“Hmmm,” Hardy said. “You mean such as a cruiser?”
“Yes,” Beatrice said. She felt more at ease although she hadn’t the least idea what a cruiser was.
“Oh, I’ve seen them out there,” Hardy said, nodding. He was becoming reacquainted with his ambitions. “Fine lot. Heavy chaps. Fine lines, all of them. Had my eyes on Belfast once. Of course, when I came out of Dartmouth, nothing would suit me but a battleship. Oh, I’d have a battle cruiser if one were offered, being young and foolish, but I thought myself cut out for a battleship. My due, you understand. That was the boy in me — all stuff and nonsense. I saw some other lads, classmates of mine, come up quickly.” It was thwarted ambitions that emerged — bitter disappointments at being found wanting, the insult of others given prize commands while you stood, unnoticed, in the background. His voice lost some of the levity and he spoke with a sense of failure. “It hurt, Bea. I can tell you that. I mean, I’m no scholar and I thought Dartmouth and I would part company in a bad way more than once, but what I lack in brains I more than make up for in bravado and hard work. I’m the sort of fellow that won’t be easily denied his victory.”
“It must have been miserable,” Beatrice said.
“Oh, yes,” Hardy acknowledged, the pain evident in his eyes. “Rough go a number of times. I think that’s where old Firedancer and I have come to form a partnership — ship and captain, I mean. We understand each other. Sounds a bit daft, I know, but it’s like those old fire horses. Tired and out of sorts and barely able to make it from one side of their stall to the next, but let that fire bell sound, and twenty years comes off the old beasts. Don’t stand in their way, is all I’m saying. Well, that Firedancer and me. Let us hear Action Stations.…” he stopped talking, and smiled ruefully. “Never talked that much in one go.”
“Now, George,” Beatrice said, deciding that she would be brazen about the use of his first name. It was how she felt about him. “You must feel free to speak to me about anything, at any time. I like to hear you talk.”
He said nothing in return, but his face flushed and Beatrice hoped that she had not embarrassed him.
“Well,” he said hesitantly. The glove came up, but he simply let it fall back down. He stopped. “There she is.”
Firedancer was smaller than Beatrice had expected and her hull and superstructure were liberally streaked with rust. Knifelike was a word that came immediately to Beatrice when she saw her, and Firedancer was that all right. Bows on she was thin and her stem looked as if it was capable of slicing through the water at a fantastic rate. Her guns were all neatly arranged fore and aft, and they looked formidable enough although Beatrice didn’t know what they were for or even if they were powerful. She saw the truth in Hardy’s remarks. Firedancer lay alongside the quay, peppered with scars and imperfections and looking as if she were two years past a good rest and refitting.
But then another thought struck Beatrice, as if the ship herself had interceded to correct a mistaken idea. Firedancer was a terrier, Beatrice now realized, all teeth and heart. She would go after anything she was set on, regardless of the size, and attack it with all the violence that she could muster.
Beatrice felt foolish at the notion of Firedancer as a living thing, and told herself never to mention it to Captain Hardy. Who knew how he saw his ship? He might be offended if she likened Firedancer to a feisty little creature. She felt that the ship was eyeing her, however, to see if she was worthy of further attention. They came, in a moment, to a mutual understanding; ashore George Hardy would belong to Beatrice Schiffer; he could be her love always because Beatrice knew that it was love. When Hardy came aboard Firedancer, however — and the ship made this perfectly clear by the stoic manner in which she studied the lady at Hardy’s side — Captain George Hardy, RN, and HMS Firedancer would be, forever, man and lover. This relationship was created through experience, occasion, trust, loss, fright, terror, death, regret, and victory. They were like a very civil wife and mistress, meeting over tea, agreeing on how the shared relationship should be with the man that they both cared for; each unwilling to give up the whole life of the man, and satisfied to live in a part of that life. It was all very polite.
Beatrice turned to Hardy, straightened his tie, and brushed an imaginary spot of lint from his dark blue uniform jacket. “George,” she said, her voice soft and caring. “I shall never interfere with your duties. I know them to be what makes you the man that you are.” She was on the verge of saying ‘the man that I love,’ but she could not bring herself to say so. Not that she didn’t feel it, because she did. She did not say it because she knew that there was a rhythm to things and it was not yet the right time to tell Hardy how she felt. Now, it was not even important that he felt the same way, although she suspected that he did. She would wait for the right moment, and that moment would make itself known to her.
“But you must promise me that you shall always come back to me,” Beatrice said, daring to go as far as she could. “I should be quite miserable if something happened to you.”
Beatrice watched as Hardy’s jaw tensed and she knew that he was struggling with his emotions. These were uncharted waters for Captain Hardy and she wanted him to come along at his own speed. “Why, old girl,” he said. “There’s no reason to talk like that. I’ve come back each and every time.” He nodded at Firedancer. “Just look at her. She’s resilient, all right. She’ll bring me home. Through shot and shell as they say.”
“Very well then,” Beatrice said. She looked down the quay to the destroyer. In her mind she made a covenant with Firedancer: We shall share him, you and I, but you are to return him to me. She straightened Hardy’s tie again, although the action was unnecessary. She just wanted to touch him. “We’ll have many such partings,” she said. “Having you come home to me is all I ever want from you. You’ve promised me that, George. I shan’t ask any more of you.”
“You mustn’t trouble yourself, Bea,” Hardy said. He kissed her on the forehead. “Knowing that you’ll be waiting for me is all the incentive I need.” He smiled at her. “Give my best to Topper, will you? Now, you must let me get aboard Firedancer.”
“I will, dear,” Beatrice said. “Go along. I shall wait here a moment.”
Hardy nodded, turned, and walked along the quay to the gangway. He received a salute from the sailor on duty, then made his way to the ship’s deck, saluted the Union Jack and the officer of the deck, and looked back at Beatrice. He doffed his cap, waved it once to the tiny figure gathering with the other wives and sweethearts, and disappeared amidships.
It was a moment before Beatrice, tears streaming down her cheeks, could speak. “Godspeed, George Hardy,” she said. And then she added. “God bless Firedancer, and all who sail on her.”
Land stood back to allow Hardy access to Firedancer ’s tiny bridge. Number One had been running static engineering tests with Courtney. They had just finished up a moment ago, in time to see Hardy part company with his lady friend. He watched as the captain tried to appear busy, nosing about the bridge as if the action guaranteed that all that transpired on the quay had done so unobserved. Finally Hardy’s eyes picked out a deficiency.