The Blue Ice (14 page)

She had clutched hold of the watch. ‘You – saw us, that time in Bergen, didn't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘That was the last time I saw him.' She turned away. She was crying quietly. ‘Was there any message – when he gave you this?'

‘Yes,' Curtis answered. ‘A line from Rupert Brooke—'

I turned quietly away then and went back on deck. Why was she crying? Was she still in love with him? I took the wheel from Carter. I didn't want to think about her being in love with Farnell.

It was midday by the time we got back to the whaling station. Two catchers lay at the quay. And as we landed the winches were clattering and a huge white whale was being dragged up the slipway by its tail. We stood and watched for a moment. It was all strange and exciting. When the winches stopped, the great animal stretched the whole length of the flensing deck. Its gigantic tail lay by the winches. Its mouth, wide open to show the finners and the huge pink tongue, overhung the slipway. In an instant half a dozen men, armed with flensing knives, set to work. The winch hawsers were attached to the flaps of the hide cut out from either side of the head behind the jaw. Then flensing began, the winches tearing at the blubber whilst the flensers cut it clear with their knives. This exposed the meat along the backbone. Then the winch hawsers were refixed, run through blocks and the whale was winched over to expose the grey-white belly of the animal to the flensing knives.

Kielland came up as we stood watching. He was dressed in ex-German jackboots and an old khaki shirt. ‘Ah, you have returned, eh?' He shouted instructions to one of the men and then said, ‘I hear this man, Schreuder, jumped into the sea. You did not recover him, eh?'

‘No,' I said. The workmen were swarming round the whale now. The meat was being hacked out in great chunks and hooked on to trolleys to be carried to the packing sheds. ‘Where's Jorgensen?' I asked.

‘He has gone to Bergen in the meat boat.' There was a jauntiness about Kielland that suggested he was glad to see the last of his director.

‘And Lovaas?'

He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘He is sick with himself.'

‘What about Schreuder's possessions?' I asked. ‘What's happened to them?'

‘Kaptein Lovaas handed them over to Jorgensen to deliver to the police.'

‘Did you see what they were? Did they include any pieces of what would look like dull, grey rocks?'

His brows lifted. ‘So that was why you were all so interested in Schreuder, eh? What was it – gold, silver, something valuable?'

‘Yes,' I answered. ‘Something valuable.' No wonder Jorgensen had hurried off to Bergen. He would be flying those pieces of rock down to the D.N.S. Laboratories and within a day he would know as much as I did.

‘I'm going back to the boat,' Jill said. ‘I can't – I can't stand this any longer.' She had her handkerchief to her nose.

‘But please – you will feed with me and my wife?' Kielland said. ‘Everything is ready. I have been expecting you. You will not disappoint my wife, will you now? She likes English people.' He shook my arm. ‘We are all very pro-British out here on the islands. We get on fine, eh? We are fishermen and sailors like your people. Peace or war, we fight the same battles. So you will stay for food, eh?'

‘It's very nice of you,' I said.

‘Not at all, my dear fellow. Not at all. And there are beds for you if you have had too much of the ship. Come. We go and have a drink, eh? We always have a drink before food.' He chuckled and nodded at Jill, still holding her handkerchief to her nose. ‘Mrs Gansert does not like the smell, eh? But we like it. To me it smells of money. That is what I always say to people. It smells of money. Look at that whale now. I have just measured him – seventy-three feet. That is about seventy tons. He has over a thousand pounds' worth of oil in his blubber and the same value in meat. That is why I like the smell.' He patted Jill's hand. ‘My wife says it smells like a new dress. Every time a whale comes in over seventy feet I promise her a new dress. And now she likes the smell, too. Come on. We will go and have a little drink.'

He led us up the cinder track to the office. Behind the office was a long, low house. I caught Jill's eyes as we went in. She was bubbling over with laughter. We were shown into a tastefully furnished lounge. Mrs Kielland came in as her husband was pouring out large cognacs. She was a jolly woman with twinkling eyes and an elegance that was delightfully unexpected out on a whaling station. Kielland introduced us. Jill explained that she was not my wife. ‘You poor girl,' laughed Mrs Kielland. ‘Albert has such a tidy mind. And he knows nothing about anything – except whale. You'll find if you stay here long enough that there is nothing but whale talk in this house.' She turned to her husband. ‘Albert, what was the length of the whale Nordahl has just brought in?'

‘Seventy-three feet, Martha,' he replied, grinning like a kid.

‘Seventy-three.' She gave a gurgle of delight. ‘Look! This is the frock I have from the last whale that was over seventy feet.' It was a flame-coloured silk and as she twirled round the skirt flared out. ‘Now,' she said. ‘We drink to your health.' She raised her glass. ‘
Skaal
,' she said.

We all drank. And then the door opened and a little man with dark hair and sharp, creased features came in. ‘Ah, here is Mr Sunde,' said Mrs Kielland. ‘Come in and have a drink, Mr Sunde. I wish you to meet some nice English people.'

I couldn't quite place him as he was introduced to us. He was quite a tough-looking man and he seemed a little embarrassed at drinking with us, as though he felt out of place. I put him down as an artisan. Yet he, too, seemed to understand English.

‘What do you do on the station?' I asked as he stood beside me.

‘Oh, Mr Sunde is not on the station,' Mrs Kielland said. ‘He's another little venture of Albert's.'

‘What do you do then?' I asked him.

‘Gor' blimey, Oi'm a diver,' he said.

The sudden outburst of pure Cockney took me by surprise. ‘A diver?' I said.

‘That's roight.'

I caught Dick's eye and then said, ‘Are you diving for the station?'

‘That's roight,' he repeated and concentrated on his drink.

‘What are you diving for?'

‘Aerer engines,' he answered. ‘A Jerry plyne was shot da'n just off the stytion. Oi'm gettin' the engines up.'

‘Then yours were the boats we saw this morning, just off the outer islands,' I said. ‘A diving boat and a little fishing boat?'

‘That's roight.'

‘Where are your boats now?'

‘The divin' boat's lyin' just ra'nd the 'eadland.'

‘And the other – the fishing boat?' I asked.

His grey eyes looked up furtively at me over his drink. ‘Me mate's gorn inter Bovaagen for somefink,' he muttered and gulped down his glass of cognac.

CHAPTER FIVE

DON'T FORGET THE DIVER

I watched the little Cockney diver as he sipped a second glass of cognac and I was certain he was hiding something. The others had the same idea. They were watching him, too. He glanced quickly in our direction and edged away towards the station manager. Jill gripped my arm. ‘Bill!' she whispered, ‘do you think he could have picked Schreuder up this morning?' Her voice was tense and strained.

‘I don't know,' I answered. ‘It's possible. What do you think?

‘I felt—' She hesitated and then looked up at me. ‘Bill, I felt close to him this morning – terribly, strangely close. It was as though—' She stopped and then said, ‘I don't know. I just felt as though I were close to him, that's all.'

‘To Farnell?'

She nodded.

I looked across at the dark-haired little diver. He was talking to Kielland. He was talking fast, as though he had to keep on talking. I caught snatches of his conversation. It was about depth of water and oxyacetylene cutting. ‘He's nervous,' I told Jill quietly. ‘I'll get him alone as soon as I can and see what I can find out.'

But I didn't get him alone before lunch and at lunch something happened that made me even more anxious to talk to the man privately. The meal was laid in a long, low room branching off from the steward's big kitchen. Windows looked out across ridges of bare rock to a black cutting where the sea lay still in the hot sunshine like a piece of glass. The meal –
middag
they called it – was a colossal affair. It began with big steaks of whale meat served with tomatoes and potatoes. This was followed by
koltbord
– there were innumerable tins of fish treated in different ways, smoked salmon, pickled hake, pressed whalebeef and a whole assortment of different meats, salad and several types of cheese. There was milk and a light Norwegian Pilsner to wash it down.

Lovaas was there and Captain Nordahl of
Hval To.
The talk was mainly of whale. Sunde kept his eyes on his plate and when he spoke it was only to ask for something to be passed to him. If Dick had let him be, I might have found out what I wanted and Lovaas might never have come into the picture again. But Dick asked him how it was he spoke such good English, and with a Cockney accent.

The little diver looked up. ‘Me muvver was Cockney,' he answered, tucking his food into his cheek. ‘She never could get on wiv the Norwegian language, so roight from the time Oi first opened me ma'f she talked ter me in English.'

‘Who were the men working with you this morning?' Dick asked.

‘Me partner an' a fisherman.'

There was a lull in the general conversation and Lovaas looked across at him. ‘What are you fishing for?' he asked.

The Cockney Norwegian grinned. ‘Fer aerer engines, Kaptein Lovaas,' he answered. ‘Oi'm a diver. Started yesterday.'

‘He is getting up the engines of that old Junkers 88 that was shot down off Skarv Island,' Kielland explained.

‘Off Skarv Island?' The sudden interest in Lovaas's voice hit me like a punch. I could see it coming and I couldn't stop it. I began to talk about salvage operations in British harbours. But only the Kiellands were interested. Lovaas had stopped eating and was watching the diver. ‘Were you out there this morning, Mr Sunde?' he asked.

I kept on talking. But all around me was a heavy silence. Sunde gave Lovaas a quick, scared glance and then his eyes fell to his plate. He toyed nervously with his knife and fork. But he didn't eat. ‘That's roight,' he said. And then hurriedly: ‘Oi went da'n ter examine the engines. When Oi sees they're okay Oi sends me mate inter Bovaagen fer an acetylene cutter.'

Lovaas was on him like a hawk. ‘To Bovaagen, eh?'

‘That's roight,' Sunde replied. But the way he said it lacked conviction and he fumbled with his knife as he spread thin layers of cheese on top of meat.

‘Who are you working with?' Lovaas went on.

‘Peer Storjohann,' Sunde replied. ‘He and Oi is partners. We own the boat an' the equipment.'

‘And the fisherman?'

‘Oh, he's a local man,' put in Kielland. ‘Old Einar Sandven from Nordhanger.'

‘From Nordhanger, eh?' Lovaas seemed chewing this infomation over in his mind. Then he said, ‘What time was it you ceased work this morning?'

Sunde looked across at me and then at Lovaas. He seized his glass and took a gulp of beer. I leaned forward across the table and said, ‘Can you tell me more about these engines? Presumably the plane was shot down several years ago. Surely the engines will be rusted beyond use?'

Sunde seized on to my new line of conversation with evident relief. ‘Lor' bless me soul, no,' he answered. ‘They'll be all roight. Metal don't rust right under the water, see. It's air and water what rusts metal. You see ships rusted 'cos you see 'em after the air's bin at 'em. But you sink a ship right under the sea an' then go da'n an' take a look at 'er – well she's all roight, see.'

He paused, and in that pause, Lovaas said, ‘How long were you out off Skarv Island this morning, Mr Sunde?'

‘Oh, Oi dunno,' Sunde replied quickly. ‘An hour – maybe two. Why?' He looked across at Lovaas, but somehow he wasn't able to hold the other's gaze. His eyes dropped to his plate again.

‘What time did you start work?' Lovaas persisted.

‘Oh, Oi dunno. 'Ba't eight.'

‘Then you would still be out there about ten this morning?'

‘Couldn't say what time we was a't there till. Ask me partner. 'E's got a watch.'

‘When will he be returned, eh?'

‘'Ow should Oi know? Depends 'ow long 'e takes ter get the oxy-acetylene plant. Mebbe 'e'll 'ave ter go inter Bergen fer it.'

Lovaas leaned towards Sunde. There was something almost menacing in the solid, squat bulk of him. ‘Were you out off Skarv Island when we were searching for Schreuder?' he asked.

‘Was that the name of the man wot fell overboard from
Hval Ti
?' Sunde asked, trying hard to cover up his nervousness.

‘Yes,' Lovaas answered abruptly.

‘Well, we weren't there, see. We didn't 'ear nuffink.'

Mrs Kielland patted Lovaas's arm. ‘I'm sure Mr Sunde would have said at once if he'd been there, Kaptein Lovaas.'

Lovaas said nothing. He sat watching Sunde. The silence at the table became uncomfortable. Mrs Kielland said, ‘It is so terrible. It is the first man we have lost at Bovaagen Hval. And so close to the station – it does not seem possible.'

‘This is the first man you've ever lost?' I asked Kielland.

He nodded. ‘We have accidents, you know. Men cut themselves on flensing knives. And then we had a man's leg badly torn by the winches. But that is all at the factory. Never have we any accidents on the ships. This is the first.'

I looked across at Lovaas. ‘But it's not your first, is it, Captain Lovaas?' I said.