Isvik (5 page)

While he was talking I had become increasingly conscious of the sound of voices from beyond the door that led for'ard to the officers' galley and cabins, children's voices mainly. And then a movement caught my eye above the hanging lamp, two small faces peering down at us from the skylight. As soon as they realised I had seen them they vanished and in their place was a young man's face, dark, intense, the eyes slightly protuberant and a thin spoilt mouth, the dull gold sleeve of his blouson flattened against the glass. He was looking down at Iris Sunderby, a strange glint in his eyes. Was it lust? Hatred perhaps? I couldn't be sure. All I knew for certain was that the sight of her sitting there, her head bent over her papers, had sparked off some violent emotion.

He must have sensed I was watching him for he suddenly turned his head and looked straight at me. I could see his eyes more clearly then, very dark and full of malevolence. Or so it seemed at the time. But it was such a fleeting glimpse, then it was gone and I thought he smiled at me. A second later I was staring up at an empty rectangle of blue sky. ‘Tourists,' Wellington said. ‘They get all over the place.'

I glanced quickly across at Iris Sunderby, wondering whether she had seen him and what her reaction had been, but her head was now turned towards Victor Wellington as he described more fully the
Andros
frigate; dimensions, masts, rigging, all the construction details so dear to a curator contemplating a prize exhibit.

I don't remember much of what he said, for the face in the skylight had made an extraordinary impression on me. It sounds ridiculous as I write, about it now, just the glimpse of a face through a ship's skylight, but I knew then, in that instant, there was something between them, something that linked him to Iris Sunderby in a way that was both personal and frightening. It was such a startling impression to form in the photo-flash moment of his staring down at her. But there it is. That face conveyed something, the very intent, very concentrated expression of it sending a chill through me that even now I cannot entirely explain.

‘If the expedition – your expedition – were successful and you found the remains of the
Andros
in the ice, with Peter Kettil here to advise you on its preservation …' That mention of my name jerked my mind back from its wild imaginings. It was the first indication I had of the real purpose of my presence here at this gathering.

‘Are you suggesting I advise them – out there?' My voice sounded small and uncertain.

Victor Wellington's sharp little eyes fastened on me. ‘Of course. It's essential to have an expert on the spot to assess what is necessary for preservation of the ship's timbers so that it can be flown out, together with the appropriate technicians. Then, when the salvage boys have cut a way out for her, the hull can be towed north into warmer seas without fear of it disintegrating.'

‘But –' I hesitated. The possibility of my being a member of the expedition hadn't occurred to me.

He smiled. ‘Why do you think I asked you to attend this meeting?'

‘But I'm not qualified,' I said. ‘Timber preservation, yes – but sailing in the Antarctic …'

‘You know about ships. You've sailed, and you have a boat of your own.'

‘I had. But on the Norfolk coast. You're talking about the Antarctic.'

‘Nelson,' the Admiral cut in. ‘Burnham Thorpe. He was brought up on the edge of the saltings there. And the north of Norfolk is sometimes referred to as the Arctic – Shore. It's cold and it breeds a certain type of man. You'll fit. Won't he, Mrs Sunderby?'

I turned my head to find her looking at me very intently. Clearly she hadn't been ready to make a decision there and then. But suddenly she smiled. ‘Yes, of course. The Admiral's right.' And she added, ‘If we do find the ship, we'll certainly need the sort of specialised knowledge you can provide.'

Nobody asked me how I felt about a voyage into the Antarctic. They just seemed to take it for granted I would go along with them, the talk turning to the availability of a suitable search vessel that would be within the budget Ward was offering. And like a fool I just sat there and said nothing. If I'd had any sense I'd have got to my feet and walked out, for the boat the Sunderby woman had in mind was a sixty-foot motor-sailer with a quarter-inch steel hull and a powerful diesel auxiliary. It was lying in the Chilean naval port of Punta Arenas on the north side of the Magellan Strait and had been strengthened and equipped for a Norwegian prospecting expedition in Queen Maude Land that had run out of money before it had even started.

Mrs Sunderby had been down to Punta Arenas, had seen the boat. Its name was
Isvik
and it had been left in charge of one of the expedition members, a Norwegian named Nils Solberg. The boat was for sale and she thought Solberg, who was an engineer and whom she regarded as highly competent, would go along with any new expedition.

The discussion then turned to the feasibility of wintering over in the ice. The name David Lewis was mentioned. Apparently he had wintered a vessel of very similar size in the ice in Prydz Bay in the Australian territory of Queen Mary Land with a crew of only six, including two girls. Clearly it could be done, and the meeting finally broke up with Ward agreeing to meet the initial cost, including purchase of the vessel, which Mrs Sunderby thought could be acquired for a figure well below the US$230,000 the bankrupt Norwegian expedition were asking.

The object of the meeting in the
Cutty Sark
after cabin had clearly been to influence Ward's decision. But once she had his agreement, she also had the backing of all the three institutions represented there. As she put it, ‘Now all we need is about thirty hours in every day, the right weather and a hell of a lot of luck.' She rose to her feet, looking round the table. ‘Thank you, gentlemen – for your time, and for your help.' She was smiling, her eyes shining, and she added, ‘You've no idea what this means to me – personally.' The way she said it conveyed an extraordinary sense of excitement. And as the maritime heritage men said goodbye and ducked out through the after door beside the dresser, leaving just the three of us there in the cabin, the thing I was chiefly conscious of was her vitality. Now that she had got what she wanted, she seemed packed full of energy, so that just being there with her gave me an extraordinary lift, my feeling of depression quite gone.

‘Did you come by car?' She was speaking to Ward.

‘No. Water bus.'

‘Can I give you a lift then?'

He shook his head. ‘Ah'd prefer to go back the way Ah came. There's a lot to see on the river here. Also, Ah've a wee bit o' thinkin' to dae, ye understan'. Ah've never before had anythin' to dae wi' this sort of an outfit – Ah mean admirals an' directors o' museums an' maritime trusts. It's all new to me. An' there's the wee matter o' what Ah'm lettin' mesel' in fur. Ah mean, six months, maybe a year if we're locked into the ice, searchin' fur a vessel Ah'm no' at all sure really exists.'

‘But you've read the notes Charles made.' The voice was crisp and sharp. ‘You know very well that he must have written that description of the ship within minutes of having sighted it. We've been over all this on the phone and I've explained to you that I have a navigator in mind, a man I'm convinced has actually seen what my husband saw.'

‘Aye, but ye haven't produced the man. Ye haven't even told me his name or where Ah can contact him.'

‘No.'

They stared at each other, hostility building between them so that the atmosphere in that panelled saloon was almost frigid.

It was Ward who finally broke the heavy silence. ‘Och hell!' he muttered. ‘What's it matter?'

‘How do you mean?' Her eyes blazed.

‘Just that Ah don't care very much one way or t'other. Whether the ship exists outside o' yer husband's imagination is no' all that important to me. Ye say this nameless navigator o' yers has also seen it?'

‘I think so.'

‘Okay then. But Ah want to see him before he joins us as navigator. Where can Ah meet him?'

‘At Punta Arenas. That's if he agrees.'

‘Where is he now?'

‘Somewhere in South America.'

She turned away, the movement and the expression on her face making it clear she was unwilling to answer any more questions.

Ward hesitated, then gave a little shrug. ‘Okay, if that's the way ye want it. But understan' this, girl, it's
my
money an' ye don't ship crew wi'out Ah check them first. Okay?' And he added almost waspishly, ‘If we find the ship, good – but Ah'll no' lose any sleep if we don't set eyes on her. It's like Ah was sayin'. Ah've made some money an' now Ah want to use it to dae somethin' Ah've always wanted to dae. The ship is merely an objective.' A sudden smile lit up his features. ‘If it's there, fine. But it's the challenge o' the thin'. That's what's important to me.'

His manner, his whole bearing, the way he faced us, was pure theatre. He was playing a part and we were the audience. ‘A challenge,' he repeated. And then he smiled that attractive smile of his, held out his left hand and said, ‘Ah'll be thinkin' about it all the way back to Glasgae, Mrs Sunderby. O' ye, too. Let me know when ye've fixed the boat, an' the price – then Ah'll talk to the lawyer men Ah seem to have acquired. Also the accountancy laddies who check the figures.'

He left us, his mouth stretched into something near a grin as he ducked through the after cabin doorway like an actor going off stage at the end of his big scene.

Iris Sunderby's reaction was similar to my own. ‘God!' she breathed, tossing her head back in a gesture of irritation as she listened to the sound of his footsteps on the deck above. ‘Much more of that man and I'd –' She checked herself with a wry little smile, then snatched up her briefcase and began stuffing her papers into it. ‘Do you think that accent of his is real?' She turned and looked at me. ‘Well, do you?'

I shrugged. ‘Does it matter?'

‘Yes, it does.' There was a note almost of desperation in her voice. ‘If it isn't, then the man's far too complex, has much too much imagination. And if I can't stand his play-acting here, how the hell am I going to manage in the close confines of the boat. It could be for month after month, you know. If we get locked into the ice, per'aps for a whole winter.
¡Dios mio!
'

She stood there, staring at her reflection in the dresser's mirror. The silence for that moment was absolute. ‘Trouble is,' she went on slowly, ‘that man is just about my last hope.' She snapped the lock of the briefcase shut and moved towards the door. ‘I've been knocking on big company doors till I'm sick of the sight of men trying to avoid telling me outright my husband was a nutter. And the endless letters …' She shook her head. ‘If it hadn't been for the Admiral –' She turned and looked at me again, holding out the bulging briefcase. ‘All these notes and memos of mine,' she said angrily. ‘All wasted on him. An ego a mile high and that Glasgae accent of his … The Admiral saw it at once.'

‘Saw what?' I asked.

‘Ward's reluctance. That it was all just a game to him. He'd only come down from Scotland out of curiosity. A Glaswegian truck driver –
Ah've never before had anythin' to dae wi' an outfit o' this sort
.' It was a fair imitation and she repeated, ‘The Admiral saw it at once. Clever, the way he handled the man.'

‘You mean that man-to-man stuff about his disability endangering lives?'

‘Of course. You don't think the Admiral behaves like that normally? Not in his nature. But he saw Ward's reluctance, realised he wasn't going to throw his cash around, so he go straight for the jugular.' She was excited, her English slipping as she moved towards the door again. ‘Where are you going – Liverpool Street station, is it?' And when I nodded she offered to drop me off. ‘I've got to go through the City anyway. I need to visit the Argentine Embassy, Cadogan Gardens.'

It was while we were saying goodbye to the
Cutty Sark
's Captain that I saw the student again, standing by one of the pictorial display panels. He lingered there until we moved towards the exit, then he started walking casually down the length of the deck. He emerged into the sunshine just as we reached the ship's stern. ‘I see your boyfriend is still keeping you in his sights.'

I said it as a joke, but she didn't take it that way. ‘He's not my boyfriend.' There was a sudden tension in her voice, and she didn't turn her head to see who I was referring to.

‘You know him, don't you?'

She didn't answer and we walked in silence until we reached her car. As she unlocked it he passed us, running along the upper walk that led past the big square flower tubs to the kiosk and on to Chichester's
Gypsy Moth
. He kept on the far side of the platform, and since we were at a much lower level, I only caught a glimpse of his head and shoulders until he came off the raised level and ducked down to the right, towards the underground car park run by the British Legion.

She was leaning into the back of her car, rearranging her things, and she hadn't seen him. A family of tourists stood near us, talking to an old man who had just come out of the Gypsy Moth pub. ‘They call it Church Street now,' he told them. ‘'Cos of the church there, St Alfege. But way back, afore they brought that ship 'ere an' knocked all the buildings down to build a dock for 'er, this was a street of shops an' 'ouses, right down to the pier. Billingsgate Street. That was the name of it.'

They passed out of earshot, a child's voice raised, demanding ice-cream. We got into the car and she drove off. Looking back as we turned into College Approach, I saw a bright red open sports car shoot out of the street opposite the Gypsy Moth, a man at the wheel, and no passenger. It followed us as we turned right by the entrance to the Royal Naval College and right again on to the main road.