For the sun was shining on their faces, and rewarding them, or making promises they could imagine were cast-iron. Leo’s account continues exultant, and shows that even a mock-martial triumph can endow the heroes with the better lines, and a sense of divine assurance; exactly what I would have wanted him to have.
There was no time to go back to the officers’ club before drinks time aboard the Warradgerry. We decided we would fill in the time by going to the Townsville Hotel and having tea on their verandah, and begging a piece of their stationery so that the Boss could write out a list of the ships we had marked. He was doing this while Mortmain and I drank our black tea, exactly right for a warm place like Townsville, bringing out a sort of cleansing sweat. Then we saw the high-ranked American who had been in the harbour-master’s office was standing over us, very thin and tall. His shadow fell over the Boss’s page, and he looked up. The American asked us if it would be an intrusion if he joined us?
Certainly not, said the Boss, but in that icy British way which actually means I’d prefer you went away. Doucette did not rise to salute this more senior soldier, and so neither did we. Strange, since the Brits were so crazy on rituals, but then we’d all got out of the habit of it during our training.
So the American took a seat. I looked at his uniform – it was great tailoring. The Boss introduced us. This was Lieutenant Colonel Jesse Creed, he told us. Creed wore the insignia of the American intelligence corps.
The tall man smiled.
I was wondering if I could have a confidential word, Charlie, Creed asked Doucette. The Boss said certainly, and then Creed looked significantly at Mortmain and myself, suggesting we should leave. I was already standing up to go. But the Boss said, These gentlemen can stay.
Creed agreed, making the best of it he could. He asked the Boss about the spare engine for the Japanese fishing boat, Pengulling. I hear it’s turned up, he said.
Being installed as we speak, said the Boss.
That was the first I’d heard of it, but I really hoped it was true. It was time.
Creed shook his head and grinned. You English, you do things all your own way, he said.
I’m actually an Irishman, said the Boss. But he only said it for the sake of argument, since he was one of those Irishmen who considered himself British.
You’d have a hard time proving that in New York, Creed told him.
I am, begorrah, said the Boss, without a smile. I’m Irish as Shackleton. Irish as that ponce Oscar Wilde, Irish as Dean Swift or Sheridan or Oliver Goldsmith.
Creed said, All right then. Since your cranky old boat’s getting its temporary repair… the question arises. Was this morning to improve the safety of dear old Townsville, the delightful place destiny has placed us? Or was it a dress rehearsal?
It was an expression of brio, sir, said Doucette, but still without any emphasis in his voice.
Loosen up a bit for God’s sake, Creed said. Last time I read about it, we were allies.
So I could tell you everything, and you would say, That’s absolutely splendid and we Yanks can help. But when the time came, you’re not available. As happened with young Waterhouse here. Suddenly, no sub for his jaunt. That’s what happens with you chaps all the time.
Creed was angry and his face did flush for a moment. He said, We did lose a sub off New Britain. That’s eighty men who drowned, whose lungs choked with water. But a person would think we did it just to thwart IRD and cause you offence, Major Doucette.
The Boss murmured, If that’s the impression I gave, then I apologise. But I think there’s a policy on your side to keep us permanently training for ops which get cancelled. And it’s just not good enough.
And he didn’t give an inch.
Creed lowered his voice. There’s a rumour around that you’re going up to Java, to Surabaya say, in that cranky old bathtub of yours.
That was indeed the rumour. The Boss might have spread it deliberately, though he told me it would be better if there were no rumour at all.
The American said, God forbid you got into trouble, but I could make sure your distress calls were acted on. I must be crazy talking to you like this, on a hotel balcony. I’ll approach you more formally, and Major, I’ll expect a private meeting and a polite answer.
Perhaps you should talk to Major Doxey at IRD, the Boss said, suddenly stricken with a fake air of helpfulness. And he smiled now, like a boy. He did have a boy’s wiry build and lolly-legs, and seemed maybe fifteen years younger than he was when he did that grin.
Creed was pretty exasperated, standing and addressing us from that position while making a patting-down gesture that said we should remain where we were. It’s like this, Doucette. I used to paddle boats when I was a kid. Life seems pretty simple when you’re surrounded by water and it’s kind of level with you. But then I’d come in at the end of the pier and moor the canoe and come ashore, and I’d be amongst complicated stuff then – my parents, my sister, and whether she was dumping this boy or encouraging the other, and all the financial secrets and even other secrets of my parents. That’s your situation, Doucette. You’re just paddling away, but there’s a complicated big house somewhere, where your IRD and the whole Mountbatten SOE group and Central Intelligence Bureau all live. And you despise and don’t understand the big house at all, Major Doucette. You don’t know our secrets and you don’t want to give an inch.
I should say not, said Doucette. All the more reason to stick to what I do best.
It’s all the more reason to have a well-wisher in there, in that big house, to look after you.
I thought to myself that an argument like that might win the day for the American colonel, but Doucette stayed neutral to the point of contempt. Thank you, sir, he said.
You guys are more mysterious than the Japanese.
I felt a bit embarrassed for Creed as he walked away amongst the good afternoon-tea-ing women of Townsville who wiped their necks, and the chest regions above where their dresses started, with sweaty handkerchiefs. The truth was that to me Creed seemed a pretty generous ally. But the Boss must have had his reasons for rebuffing him.
We were saluted aboard the Warradgerry in the late afternoon and escorted to the wardroom by a midshipman. As we entered, applause broke out amongst the naval officers present – it was as if the captain had told his crew that that was the appropriate response.
When the congratulations were over, we were taken to a bar where a white-coated steward poured us drinks. I had the national diet – a glass of Dinner Ale. And the worldly Boss and Rufus ordered gin. I found myself drinking a beer with a young officer, and well forgotten in a corner of the room. Then the captain clapped his hands and gave a jovial introduction to Doucette.