Tomorrow, next week or next month we may all be killed. But an admiral in Whitehall, poor old Wilfred and God alone knows how many others were concerned for him and his post-war prospects. Blake did not know whether to laugh or weep.
Livesay said tightly, ‘Your wife wants to come back to you.’ He flinched as Blake stood up, as if he expected to be thrown bodily through the door. ‘The fellow she’s been going with, well, he’s pretty senior and a friend of sorts of Admiral Tasker.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I feel terrible being here like this.’
Blake looked at him gravely. ‘I think it was
terrible
of them to ask you.’
So that was it. It did not matter who had got tired of whom first. Maybe the man she had ‘been going with’, as Livesay had so delicately put it, was also married and wanted to clear his yard-arm. Or perhaps the VC had changed things for her after all.
He looked at Livesay, suddenly sorry for him. He had never been much use in the Navy. He tried too hard, wanted to succeed so much that others often saw him as a crawler. In fact, he was completely insecure, and any threat of being dropped from the Navy List after the war would be all it needed to bring him here.
Blake said, ‘So this is a sort of warning. Either be a good boy, a hero for the people to cheer, or I’m in the cart, eh? Everybody surfaces looking nice and clean, and discipline will prevail!’
In the adjoining cabin flat Blake could hear the murmur of voices and the occasional buzz of a telephone. His writer would have a whole list of people for him to see, forms to initial, letters to sign.
He said, ‘Well, thanks, Wilfred. You did your best.’
Livesay stood up slowly and then stooped to retrieve his cap.
In a small voice he said, ‘I’ve a letter here. It tells you to report to our office in Sydney while the ship has three days to overhaul.
Andromeda
’s duties will be partially covered by an armed merchant cruiser which is coming from Bombay.’ He tried to smile but nothing came. ‘We’re doing all we can.’
‘What’s the purpose of my visit?’ Blake glanced at the sideboard and suddenly needed a long drink.
‘Well, our people in Sydney will want to go over the matter of the Spanish ship, of course. There’s one hell of a hullabaloo coming from their consul and also the Argentinian authorities. But then, I imagine you anticipated that?’
He looked at the door and then blurted out, ‘The fact is, Dick, your wife is here, too. She flew in the same plane.’ He recoiled as Blake faced him and said, ‘I had nothing to do with it, I swear!’
Blake saw him place the sealed envelope on the desk but was conscious only of Livesay’s words. She was in Australia. It was no longer something vague and out of focus, lost over the thousands of miles and which you could choose to ignore.
Livesay said, ‘You’re to go as soon as you’ve instructed your second in command.’
He made for the door, but stopped dead as Blake called after him, ‘Before you leave, Wilfred.’ Blake moved towards him, seeing the man’s apprehension, even fear. ‘You and I shared a lot . . . once. But that was a different world, another sort of Navy. Some of us have been lucky, have stayed alive long enough to see that peacetime minds are no match for wartime conditions. I used to think much as you do
about these ‘wartime wonders’, like most of the officers in this wardroom are. Now I know differently. They have minds uncluttered by peacetime prospects, seniority and promotion. They just want to win and get home in one piece afterwards. Like my navigator. Dreaming of the day when he gets back to the Union Castle, or the paymaster commander who’ll use his war to entertain the ladies around his table aboard some P & O liner. And if I’ve influenced them in some ways, they’ve certainly done the same to me. I don’t care a damn about who gets what later on. I want us to
win,
but to win our way, not in the fashion I’ve just witnessed!’ He smiled grimly. ‘Sorry about the lecture, Wilfred, but try and learn from my mistakes. And the next time some “gentleman” offers you a reward for doing something you inwardly hate, tell him to drop dead! Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve a ship to run.’
When he turned round again the cabin was empty.
Scovell was the first visitor. He entered the cabin just as Blake was putting down the telephone. There was no shore line yet, because of another priority, they said. It was more likely that someone had been told to keep
Andromeda
and her captain as isolated as possible.
‘Well, Number One?’
‘There will be some defaulters shortly, sir.’
‘What, already? Can’t you cope?’
Scovell eyed him dispassionately. ‘Three of our ABs threw a dockyard worker off the pier, sir. He apparently shouted something they disapproved of.’
Blake frowned. He could well imagine what it had been. That the cruiser had sunk a helpless neutral. Too quick on the trigger. Too eager by half.
He pressed Moon’s bell and when the steward appeared he said, ‘Pack a bag, Moon. For a couple of days. I shall be in Sydney.’ He looked at Scovell. That had obviously shaken him inside his shell.
‘So
you
deal with the defaulters, Number One. In fact, you take charge of everything until I return.’ He looked slowly around the cabin. If they let me return.
The telephone buzzed and the switchboard said, ‘Shore line’s been connected, sir.’
Blake nodded. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need it now.’
He put down the telephone and looked at it for a long moment. What could he tell her anyway? Don’t worry, I’m going to see my wife. But we can still be friends, can’t we?
He felt the anger surging around his head like a fever.
But I love you, Claire. I want you so much. I really do.
Scovell excused himself and left. Probably imagines I’m halfway round the bend, Blake thought.
Moon called, ‘I’m runnin’ a bath now, sir.’ He hovered by the door, his gloomy face troubled even more than usual. He said, ‘The shop in Melbourne, sir, was it all right? You’ve bin too busy for me to ask before.’
‘Yes.’ He thought of the defiance as she had put the ring on her finger and what it would cost her after this. ‘It was just right.’
Moon watched him dubiously. ‘The lads is all be’ind you, sir. Never did like the bloody Spaniards anyway. They’re a sort of Nazi bunch themselves. ‘S’fact, sir,
Andromeda
won’t stand for no nonsense, Jerries, Eyeties
or
Spaniolas!’ He shuffled off shaking his head angrily.
Blake stared after him. Moon believed he had made a mistake and had forced the neutral ship to do something stupid. But to Moon, like the three seamen who had pitched the unfortunate dockyard worker into the water, it hardly mattered. Now, as always, the ship, and that included her captain, came first.
Blake waited for the hotel porter to lay his small travelling bag by the bed and close the door behind him before he could bring himself to move.
He strode to the window and opened it, the smell of the sea and the sounds of traffic rising to greet him like old friends.
Sydney. Much as he had imagined it. The great bridge, the ‘coat-hanger’, the pale buildings, and beyond the harbour the open promise of the Tasman Sea.
But for the low cloud and a hint of rain, the sea might have been blue. But it was dull, like pewter.
Suitable for the way I feel
.
Blake thought about the short flight from Melbourne, the first time he had been in an aircraft since the crash. He had gone over it several times, more perhaps than previously. He had found himself listening to the engines with a different ear, had watched the passing banks of clouds as if expecting to see that seaplane again with its stabbing machine-guns.
He had been bustled straight from the airport to Garden Island, where he had found himself confronted by an imposing table full of senior officers and some men in plain clothes who could have been anyone.
He had not seen any more of Livesay, nor had he flown to Sydney in the same aircraft. Maybe he was afraid Blake would change his mind about coming, or involve him in some new trouble. Perhaps he did not even want to risk being seen with him, in case Blake was about to be reprimanded, or worse.
Blake felt the returning anger and crossed to his bag. As he tore open the straps and felt inside for the bottle which Moon had packed he recalled the line of bland faces. Their curiosity, their doubt.
A British rear-admiral had been in overall charge, and had laid it on well and truly, as if to prove to his Australian colleagues that there was going to be no favouritism.
‘You say that the
Jacinto Verdaguer
had altered course after your original contact. But you admit that conditions were bad and that even your most experienced radar operator was unsure. You have stated that the ship was not sunk by the one shell fired by your main armament. But there is no proof. Nor is there any proof that she was a supply ship for the enemy, or that she carried some advanced radar detection equipment. The Spanish master has admitted he was steaming without lights. But that was his own risk, and he had good cause to doubt our protection if there had been a raider nearby. The only
fact
you have laid before us is the discovery of thirty-three murdered men. Men, already wounded, and killed before they became an inconvenience.’
Blake had said, ‘Spain and Argentina have helped the Germans often enough, sir. They are bound to make a strong protest. The Spanish captain was well briefed. He knew he
could not escape my ship, but was determined to make the most of his own loss by screaming to the world that we were attacking him.’
‘Be that as it may, Captain Blake, I have ordered the release of the
Jacinto Verdaguer
’s company, and no doubt His Majesty’s Government will eventually be faced with a heavy bill as the result of this, er, escapade.’
There had been more. A whole lot more. Blake unbuttoned his jacket and sat down heavily, the bottle still unopened in his hand.
The rear-admiral had skirted around what would happen next, but Blake had no doubt that he would be replaced as soon as possible and sent home to an appointment much as Livesay had described. Untarnished. The hero with clean hands.
He opened the bottle and poured a large measure of whisky into a glass.
The bedside telephone jangled loudly and made him start. He must have been dozing, he thought.
‘Hello?’ Who was he expecting. Half-hoping for, partly dreading.
‘That you, Blake?’ The voice was so loud he had to move the telephone away from his ear.
‘Yes.’
‘Christ, you’re a bloody hard man to find. Those half-wits at the base know as much about their commandeered rooms and buildings as my backside knows about dominoes!’
Blake relaxed slowly. It was Stagg. Fierce, angry and out for a quick kill.
‘What can I do for you, sir?’
There was a gurgling sound and Blake guessed Stagg was also drinking.
‘I’ve heard
all
about it! Every white-livered, pansy-minded load of crap which you had to face up to. Man, if I’d been there I’d have told them a thing or two! What the bloody hell do they know? Don’t they understand it takes guts to land a VC and fight three cruisers single-handed?’ He was shouting, his thick voice filling the room. ‘I’ve just been with the First Member to put in my pipeful. I told him, and I told him
straight. If you want to interfere with one of my captains
you will do it through me
!’
Blake swallowed hard. At a loss for words. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Stagg laughed. ‘Thank me when we’ve caught those krauts.’ In a strangely controlled tone he added, ‘I saw that old fool Jack Quintin, too. I suppose he means well.’ He was dragging it out, finding it hard to say something. Then he said, ‘He told me about the
Patricia
. I’ve had a sneaking suspicion in my own mind since I let the ship join that convoy without a closer inspection. To think that it was very likely that cunning bastard Rietz. I’ll bet he was laughing all over his bloody face. I keep thinking of the convoy. Wiped out because of me.’
Blake thought of the smooth-talking rear-admiral.
There’s no proof
.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. For saying what you did to Jack Quintin. There’s many an eager-beaver who’d have used it to knock me down, I can tell you. Can’t say any more. Someone might be tapping the line.’
Blake had to smile in spite of his feelings. Stagg had already revealed enough to fill a front page.
Stagg said vaguely, ‘See you when you get back here. I’ll tell you how we’re going to catch that cold-blooded pirate, in spite of our superiors in London and Sydney, certainly not because of them!’ He guffawed, the old Stagg slowly emerging again. ‘I was wrong about you. In fact, I’ve been wrong about quite a few things.’ He chuckled. ‘But don’t rely on that. I’ll still be a pig if need be!’ The line went dead.
Blake walked to the window and stared hard at the harbour and its slow-moving craft. It must have cost Stagg a lot to admit he had made a mistake and to lay his own head on the block again when he had no way of knowing if Blake was in the right or not.
All at once Blake needed to get out of the room, to walk about, to see some real people living normal lives.
Claire would be on duty in Melbourne. He would telephone her later at her quarters. He had to see her before he went back to the ship.
He reached the hotel lobby and was about to hand in his key when he heard Fairfax’s voice.
‘Hello, sir! I’d heard you were in Sydney.’
Blake turned and faced him. ‘Yes. We made quite a splash, one way and the other.’
Fairfax did not smile, in fact, he seemed unusually strained.
He said urgently, ‘I found out where you were staying. Sarah’s with me.’
Blake waited. They wanted to cheer him up when all he needed was to walk, to think about the girl in Melbourne.
Fairfax dropped his voice. ‘Your wife is with us, sir.’ He watched Blake’s eyes and added, ‘I had no part in it. I wanted to tell you that before you see her.
I told her nothing
.’
Blake replied, ‘Maybe I won’t see her.’
‘I think you should, sir.’ Fairfax was pleading. ‘For your sake, and for Claire Grenfell’s.’