He was shaking a thermometer and smiling gently. ‘Feel a little brighter now, do we?’ He popped the thermometer beneath Foley’s tongue without waiting for an answer. ‘I forgot, you’re the one who’s not keen on the medical profession, am I right?’
It took an age. Titmuss examined the thermometer closely. ‘More like it, I’d say.’
‘How long have I . . .’ He broke off; his throat was like a kiln.
‘A few hours. They brought you from your boat. The P.M.O. was here – he dealt with you.’ He puckered his lips. ‘A real old vulture, that one, but a fair pro at his job.’ He was shaking the thermometer. ‘A few wood splinters were still in the wound. Had to put you out for a few minutes. If you ask me, you were very lucky. Another inch?’ He shrugged. ‘
Nasty
.’
‘I have to get up. I can’t just walk away from it. You must understand.’
Titmuss gave him the gentle smile again. ‘My! Quite the Captain Bligh today, aren’t we?’
He walked around the room, his shoes clicking on the polished linoleum. ‘It’s all been taken care of. Staff officers, brass-hats by the score, even the admiral was here.’ He hovered by the table. ‘And you missed it!’
He was leaning over the bed once more, frowning now. Foley could smell talcum powder.
‘Didn’t do a bad job, if I say it myself.’ He relented slightly. ‘I shaved you while you were less troublesome.’
Foley tried again. ‘One of my seamen was brought here – his eyes were damaged. I’m not sure if . . .’
The plump SBA regarded him sadly. ‘He was sent straight to the Royal at Plymouth. They’re better equipped, you see.’ He readjusted the sheet. ‘It was not good, I fear.’
Foley felt his fists clench, remembering the bandaged eyes turning towards the boat as he was being carried to an ambulance. One of their small, intimate world. The family, as the old Jacks still called it, no matter how much they cursed it at other times.
He said, ‘I’d like a drink. Can you manage it?’
Titmuss pretended to be shocked.
‘What are you asking me to
do
?’ Again he relented. ‘Besides, there’s a young lady waiting to see you. What would she think?’
‘Waiting? All this time?’
Titmuss minced towards the door, which Foley had just seen for the first time.
‘Thinks you’re worth waiting for, if I’m any judge!’
Foley turned onto one side. He felt weak, and stupid that he could not remember anything clearly. And how
was Allison managing on his own, C.O. and Number One together?
He rubbed his face; it was a good shave. He had probably sworn at Sister Titmuss, unconscious or not.
And suddenly she was there, an arm reaching behind her to close the door again.
Then she was beside him, although he had not seen her move.
She said, ‘It’s all right, Chris. You’re here and you’re
safe
– it’s all I care about!’ Her dark eyes were very bright, but there were no tears. Her hand was on his shoulder, warm against his skin, then she moved it to his throat and the side of his face, not once taking her eyes from his.
She said softly, ‘I wanted to be there when you came back. I’d heard about the engagement, I knew you were in it. I prayed you would be safe.’
He wanted to help her, console her, but all he could say was, ‘I didn’t want you to see me like this, Margot.’
The use of her name seemed to break her reserve. She put her face on his shoulder and whispered, ‘That was how I felt when you came to see
me
in hospital. I was such a mess, and I wanted to look like a film star!’ She was laughing and sobbing, her hair brushing his face as she pulled the sheet away from his fingers and kissed his naked skin. ‘How long will it be, Chris?’
‘Not long, I hope. The boat’s a bit of a mess, and we lost two of the lads. Another one was blinded.’
She touched his mouth with her fingers as if to stop him remembering it.
‘I know. The funny SBA told me about him. I’m
sorry, so sorry . . . but my concern is you. I’m terribly in love with you, did you know that?’
Her jacket was unfastened, and she held his hand inside until he could feel the locket through her shirt.
‘I love you too, Margot. I’ve never known anything like this before.’
She gripped his hand more tightly and moved it around her breast. He tried to speak, but she shook her head and pressed his hand more deliberately against her.
She said, ‘I have to go soon. “Tommy” Tucker gave me some free time to be with you, but she only gives in occasionally and becomes human. Almost!’ She was laughing, but there were tears now. ‘I’ll be here tomorrow morning.’
He reached out for her, but she was standing away from the bed, her tunic buttoned again.
She was backing towards the door, watching him.
She blew him a kiss and said, ‘I love you. I want you.’
The pain was returning, and he was determined she should not see it.
When he looked again, the door had closed. Like the climax to a dream.
‘All done then, are we?’ Sister Titmuss had materialized in her place by the bed, automatically shaking his thermometer.
Foley realized for the first time that the room was almost dark, and he heard someone putting up blackout shutters in the next room. It
was
a dream.
Titmuss said, ‘I can see the visit is working already.
A very lovely girl, if I may say so, makes one quite envious!’
He went out, beaming all over his face.
Foley lay still, listening to his heart, remembering hers beating against his hand.
There were so many things he wanted to say. He could think of only one word.
Together.
Rear-Admiral Bumper Fawcett was quietly and unhurriedly working himself into a temper, only his hands and his eyes moving to emphasize a point, or to quell any opposition before it was offered.
David Masters had seen him perform like this several times, at
Vernon
, and before that when he had been out there matching his wits against a beast or some other explosive device. Times when he had believed every incident might be the last. Now he was expected to send others to deal with the same challenges, without fear or favour, but he had never forgotten what it was like. Confronting it for the first time, trying to remain calm, and sound calm, while you described each detail over the intercom to your rating. Your last contact.
Fawcett had not stopped since his arrival. He had visited each of the motor launches, spoken to their commanding officers and senior rates, and even darted quick questions at the most junior hands aboard. ‘Where were you when it happened? What was the range, the bearing,
what
?’ Or, ‘Well, dammit, you
should
know!’
Masters glanced at the others, Lieutenant-Commander Brayshaw keeping notes, occasionally checking a signal flimsy or a file. Captain Chavasse, looking strained
and resentful; it was, after all, his own office which Fawcett now dominated. Tony Brock, arms folded, grim-faced, still smouldering from that first confrontation when he had said, ‘If you want my considered opinion, sir?’ And Fawcett’s curt, ‘
If
I do, I shall ask for it!’
Fawcett’s aide, a sharp-featured lieutenant, was also making notes. He must be tougher than he looked if he had to put up with Fawcett, Masters thought. Second Officer Sally Kemp was sitting beside the only other woman present, Elaine de Courcy, but they had not spoken to one another.
The senior Operations Officer, red-eyed and struggling not to yawn, and a lieutenant-commander from Portland completed the gathering.
Masters watched Elaine, who had been with him since he had returned to his quarters that morning. It must be all of nine hours ago. She showed no sign of fatigue, and her hair shone beneath Chavasse’s hard lighting. Her legs were crossed, one foot tapping occasionally, unmoved by the uniforms around her.
And I thought she was just an interpreter.
He knew hardly anything about her. Nor would he, probably.
She had spoken only briefly of her background, about her mother, who was still living in the Channel Islands with her husband, Raymond de Courcy. She was worried about her mother’s health and the danger she might be in. She had gone no further.
Fawcett raised his voice. ‘Only three months ago, when everyone said it was a pipe dream, we invaded
Sicily, and took it, despite the bad weather and the foul-ups along the way. Next it was Italy, Salerno, Anzio, names written in blood. We faced a more determined enemy and entirely new weapons, missiles fired from aircraft, more accurate bombing.’ He looked at Masters. ‘And mines.’ His eyes moved on. ‘And now we know that Germany is working on several new weapons, and training the personnel to use them.’ His voice dropped a little. Masters waited.
Here it comes.
Fawcett’s gaze hovered on Chavasse. ‘And yet there are still people in this country, people who should have known better, who think this day-to-day existence will continue. Because it suits them, because they are comfortable, happy with
their war
.’
Masters saw Chavasse’s fingers clench. Like many senior officers who had been on the beach between the wars, cast out from the only life he understood, the peacetime navy, Chavasse was grateful to be back. Unable to accept that his navy had changed.
Fawcett raised one hand and closed it very slowly.
‘And yet in less than a year, maybe a few months, we shall embark on the greatest invasion of all time.’ The arm shot out, one finger pointing. ‘Over there, the coast of France, with all it can throw at us!’
His aide looked round at a window as if he expected to see something.
Masters could almost feel sorry for Chavasse. Routine, tradition, order and discipline.
Maybe I would have been the same.
But in a few months, a year at the most, the real test would begin.
Fawcett was coming to the end of his speech; Masters
had seen his aide fold his arms deliberately, so that his wristwatch was displayed.
‘We are making progress, but in my view not enough and too slowly. Secrecy and stealth are all-important, now more than ever before. I shall be seeing the First Sea Lord tomorrow morning, although he is fully aware of my opinion. It was reckless to send the minelayers in the first place. Like having the Royal Marines marching ahead of them at full blast!’
Masters saw Chavasse flinch. Was that a reference to the musicians he had recruited for his Trafalgar Night dinner?
Fawcett picked up his cap. ‘I have to check a few points with the countermeasures section.’ Again he looked at Masters. ‘It will not take long.’
Chairs scraped, people stood up, Sally the Wren second officer was making for the door, doubtless to ensure that the rear-admiral’s car was ready and waiting.
Masters turned towards Elaine de Courcy and their eyes met, as if by accident, like that moment in the house when she had been waiting for him. This morning.
They reached the office in silence, Fawcett walking briskly without any sign of weariness.
Someone had switched on the lights, and the waste-paper bin had been emptied. Otherwise it was exactly as he had left it.
Fawcett glanced around and then purposely closed the little window that looked down on the Operations room.
‘What a dump. You should have something better than this!’ He sat and put his cap beside him. ‘Captain Chavasse runs a long ship, what?’
Masters opened the cupboard. ‘Time for a drink, sir?’
Fawcett grunted. ‘Always. A Horse’s Neck if you can manage it. Not too much ginger ale.’ He leaned back, sighing. ‘But then, Chavasse might not be in command for ever.’
Masters mixed the drink. It sounded like a threat.
He said, ‘You heard about Lieutenant Lewis, sir?’
Fawcett swivelled round and accepted the glass, eyeing it critically. He took a slow swallow, and then said, ‘You’re doing a good job here. I made the right choice.’ He looked over the glass. ‘Yes, I knew about Lewis, the Swanage mine. Bad luck – he had a good record.’ He seemed to make up his mind. ‘Don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I think you allow yourself to become too involved. Lewis was doing his job; he volunteered; he might have been careless or become too confident. Now he’s dead. Nothing we can do about it, except perhaps offer the teams more help and information when we can get it.’
Masters did not rise to it. ‘D.N.I.’s department is still coming up with that, sir.’
Fawcett smiled. ‘I saw you looking at the woman from James Wykes’s little crew. De Courcy, right? Wykes is a cunning old bugger, always was. But she is something, eh?’ He put down the empty glass. ‘I checked up on her, thought it prudent. She’s got top security status, y’know? You don’t get that just by lying on your back, believe me!’
Masters picked up the brandy bottle, surprised that he was so calm.
What did Bumper Fawcett know or suspect? One thing rang true. Elaine de Courcy would never have been permitted to sit in at the various meetings, especially here, unless she was highly regarded.
The telephone rang, very loudly it seemed. ‘Thank you.’ He replaced it and said, ‘Your car is ready, sir.’
Fawcett stood up, his eyes lingering on the bottle.
‘Just remember what I said. Don’t get involved. Keep your distance.’
Masters followed him outside into the darkness where the car was waiting, the aide ready to open the door for his lord and master.
Fawcett paused, his back turned so that nobody else should hear.
‘Your, er, unfortunate predecessor had the right idea, for this work in any case. Always ready with a word of praise, sympathy too if it was required. But it went no further, and no deeper than that, what?’
A Wren stepped out of the shadows and said, ‘I’ve been detailed to drive you when you’re ready to leave, sir.’
In the faint glow of a police light Masters recognized her as the driver who had collected him when he had returned from the conference in London. When Elaine de Courcy had found him in the restaurant, and given him back his pipe lighter.
He said, ‘Hold on for a minute or two. I’ll go and find your other passenger.’
The Wren said, ‘The lady has already left, sir. I saw her go. She seemed to be in a hurry.’