The door opened and Gertrude came in. 'He told you, did he?' Her eyes were enormous and I saw they were full of tears. 'I'm sorry, Michael.'
'There's nothing to be sorry about,' I said, and I meant it, remembering the lost years and what her life had been.
'How can you say that?' And she went on, 'You don't see her as I saw her that day in Inverness.' Her voice was trembling with emotion. 'She was so lost, so alone — and frightened I think. But not for herself. For you.'
I got out of the bunk then, going to her, shocked that it was she, not me, that was crying for Fiona, and I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that Fiona was all right now, the long internal struggle over. But she pushed me away, swallowing her tears and saying in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, 'There are people, journalists, wanting to see you. They are in the bridge. I came to tell you.'
I got dressed and went through into the bridge and saw them there, rain beating at the windows and the hills on either side of the little port lost in cloud. It was still raining when the last of the reporters left, but the clouds had lifted slightly so that the long bank of Burgins was just visible and the island of Papa Little at the end of the voe. I was just going below for lunch when a taxi drew up and Villiers got out, standing bare-headed in the rain talking to the driver, a bright red anorak slung carelessly over his shoulders. Two other taxis followed, nosing between the houses. He glanced at them, his hair already wet, his square jaw jutting angrily. Then he turned, walking quickly on to the pier, climbing over the bulwarks and coming straight to the bridge.
'Randall.' He held out his hand. 'Glad to see you safe. I saw Inspector Garrard on the road. He showed me your statement. You're lucky to be alive.' He glanced round the empty bridge. 'Where's Mrs Peter-sen?' And when I told him she was below, he said, 'I'd like to see her please — both of you. I've got to get out to the rig and in this weather yours is the only boat can get me there.'
He didn't waste time. As soon as I had called Gertrude and we were both of us with him in my cabin, he said, 'Now, can we come to some arrangement? We've got an ocean-going tug on the way, but it won't be there for another twenty-four hours at least. George Fuller got me a Met. forecast just before I left Scalloway. There's a break coming in the next six to eight hours, but there's another Low moving in and worse to follow. Did Garrard tell you we've had one man killed and two injured? Apparently they had been winding a new cable on to No. 2 winch drum with the intention of trying to hold the rig on a spare anchor when the cable got out of control. Unfortunately, it was Ken Stewart who was swept over the side. The other two men, they're all right — one has a broken arm, the other cracked ribs. But with Stewart gone, there's nobody I trust on board to handle navigation if the rig starts drifting again.' He was looking straight at me. 'How fit are you? I want somebody out there with me who can take charge in an emergency.'
'I'm all right,' I said. 'But how do you think you're going to get on board? Even if there is a break, there'll still be a hell of a sea running.'
He nodded. 'I appreciate that, but it's something I've got to try.' He hesitated. 'We already owe you quite a lot — you and Mrs Petersen. But there's no stand-by boat with the rig now and this is the only trawler in the area big enough to stay by North Star till the tug gets there. You can state your own terms, but don't let's waste any time. Okay?'
The terms we agreed covered any damage, gave us a hefty bonus if the Duchess stayed by the rig until it was re-anchored, and provided for a long-term charter thereafter at favourable rates. I called to Johan to get the crew up and we cast off with the TV cameras set up on the pier taking pictures and the producer shouting for Villiers to come out on to the deck. Gertrude was already writing out the charter agreement and it was signed before we were in to Swarbacks Minn and meeting the full force of the north-westerly wind. The tide had only just turned against us and I took her through the Sound of Papa, a big sea running as we came out from under the lee of Papa Stour.
It was no more than twenty-five miles to North Star's new position, but it took us almost six hours. Twice Villiers talked to the rig and on each occasion Ed Wiseberg was not available. The anchors were still holding apparently, but they had done nothing further about the spare anchor and I got the impression they were simply waiting for the tug to arrive. I don't know who he was speaking to, Sparks probably, but on the second occasion I heard him say, 'Well, for Christ's sake tell Ed I want to talk to him. He's got to get that bloody anchor rigged and over the side, then he's got to think of some way of getting us on to the deck.' I didn't hear any more for our bows fell off the top of a breaking wave and a great burst of spray crashed against the bridge. Then he was beside my chair, leaning over me, peering down at the chart folded on my knees. 'How far off now?' His voice was tense, anger only just controlled.
'A little over five miles.'
He glanced at his watch. 'Another hour?'
'More,' I said.
'Then you must increase the revs.' And when I shook my head, he said, 'It's past five already. At this rate-' Our bows slammed again and he was sent % flying across the bridge. But he was back at my side almost immediately. 'It's useless to ask Ed how he's going to get us on deck. You got any ideas?'
'We'll see what the sea conditions are like when we get there.'
I put down my pencil and looked at him then. He wasn't scared, only very determined, almost desperate to get on the rig. 'You any good at jumping and clambering up heights?' I asked.
'I've done a bit of rock climbing. Why?'
They've got scrambling nets. I remember seeing them being unrolled as I was drifting past the rig. With a bit of luck Johan could get the ship in close enough for us to jump. That is if you're prepared to risk it.'
I was looking at him, but all he said was, 'Good God! As simple as that. Why the hell couldn't they think of it?'
'Because they're not seamen,' I told him. And then, sensing that he was a man who needed to have action in mind, I said, 'Half an hour from now, get on the blower to them and have them unroll the nets. And we'll want oil. Tell them to have some containers full of oil ready to pour into the sea on the windward side.'
There wasn't much light left when we finally raised the rig. Visibility was less than a mile in steady rain, so that we saw it as a blur of light, the factory blaze just as I had seen it so many times, except that the tier of red warning lights on the derrick were no longer vertical, but tilted at a slight angle. I had Johan take us in close. The nets were down, hanging like a wide mesh curtain below the catwalk that ran the length of the crew's quarters. Unfortunately, the nets faced north, almost into the wind. I was looking at the seas cascading through the columns, a welter of foam and broken water, trying to estimate the height of the waves against the meshes of the net. 'There's a hell of a rise and fall,' I said.
'What about the oil?' he asked.
'It won't make any difference to the height of the waves, but there could be a little north-going tide left, so it may help. Tell them to start pouring it — but slowly, so that it spreads, and not on to the nets.'
I had already briefed Johan and he was on direct engine control. 'You think you can do it without the ship slamming against the columns?' I asked him.
'Ja. But can you make the jump?' He was laughing. v I looked at Villiers. 'You realize, if you miss, there's not much chance of being picked up?'
He nodded. 'It's the same for you.'
I looked at Gertrude. 'If either of us misses the net and falls into the sea, you'll only search clear of the rig. You're not to take any chances with the ship. Is that understood?'