White Heat (9 page)

The thought of a wet blanket decided her to take a shower, and she undressed and went into her bathroom and presently emerged wearing the flimsiest of dressing-gowns over her equally scanty nightwear, and sat down beside her porthole window and looked out at the sea and the utter magnificence of the night.

It was not yet twelve o’clock, and Mrs. Makepiece was at that precise moment enjoying herself hugely in the captain’s cabin, where a small but select party was in progress. Karin had also been invited to it
—
the captain was inclined to regard her a little whimsically these days, as if he could not entirely make her out but was intrigued by what he saw, and surprised that at this late stage of the voyage she was not involved in some really serious affair, considering there were quite a number of eligible men on board
—
but she had declined. She wished now that, instead of rushing away impulsively after dinner, she had remained with Mrs. Makepiece, and been persuaded to change her mind about the captain’s hospitality.

To have allowed Kent to talk to her on deck in the way he had done was an indication that there was something wrong with her pride. To have likened her to a woman he almost certainly had admired very much at one time
—
it was just possible he still did!
—
and then bluntly told her in so many words that she couldn’t possibly hold a candle to her was the kind of thing one might expect from a man who was either basically insensitive or basically cruel. And she had often
—
very often, in fac
t —
suspected that Willoughby enjoyed putting people at a disadvantage, and that his hard, self-centred nature was equivalent to a brick wall if anyone like herself came up against it.

Instead of stepping politely aside and allowing her to escape without bruises, he remained adamantly in her way, reducing her to a state that was not far from actual resentful tears by the time he had finished with her.

And for what reason? Simply to amuse himself, she supposed.

Hotter than ever after her shower, with no air at all coming in at the porthole-window, the fan above her bed whirring silently but to little purpose, she began to feel so filled with resentment that it actually gave her a headache. She dabbed her temples with cologne, decided to take two aspirin tablets, paced up and down until they took effect and told herself that, of all the men in the world whom she disliked
—
and she didn’t actually dislike very many
—
Kent Willoughby was the one she hated. She hated everything about him ... his air of never being ruffled, not even when she smacked his face. Oh, it was true that his eyes had glittered alarmingly, but he had not displayed any signs of temper, only icy disdain
—
his
imma
culate appearance (and that with a temperature that had been soaring for days!) his smoothness, complacency at times (how little he had cared when she told him she never wished to speak to him again!) aloofness, superiority, and untouchableness.

And now that she knew about the beautiful Sarah she understood perfectly why, so far as women were concerned, he might as well be clad in armour, or surrounded by some protective aura that would keep him safe from all their blandishments, for all the effect any single determined member of her sex could make on him. He might at one time have fancied himself in love, but now he was safe from weaknesses of that sort.

He was safe because of Sarah, who had married another man, and put her mark on him for ever ... which proved that she had had some sense, although it didn’t do anything about the past. The past would remain comfortably with Kent Willoughby for always, keeping him out of the clutches of adventuresses, women who might have managed to humanize him, and red-headed twenty-two-year-olds who bore some sort of a resemblance to the peerless deb of her year.

Before she slid into bed and pulled her single sheet up over her Karin told herself, between her teeth, that she hated Sarah too ... and then under the confusion of sleep as it rushed up over her she asked herself
why...?

What had Sarah done to her?

It must have been at least two or three hours later when she wakened, despite the soporific influence of the aspirins, quite suddenly, to find the atmosphere inside her cabin quite unbearable. Not merely was it as
hot as a furnace, but the very air she breathed had an acrid tang to it.

In fact, the smell she smelt was the smell of fire ... and at the thought of fire aboard ship she sprang out of bed, dragged on her dressing-gown, and rushed to the door.

Now that she was fully awake she was aware that there was confusion going on all around her. Many pairs of feet seemed to be trampling the deck above her head, and other feet were racing along the corridor outside her room. She could hear voices ... brief snatches of panic-stricken conversation, and more distant voices that seemed to be raised in authority. Beyond her porthole window the sea was black as ink since the moon had obviously set, and there was an oily sound to it as it hit the sides of the ship. The vibration of the engines was going on as always when the
Ariadne
was not in port.

Someone knocked on her door, and she managed to fasten the sash of her dressing-gown before she opened it.

Kent Willoughby, his face grim and almost unrecognizable in the b
l
inding white light in the corridor, spoke to her quickly and imperatively.

‘Put something else on apart from a dressing-gown,’ he ordered. ‘A
coat ...
above all bring a coat
!
’

‘W-why?’ she quavered, feeling her teeth begin to chatter as she looked at him.

‘You’re going to need it,’ he answered curtly. ‘It will be bitterly cold in a couple of hours, and they’re taking to the boats.’ He thrust her back into her cabin. ‘Be quick and dress as rapidly as you know how.
’

‘But why?’

‘Fire,’ he replied tersely. ‘Can’t you smell it?’

He stood outside her cabin until she was ready. Her hands acting for her since her brain seemed numb, she pulled on a few undergarments and the linen dress that was still lying across the back of a chair which she had worn during the afternoon of the previous day ... it seemed aeons ago now. And on top of that, although the heat was appalling, she flung a coat ... a short, chunky, nautical type of jacket.

As soon as she was dressed she opened the door again, and Willoughby nodded approval as he caught sight of her.

‘That dressing-gown thing of yours would have been no use in an open boat,’ he said, and caught her by the wrist and dragged her up on deck. Once there the confusion filled her with horror. It alarmed her even more than the angry red glow which seemed to be entirely concentrated in the forward end of the ship, although judging by the crackling noises and the amount of smoke that was given off the fire-fighters were finding it a difficult matter to keep it thus isolated.

Karin had always understood that at sea, in circumstances such as these, people behaved beautifully, betraying a few signs of panic, and giving place instinctively to the more helpless ones amongst them. For instance, the women would give place to children, and the men to women.

But that wasn’t precisely what was happening on board the
Ariadne
,
still steaming at a steady rate of knots towards her destination, while stars hung like bunches of jewelled grapes in the velvety mantle of the sky above them. Women were screaming and children were being separated from their parents by the press of human bodies, and a stout gentleman in a violently coloured silk dressing-gown and striped pyjamas appeared to be having a form of hysterics as he fought frantically to reach the side of one of the boats. It didn’t matter that they had had endless boat-drill during the voyage. No one was paying the smallest heed to what they ought to do, or attempting to conquer their panic.

And, after a second or so, Karin realized why.

Fire, the most terrifying thing to happen aboard ship
— a
nd especially in the middle of the Indian Ocean — had them all demoralized, and the only universal and paramount thought was to seek the safety of one of the boats that were being rapidly lowered from the sides of the ship with as much speed, and as little dignity or regard for anyone else — unless it was a close relative, such as a wife, or the various members of a family
—
as possible.

Appalled, and still not fully awake
—
indeed, she wondered whether she was dreaming
—
Karin stood clutching at Kent’s arm and gazing helplessly about her.

‘Mrs. Makepiece
...?’
she managed, remembering her suddenly, but Kent reassured her.

‘She’s already in one of the boats. Rolands, my man, saw to that, while I came for you.’ He didn’t say why his instinct, in the face of so much danger, had been to seek her out in her cabin and make certain she was not allowed to be burned alive in it, and in any case it didn’t seem to matter just then. He was cool, alert, and efficient
—
amazingly efficient considering the chaos on all sides of them
—
and within a matter of minutes after arriving on deck he had her drawn to the side of the ship, and a cheerful Cockney voice which she recognized but failed to identify with its owner because her brain wasn’t working properly urged her to give
him
her hand, and she was thereafter lifted bodily and placed on some kind of a ladder, to which she clung perilously until told to let go. She let go and landed in a boat that swayed with her every movement, and as a result of the awkwardness of her jump a shower of spray was sent up all around her.

‘Sit still and don’t make another move,’ a voice
—
which she recognised this time as Kent Willoughby’s
—
ordered her; and she sat huddled up amongst some ropes and ship’s gear, already shivering as the dawn drew stealthily closer, while the inky black sea heaved around her and the voices on
the decks above her grew fainter and fainter, and there was no longer any sign of fire because she seemed to have been cast overboard at a point far removed from the core of the trouble, and there were no other boats near to her in the darkness ... or not so far as she was able to make out by straining her eyes.

She grew a little alarmed, because there was some delay before someone else joined her, and then it was the Cockney, Rolands, who lowered himself skilfully into the boat.

‘All right, miss?’ he asked, peering at her. ‘The boss’ll be with us in a minute. He’s lending a hand up there.’

‘Lending a hand?’

Willoughby landed, lightly, between them, and ordered his servant to cast off.

‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘They won’t listen to reason up there
...
’
jerking his dimly seen head. ‘They’re in such a state of panic that they’re like sheep. Actually, I believe the fire will soon be under control, but we can’t take any chances. The only thing we can do is to hang about so long as there’s a chance of picking up someone from the water, and be ready to save our skins if the ship looks like being destroyed. You’d better test that motor, Rolands, and find out whether it works.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Rolands
—
whom it later transpired had at one time been in the Navy — was obviously enjoying himself despite the scare, and he answered cheerfully enough and started tinkering with the motor.

Willoughby joined Kar
i
n on the hard wooden seat to which she felt as if she was becoming attached, like a limpet, and in the darkness produced his cigarette-case, which was fortunately full.

‘Have one?’ he invited, in a completely casual tone. ‘I know you don’t smoke much, but there’s a time and a place for everything.’

She shook her head.

‘I’d rather not.’

Her teeth were chattering, because of the increasing cold, and he groped for a tarpaulin and placed it round her.

‘That better?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You can have my coat as well, if you like?’ and he started to remove it.

But she shook her head more vigorously.

‘No, no! You’ll need it, and I’m not as cold as all that. In fact, I’m much warmer now.’

‘Sure?’

‘Absolutely sure.’

He shrugged, and thereafter, for several minutes, there was silence
—
apart from the spluttering noises occasioned by Rolands’ efforts to get the motor started, and those distant cries so far away above their heads which seemed to be dying out altogether as time passed.

As soon as the motor was started Rolands manoeuvred the tiny vessel into a somewhat safer position well away from the side of the
Ariadne
,
and at the same time he and his master kept a sharp look-out for any swimmer in the sea
—
and there had been quite a number of people who had jumped overboard when the panic first started
—
who might be in need of assistance. But although, after a while, they could hear the unmistakable sounds of other boats moving near them, and they even made out the shapes of one or two of them
—
far larger boats, that appeared to be full of people
—
no one swam alongside their own, or made any attempt to board it.

The glow of fire died down as the toilers on the
Ariadne
conquered it, and any heat given off by it was completely mitigated by the icy chill of the dawn. Karin clutched at her tarpaulin and tried not to shiver noticeably, in case Kent should once more offer her his jacket — and she felt certain he would catch pneumonia without it
—
and after they had been sitting in the boat for a full half an hour a faint grey light invaded the sky towards the east.

Karin’s tired eyes watched it spreading as if someone was slowly turning up the wick of a lamp.

‘It will soon be daylight,’ she said.

Kent nodded. He was straining his own eyes towards the bulk of the
Ariadne
,
that was undoubtedly much farther away from them now than it was when the grey light first appeared in the sky. Following a rush of saffron, rose and turquoise into the bowl of the eastern heaven it was much farther away from them still, and he spoke sharply to Rolands.

‘We appear to be drifting,’ since the engine was temporarily silent. ‘We’ll have to check the drift, otherwise with this swell we’ll be swept half-way across the Indian Ocean before the sun’s up. Start that motor up again, and don’t let it peter out until we’re within hailing distance of the
Ariadne
.
I’ve an idea things are calmer aboard there now.’

‘Yes, but they’re not exactly healthy aboard this craft,’ Rolands replied, doing desperate things to the hitherto noisy piece of mechanism. ‘Unless we’re running out of petrol there’s a fault somewhere ... and I’m inclined to suspect we’re running out of petrol!’ He glanced round him anxiously. ‘Anything in that can over there, sir?’

Willoughby reached for the can, and shook it. The resultant silence, and the obvious ease with which he handled the can, spoke for themselves. Rolands uttered a sound which sounded like ‘Crikey!’ and in the strange, eerie light of dawn his master’s face looked grim.

‘Whose idea was it that we should commandeer this boat?’ he demanded icily. ‘Are there any oars?’

Once again his manservant looked round.

‘Sure to be, sir ... Ah, yes!’ He pounced on them. ‘But only one pair
!
However, they should get us back to the ship.’ His nautical eye measured the distance. ‘Not more than half a mile
...’

‘Then don’t waste any time. Row!’ Willoughby ordered.

Rolands rowed, but half an hour later he was still straining at the oars, the sweat was running down his face, and he was proving that he was out of condition by gasping continuously. And the
Ariadne
,
instead of coming anywhere nearer, was gradually disappearing over the skyline.

His master seized the oars from him, and for another half-hour a tremendous effort was made, but by that time the
Ariadne
had disappeared altogether, the sun was up and blazing down upon them in the open boat, the last flush of rose had died out of the sky and it was a hard and brilliant blue, and Karin, seated in the stern without either the tarpaulin or her jacket, was thinking longingly of the excellent cup of tea that always arrived at her cabin at this hour, accompanied by a juicy apple or a golden banana — or both — and wondered what they were going to do if it got much hotter, and they had nothing in the nature of an awning to protect them from the merciless rays of the sun in that particular hemisphere.

Suddenly Kent stopped rowing, lowered his head to his knees as if he, too, was exhausted, and then looked across at Karin with a slightly twisted smile.

‘It seems,’ he said, ‘that the Fates were listening in last night when you decided our exercises in conversation were to end. They evidently didn’t approve, for it seems we’re going to have quite a lot of time to talk ... if we feel like
it!’