North Star

As I ducked under the turning blades, I caught a glimpse of the Duchess out to the north-east, standing guard like a sheep-dog between the anchor buoys and three Shetland boats. She was rolling gently in the swell, the bridge windows intermittently reflecting the late afternoon sun. Then I was in the shelter of the toolpusher's office and a thick Dutch voice was saying, 'Ach zo, you 'ave com back, eh?' Van Dam's hand gripped my elbow. 'I am glad.' He told me Alfredo was waiting for me with the divers' inflatable and he added, 'That young woman, she is not tough enough. It needs a man like you out there. Those Shetland boats are a dam' nuisance. They 'ave no business fishing zo close.'

'The Shetlanders don't see it that way,' I said. 'They claim they've a right to fish where they like.'

'Not inside the buoys. Too dangerous. You get them out of 'ere. Okay?'

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that there would be trouble if we got too tough, but his relief had arrived and he was being called to board the helicopter. I waited until it had taken off and then went down the iron stairway to the waiting boat. With the sea calm, it didn't take long to reach the Duchess. Nobody greeted me as I climbed on board. No sign of Gertrude, and Johan staring at me from the bridge windows like a bear in his den. I yelled for the cook, tossed him my bag and told him to get me a mug of tea. I was in a filthy mood as I went through the gangway and pushed open the door to the bridge. 'Where's Gertrude?'

Johan stared at me as though I were a stranger. He didn't reply, and Lars at the helm looked straight ahead, both of them wooden-faced. 'Can't you answer when you're spoken to?'

'She is in there.' He jerked his head towards the rear of the bridge.

'Then fetch her out.' I saw him hesitate, but the habit of shipboard obedience was strong and he turned towards the companionway. 'Don't bother. I'll go myself.' I had control of myself then and, conscious of the mood on board and who must have caused it, I didn't want to face Gertrude there in the bridge in front of the crew.

She had taken over my cabin, her things strewn about, and she herself lying stretched out on my bunk, her eyes closed. But she wasn't asleep. I was sure of that. There was a tenseness about her, a feeling of hostility in the air. I stood there, looking at her, not saying anything and the anger building.

'Who's there?' she said at last.

'You know damn well.'

She opened her eyes then, but she didn't look at me. She lay there, staring up at the steel plating over the bunk, and I knew she was holding herself in.

'I've seen Fuller,' I said.

'Then why are you here?' She sat up, swinging her long legs off the bunk. She was dressed in sweater and slacks, her hair a mess and her eyes red-rimmed. 'I was expecting somebody else.'

'Who?'

'I don't know. He said he'd find somebody for me."

'A replacement skipper?'

'Ja. It was either that or scrap the contract.' She stared at me. 'Why did you do it? Risking lives, burning a man's house — why? I thought at one time all you wanted was a trawler, something to work for. But it isn't that, is it? It's politics, disruption, anarchy, nothing else… It's all you care about — destroying things.' The words poured out of her in a sobbing breath.

'Who sent you that newspaper?' My voice sounded cold, and I felt cold, cold with anger that she should believe it of me. 'Somebody sent it to you. Who?'

'Does it matter?'

I started to tell her what had happened in court. I wanted her to understand. But she brushed my explanation aside. 'What do I care — about what happen in that court? It's all there in the newspaper report. And that girl, Fiona — I don't believe what she tell me. I don't want to believe. But now… Now I know what sort of a man you are.' She gave an angry shrug. 'And she is your wife. You don't tell me you have a wife.'

So that was it. 'My God!' I said. 'Do I have to share my private life with you?'

'She is your wife. You live together for four years. Now, when you want to be rid of her…'

I was across the cabin then, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. 'You stupid little fool!' I was beside myself with anger. She'd infected the whole ship, the crew, everybody against me. 'Get your things packed,' I told her. 'I want you off this ship — now, this evening.'

She stared up at me, her body rigid, her eyes wide with disbelief. 'Is my ship.'

'And mine,' I reminded her. I was bending down, staring her in the face, my hands gripped on her shoulders. 'I can't run this ship with you on board. Not unless I have your confidence. Understand?'

Slowly her gaze dropped. 'Well…' She hesitated. I don't think she wanted a row. She wasn't an aggressive person. Emotional, yes — but she was also very practical and this had the effect of concealing her emotions. 'If Mr Fuller has confidence in you still…'

'It was Villiers, not Fuller. Fuller is like you. He believes what they want him to believe. Now, get packed and I'll have the boat lowered.' I let her go then, taking my hands from her shoulders and turning abruptly for the door.

'Just a minute, please.' Her voice sounded troubled. 'You asked me who sent that newspaper. Mr Fuller also received a copy.'

'The rig probably has one, too.'

'I don't know who sent it. Your wife perhaps?'

'Perhaps.'

She got up slowly and came towards me. She wasn't crying, but there were tears in her eyes. 'You are in trouble.'

I stared at her, not answering, not willing to admit it even to myself now that I was back in command.

'Your evidence in court…' She was standing quite close to me, the lips of that too-big mouth of hers parted, her eyes enormous. 'Will you swear to me that it was the truth. If you swear-'

'Oh, go to hell!' I said and slammed out of the cabin. I heard her call after me, but what did she take me for? What difference would it make, swearing that I had told her the truth? If I were the sort of man she believed.. The engine-room telegraph interrupted my thoughts. I was in the bridge then, Johan's voice calling for port wheel and the deck trembling to the increased revs. A fishing boat's mast, framed in the starboard window, slid astern and Johan rang for slow again, pushing his cap back on his head and turning to me with a grim smile. 'They play silly buggers like that too many times and somebody get hurt.'

I leaned my head out of the window, watching the little black-painted vessel swinging in our wake. It was a Hamnavoe fishing boat, the white lettering clear on its bows. 'Been having trouble, I hear.'

Johan nodded. 'Ja. Last night is very bad. More than a dozen I think, and some shooting inside the buoys, their seine nets close in to the rig.'

The bloody fools, I thought, risking their nets inside the circle of the anchor buoys. 'Did you threaten to use the hose on them?'

He shook his head.

'Why not? I told you…'

'If we use the hose there will be trouble.' He reached for the mug standing on the chart table and passed it to me. 'Your tea.'

'There'll be trouble anyway,' I told him. 'So use it.' The tea was half cold. It seemed to typify the general state of the ship. 'Any boats shooting nets inside the anchor buoys get the hose turned on them after a warning through the loudhailer. Is that understood?' He stared dumbly straight ahead. 'I said, is that understood?'

'Ja.'

'How many — were seine-net fishing inside the buoys?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. Ask Gertrude.'

I turned then. He must have seen her reflection in the glass of the window, for she was standing at the head of the companionway right behind me.

'It was very thick last night. Fog.'