of sherry ready poured out for her with a plate of caviar on biscuits beside it. She was cold and weary as she came in from the street, and there were these good things, and a delicious smell from the kitchenette, and Nigger Anderson, big and dark and cheerful and comforting. “Oh, Nigger,” she said, “how simply wonderful! What’s that you’ve got cooking?”

  “Casserole of pheasant,” he said. “Are you very tired?”

  “Not now,” she said. “I never smelt anything so good.”

  “It’s the wine,” he said. “Australian wine. I always put a good dollop of wine into a casserole. It covers up a lot of the deficiencies.”

  “And caviar!” She went into the bedroom and threw off her coat; in a few minutes she came back to him, her eyes shining. “You can’t think what it means to come back to a warm room, and a meal all ready made!”

  He handed her her sherry and took his own tomato juice. Together they nibbled the caviar biscuits. “Very busy today?” he asked. He studied her as she sat opposite him; there were fine lines of fatigue around her eyes and her mouth.

  “A bit,” she said. “Let’s not talk about it just yet, Nigger. Not till I’m warmed up.”

  He nodded. “It’s different to the Canberra Hotel,” he said. “It was just comfortably warm then, to my way of thinking.”

  She nodded. “It was lovely there. It’s so difficult to realize that it was only ten days ago, and that it’s all there still, the same flowers even, on the same stalks in the garden.” She stared at the glowing radiants of the fire. “I love England,” she said thoughtfully. “But I’m beginning to realize that there are other places one could get to love as well.”

  “England in spring is just a fairyland,” he said. “I’ll give you that. But anyone can have it at this time of year, so far as I’m concerned.”

  She laughed, and sipped her sherry. “Where did you get the sherry from, Nigger?” she asked. “It’s not mine, is it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s a South Australian wine — quite a cheap one. Do you like it?”

  “I think it’s very good. I suppose you brought a lot of stuff back in the aeroplane, hidden away somewhere?”

  He laughed. “I should think we had half a ton of food on board, between the lot of us. Food and drink. I told each member of the crew that he could bring a hundred pounds — weight, that is.”

  “Oh, Nigger!”

  Presently she said, “You’re going away again tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “Tomorrow or Saturday,” he said. “I’ve not heard yet.”

  “I think it’s tomorrow,” she replied. “Major Macmahon was talking to Lord Marlow about it just before I came away. Princess Anne wants to go tomorrow, late at night.”

  “Have they told Frank Cox?”

  “I think they were ringing him about the time I left.”

  He nodded. Ryder would take the message if it came that evening, and warn the crew. And while the thought was in his mind, the telephone rang. The girl got up and answered it, and handed the microphone to him, smiling. “It’s Flight Lieutenant Ryder,” she said.

  He spoke to his co-pilot for a few minutes, and set the necessary arrangements in train. He put down the instrument, and she was standing by his side; she had finished her sherry. “Let’s eat, Nigger,” she said. “I can’t stand being tantalized by your casserole any longer. I’m just drooling at the mouth.” So they dished up the casserole and the creamed potatoes and the peas, and he opened half a bottle of claret for her, and they sat down to dinner.

  He had tinned peaches and tinned cream for her as a sweet, both from the other side of the world. Over the peaches she said, “I suppose you’ll stock up again tomorrow or the next day, in Kenya, David?”

  He laughed. “I suppose so. I think I’ll go on to Nairobi when I’ve put them down at Nanyuki, and let the boys have a night’s rest. We’ve got to refuel somewhere before starting home — there’s no fuel at Nanyuki. Make a daylight flight home on the Sunday, and get in well before dark this time.” He smiled. “I don’t want to end up in Driffield.”

  “That won’t happen again, Nigger,” she said. “Not that one, anyway.”

  “They gave us all our licences in a great hurry last Monday,” he remarked. “Did something bl
ow up in your place?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I know Philip sent for Lord Coles on Saturday and he had him in the study for nearly half an hour. I don’t know what they said, of course. I only know Lord Coles had a smile on his face when he went in, and he hadn’t got it on when he came out.”

  “Too bad,” said the pilot. He paused, and then he said, “Charles is in Canada with all his family by now, and with three quarters of a ton of luggage. I’m taking Princess Anne to Nyeri with Havant and all their family, and I suppose there’ll be three quarters of a ton of luggage going with them, too.”

  The girl nodded.

  “There’ll only be the Queen and the Consort left in England, in the direct line of the Monarchy,” he said.

  Rosemary dropped her eyes, and studied the dish in front of her. “That’s happened often enough before.”

  “Maybe. But Frank Cox wants me back here quick from Kenya, because there may be another job for me to do.”

  The girl glanced at him, troubled. “You think too much, Nigger,” she said. “You go putting two and two together when there’s no occasion to. You don’t have to know what’s coming, and it’s better not to, sometimes.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m not prying into the secrets of the Royal Family,” he said. “I’ll do what I’m told to do when the time comes, and I’ll ask no questions. I’m thinking about you and me. Will you be coming too, this time?”

  “I think so,” she said slowly. “Whatever comes out of this, I think Major Macmahon will be with her, and I’ll be with him.”

  “Fine,” he said. “That’s all I want to know.”

  She sat in silence for a time. “David,” she said at last, “I want you to be very, very careful in the next few days. People may try to get things out of you, but they mustn’t. People may try getting at your crew in some way — I don’t know. They might try and put the aeroplane out of action, even. Funny things are going on that I can’t possibly talk about, even to you. But if you want to do a good job for the Queen, be very, very careful in the next few days, till after Christmas.”

  He met her eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ll remember that.”

  They got up from the table presently, and stacked the dishes for her caretaker to wash up in the morning. Then she poured out cups of coffee for them from the percolator, and they went back into the sitting room, and sat down before the fire again. “You’re very tired,” he said quietly. “You must go to bed and get a long night’s sleep. I’m going home when I’ve drunk this.”

  “I’m not tired,” she said. “It’s just that it’s a bit of a strain on all of us, with all this going on.”

  He smiled gently. “You’ve had three years of it,” he remarked. “I think that’s enough for anyone, but possibly I’m biased.”

  The girl said simply, “She’s had thirty years of it, David.”

  “It’s not always been like this, though, has it?” he remarked. “I mean, this is a specially bad time — this trouble with her ministers?”

  She nodded. “I think it is. But the work’s always been too heavy for one woman, David. Even in the easy times, the mass of state papers that she’s got to read and sign, the mass of things she must attend to personally, the stupid social functions that she must attend. It’s been too much for anyone, for the last hundred years. Ever since the Monarch became serious and responsible, he’s been grossly overworked. It’s nothing new, this thing.” She paused. “Prince Albert died of overwork, Albert the Good. Victoria could only tackle it alone by withdrawing from society completely. Edward the Seventh and George the Fifth — they neither of them made old bones; they worked at their desks all day until they went to bed to die. George the Sixth worked himself to death, like Albert the Good. Elizabeth and Philip have had thirty years of it, longer than any of the others except Queen Victoria. They’ve stuck it out — they’ve been able to carry the job because they’ve worked together as a team, and they’ve done marvellously. But they can’t carry it much longer. They’re getting old now, David, old before their time.”

  There was a silence. “Well, what’s the answer?” he asked at last. “When she dies, will the Monarchy break up? Is she the last King or Queen of England?”

  “Not if she can help it,” the girl said. “You see, if that happened it would certainly mean the end of the Commonwealth.”

  She got to her feet. “Don’t let’s talk any more tonight, David,” she said. “I can’t keep secrets from you, and I’ve got to keep them a bit longer. You do understand, don’t you?”

  He rose, and stood beside her. “Sure,” he said. “It’s time you went to bed. Will you sleep all right, with all this on your mind? I’ll go out and get you something, if you’ll take it.”

  She smiled. “I’ll sleep all right. I’ve got some stuff to take if I can’t, but I hardly ever use it. You’ve got to get a good night’s rest yourself. You’ll be up all tomorrow night, won’t you, flying to Kenya?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be right. I’ve got a straight job with no worries, nothing to lose sleep over.” He smiled down at her. “You’re my only worry at the moment.”

  She reached out impulsively and took his hand. “Dear Nigger . . .” She smiled up at him. “It was very sweet of you to come this evening, and it was a lovely dinner.”

  He took her other hand and drew her to him; she relaxed into his arms and put her face up, and he kissed her. She stood for a few minutes nestling in his arms while he kissed her face and stroked her hair; then she withdrew a little. “We mustn’t start doing this,” she said quietly. “Not yet.”

  He smiled down at her. “It’s a bit late to say that,” he replied softly. “We’ve started.”

  “I know,” she said. “But we mustn’t go on.”

  His arm was still around her shoulders. “We can take it easy till things straighten out a bit,” he replied. “But you won’t forget this, and I won’t either. We go on from here till we get married, and it can’t be too soon for me.”

  “Dear Nigger . . .” she said again. And then she looked up into his face. “We won’t wait any longer than we’ve got to. It may not be so long as I thought once.”

  “How long?”

  “She may be in calm water in a few months’ time,” the girl said. “I could leave her then.” And then she withdrew herself from his arms, and only held one of his hands. “You’re making me talk again,” she said. “I mustn’t talk, David. Please.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m going to go away,” he said, “and you must go to bed. Wish I was coming with you.”

  She laughed. “David! If you talk like that I’ll think I’m not safe with you in the flat.”

  “No more you are,” he said. “You’re taking a great risk.” He turned and picked up his uniform coat and cap. “It’s girls like you,” he said, “that makes boys go wrong.”

  “We’ll go wrong one day,” she said, “when she’s in calm water. I’ll promise you that.”

  “That’s a bet,” he said. He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Good night, Rosemary.”

  She said softly, “Good night, David dear. Look after yourself on the way to Kenya.”

  He drove back to Maidenhead in his small sports car in a rosy dream, but not so far lost to the world that he was unmindful of her warning to be careful. He slept soundly in his bed, but by ten o’clock next morning he was back in London, in an office in Shell House, and closeted in privacy with the Chief Aviation Representative, a Mr. Corbett. To him he disclosed the fact in strictest confidence that he was leaving on a long flight that evening. “I want a couple of empty tank waggons down this afternoon, and an oil truck,” he said. “I want every drop of fuel and oil pumped out of my Ceres and inspected by someone on your staff with some kind of a sample analysis. I don’t want to find when I switch on another tank that there’s water or sugar or some other damn stuff mixed up with the fuel, or the oil. Then when you give it a clean bill, we’ll pump it back again into the aircra
ft.” He paused. “And I don’t want it talked about.”

  Mr. Corbett raised his eyebrows. “I’ll come down myself.”

  The business took about three hours that afternoon; by five o’clock the aircraft was refuelled and given a clean bill. David had the whole crew at the hangar while this was going on except the stewards; when the tank waggons had gone he sent half of the crew away to get their luggage and stayed in the machine with the other half; he was taking no chances. At ten o’clock they pulled the Ceres from the hangar with the tractor and ran each engine for a few minutes; while they were doing this a closed van loaded with luggage arrived. At a quarter to eleven the Princess Royal with the Duke and their three children drove up followed by another car with nurse, maid, and valet. Frank Cox and David met them on the tarmac and showed them into the machine; then Frank Cox got out, the door closed, and David went forward to his job.

  It was a blustery, moist night on the ground, and they entered cloud at about a thousand feet. They broke out of the last layer at about sixteen thousand, and climbed up on their course in the bright moonlight. Princess Anne came forward to the cockpit with her husband for a few minutes and talked to the pilots, but there was nothing to be seen but the blue night and the bright moon and the cloud floor far below, and presently they went aft to lie down.

  They left the cloud behind as they passed southwards, and at midnight they came to the Mediterranean and got a glimpse of the lights of Genoa between the parting clouds. At one-fifteen they crossed the end of Sicily somewhere near Catania, and at two-fifteen they crossed the coast of Africa at Benghazi. At four-thirty their radio bearings showed Khartoum abeam and some three hundred miles to the west of them, and here they met the dawn, for they were flying to the southeast. An hour later David started on the long let down, and at six-fifteen he picked up the black line of the airstrip on the north side of Mt. Kenya. He approached it cautiously in wide descending circuits, for he had never been there before, and at six thirty-five by Greenwich time he touched his wheels down on the tarmac and taxied to the cars parked by the runway. On the ground it was nine o’clock in the morning, and the African sun was already hot.