Lindsay moved through the crowd and found Lovelace speaking with Maxwell, his serious features breaking into a I smile as he said, ‘Ah, Lindsay, I’d like you to meet Commodore Kemp.’
The other guest was a sturdy, thickset man, who nodded abruptly and said, ‘Quite a party. Never think you’d been in action, what?’
Lovelace eyed him coolly. ‘No. You’ve done a marvellous job, Lindsay.’
Lindsay was still watching the commodore. There was something aggressive about him. Intolerant. Like his words. ‘Are you joining the base, sir?’
The commodore took a glass from a steward and regarded it critically. ‘I’m here to co-ordinate new strategy.’ He glanced at Lindsay again. ‘Still, this is hardly the time to-discuss Service matters, what?’ He did not smile.
Lindsay felt suddenly angry. Who the hell did he think he was anyway? He thought too of the girl, of the fading, precious minutes.
The commodore said abruptly, ‘Where is that son of mine then?’
Kemp. Of course. He should have guessed.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.’
‘I would want to know where every one of my officers was, at any time of the day or night.’
‘Come along, sir, why not meet ‘some of the other guests?’ Lovelace sounded tense. ‘I’m sure the captain doesn’t bother about one more midshipman, eh?’
Kemp stared at him bleakly. ‘I want to see him.’
Lindsay sighed. ‘I’ll send for him.’ It was his own fault. After all, Kemp had come a long way to see his only son. It was not much to ask.
He heard the commodore say, ‘Young fool. When I heard about his latest failure I thought I’d explode!’ He stared round at the shining panels and glittering lights.
‘Under these circumstances, however-‘
Lindsay turned sharply, ‘Are you here on official business, sir, or as a guest?’
Kemp looked at him with surprise. ‘As a guest of course!’
Lindsay said quietly, ‘Then, sir, may I suggest you start acting like one!’ Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
The commodore opened and closed his mouth several times. ‘The impertinent young.’ He turned to Lovelace again. ‘By God, there will be a few changes when I’m in control, I can tell you!’
Lindsay almost collided with Jupp ass he pushed between the noisy figures by the door.
Jupp said, ‘Beg pardon, sir, but the young lady ‘as gone. There was a call from the shore. Somethin’ about ‘er draft. bein’ brought forward an hour.’ He held out a paper napkin. ‘She said to give this to you, sir.’
Lindsay opened it. She had written in pencil. Had to go. Take care o f yourself. See you in Eden. Eve.
Then he hurried out and on to the promenade deck, the breath almost knocked from him by the bitter air. He found the gangway staff huddled together in their thick watchcoats, banging their hands and stamping their feet to keep warm.
The quartermaster saw Lindsay and said, ‘Can II ‘elp, sir?’
‘The last boat, Q.M. Can you still see it?’ Beyond the guardrail the night was pitch black.
The quartermaster shook his head. ‘No, sir. Shoved off ten minutes back.’ His breath smelt strongly of rum. Lindsay felt the napkin in his hand and folded it carefully before putting it in his pocket. ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’
The quartermaster watched him go and said to his companion, ‘Funny lot.’
The bosun’s mate looked at him. ‘Who?’
The quartermaster reached for his hidden rum bottle. ‘Officers, of course! Who the bloody else!’
Lindsay walked back into the noisy wardroom and noticed that Commodore Kemp was speaking to his son in a corner. Several of the guests were showing signs of wear, and when they reached the cold air outside they would know all about it.
He reached Goss’s side and said, ‘I’m going to my cabin, Number One. You take over, will you.’
Goss nodded, watching him strangely. ‘Good party; sir.’
‘Yes.’ Lindsay looked at the door, as if expecting to see her there again. ‘Very good party.’
Then he saw Jupp and said, ‘I’ll have some whisky in my cabin.’
‘Now, sir?’
‘Now.’
He walked out of the wardroom and climbed the companion ladder which now seemed very quiet and deserted.
8
A small error
The telephone above Lindsay’s bunk rattled tinnily, and without switching on his overhead lamp he reached up and clapped it to his ear.
‘Captain?’
Stannard sounded off guard. He had probably imagined Lindsay to be fast asleep.
‘Time to alter course, sir.’
Lindsay held up his watch and saw the luminous face glowing in the darkness. Four in the morning. Another day.
‘Very well, Pilot. What’s it like up top?’
Not that it would have altered in the three hours since he had left the bridge. Nor had it changed much in the days and the weeks since they had slipped their buoy in Scapa. Ten days to reach the patrol area and another twenty pounding along the invisible lines of its extremities while the sea did everything possible to make their lives a misery. Even now, as he listened to Stannard’s breathing and to the dull boom of waves against the hull, he could picture the water sluicing across the forward well deck, freezing into hard bulk, while the blown spray changed the superstructure and rigging into moulds of crude glass. Men frozen to the bone, slipping and cursing into the darkness with hammers and steam hoses, knowing as they toiled that they would be required again within the hour.
Stannard replied, ‘Wind still nor’west, sir. Pretty fresh.
It might feel easier when we turn into it.’
‘Good. Keep me posted, Pilot.’. He dropped the hand set on its hook and lay back again on the pillow.
What a way to fight a war. Mile upon wretched mile. Empty, violent and cold. He heard feet overhead, the muffled clatter of steering gear as Stannard brought the old ship round on the southernmost leg of her patrol. Right at this moment of time Stannard’s little pencilled cross on the chart would show the Benbecula almost five hundred miles south-west of Iceland, while some seven hundred and fifty miles beyond her labouring bows was the dreaded Cape Farewell of Greenland. It was not a patrol area, he thought. It was a wilderness, a freezing desert.
One. more day and they would be in December, with still another month to go before they could run for home, for Scapa and its weed-encrusted buoys.
He turned on the bunk and heard the small pill jar rattle beneath the pillow. The sound was like a cruel taunt, and he tried not to think of Boase’s reserved voice as he had handed them to him. Enough to make you sleep for four hours at least. Deep, empty sleep which he needed so desperately. Pitifully. Yet he knew he was afraid to take even one of them. In case he was needed. In case…. He rolled over to his opposite side and thought instead about opening a new bottle of whisky. It was no use. He could not go on like this. He was slowly destroying himself, and knew he was a growing. menace to all those who depended on him at any hour of day or night.
Whenever he fell into the bunk for even a few moments the nightmare returned with the regularity of time itself. Again and again and again he would awake, sweating and frightened. Shaking and knowing he was beaten.
Perhaps if they were on convoy duty it might have been different. The daily check of ships under escort, the careful manoeuvres with massive merchantmen charging blindly through fog or pitch darkness for fear of losing the next ahead. The search for stragglers, and the triumph at watching the lines of weatherbeaten charges plodding past into harbour and safety.