A Prayer for the Ship (26 page)

“If I may make a suggestion, sir,” there was a slight edge in Carver's suave manner. “Could the Mid take your guest round the boat? The Cox'n can be Chief Guide.”

“Well, I thought that was to be my privilege.” Royce was puzzled.

“Ah yes, sir,” said Carver smoothly. “But there is a small service matter which now requires your attention. I think you will be able to clear it up soon, and then I'll get the cocktail shaker out.”

“Er, very good,” answered Royce. “Would you care for a quick tour, Julia? I'm afraid I've got some little job to do.”

“Ah, the weight of command,” she smiled. “All right, but I warn you, I might hear some awful things about you!”

As she was ushered away by her attentive escort, Royce turned in bewilderment. “What the devil's gone wrong now? We haven't got a flap on, have we?”

Carver looked uncomfortable. “Well, no, sir.”

“Come on, spit it out!”

“The S.O.'s on board. In the wardroom.”

“What, Kirby? That's a bit unusual, but what the hell, nothing's gone wrong lately, has it?”

“I think you'd better see him yourself, sir, if you don't mind.”

Royce strode impatiently to the hatch, and as he swung down the gleaming ladder, he swore hotly to himself. If Kirby thought he was going to mess up his biggest moment, he'd get a shock. Why, it was unthinkable—he jerked aside the curtain, and stamped in. Kirby was sitting awkwardly in one of the big chairs, and for a moment, Royce couldn't think what was different about him. His uniform was as impeccable as usual, and his head just as well groomed, but when he tried to rise to his feet, it became all too obvious. He was completely drunk. Royce was so aghast, that he just stared. It was unbelievable. It was as if he had discovered a curate in a disorderly house.

Carver was breathing heavily behind him.

“You see, I didn't know what to do with him,” he hissed.

“What the blazes are you two gabbling about?” Kirby swayed sideways, and clutched at the scuttle for support. His eyes were no longer piercing, in fact they were glazed, and he seemed to have the greatest difficulty in focusing them. “I jush wanted to, wanted to—” He stopped, and fell back against the side, his hair flopping over one eye, while his mouth opened and shut noiselessly.

Royce snapped into action.

“Quick, get the coffee to work, before the others come.” And to Kirby, “Very nice of you to take the trouble, sir, I'm sure. Please take a seat.”

It was like a dream. It seemed impossible that this could be the perfect, self-contained superman that they had come to loathe.

Kirby was fumbling inside his jacket, and mumbling. “Saw you bring a, hic, bring a young lady aboard.” He paused, and looked up at him glassily, “Thought you might like to shee a picture of my wife?” He wrenched out his wallet.

Royce fumed impatiently for the coffee. For once he felt quite at a loss. The Commander was waving a faded photograph towards him, and he got a blurred impression of a frail-looking lady standing on a beach, squinting into the sun, and waving at the camera. Royce had no idea what had brought the man out to the boat, but he suddenly felt terribly sorry for him.

“Very nice, sir,” he said at length. “I hope we shall have the pleasure of meeting her one day.”

Kirby didn't appear to hear, but carefully poked the picture back into the wallet. “Well, thash all, Royce!” And he stood up with a jerk, knocking an ashtray to the deck. “I jush wanted you to know,”—and he leaned heavily on Royce's arm—“that I've made something of thish flotilla, an' I'm bloody well proud of it.” His stomach bubbled menacingly. “And whash more, I'm bloody well proud of all of you. Thash all!”

And grabbing his cap from the peg, he lurched to the door, where he wheeled round colliding with Julia and Leach, to whom he bowed.

Leach went white, and Julia looked from one to the other in amazement.

“Oh, this is Lieutenant-Commander Kirby, our Senior Officer.” Somehow the explanation seemed unsatisfactory, and Royce hurried on. “Is his boat alongside?”

“There was a motor-boat approaching,” said Leach, his eyes fixed to Kirby, as if mesmerized. “Shall I help the Commander on deck?”

“No, I'll see him over the side,” said Royce hurriedly, and guided Kirby to the ladder, where, with Carver's assistance, he struggled on deck. Commander Wright's red face beamed up at them from the motor-boat.

“So there he is, the rascal! Led me a proper dance, he has!”

And he reached up to assist a safe descent into the boat. As Kirby slumped into the cockpit, Wright craned up to the M.T.B.'s deck.

“This is your friend Watson's doing. Slipped him a Mickey Finn! All the same, he did mean to give you all a Christmas Greeting, you know.”

“Yes, sir, I know he did. And if I may say so, I think he'll be respected for this lapse, rather than criticized.”

“Hah, we've not finished yet, there's still two more boats to go!” roared Wright, and with a wave, the boat sped away.

Royce rejoined the others, and accepted a glass shakily. “Phew, I never thought I'd ever see a thing like that. Poor old Kirby!”

Carver raised his glass. “Here's to our guest. I might tell you, you're the first of the fair sex ever to set foot on these sacred decks.”

“I'm honoured,” answered Julia. “Why is that?”

Carver smiled at Royce. “Our Captain wanted you to be the first.”

Royce felt himself colouring.

“That, plus the fact I didn't hear anything horrible about you during my tour of inspection, makes you quite the nicest captain in the Fleet.” She raised her glass to him, her eyes warm.

“Thank you for being the first,” mumbled Royce, and drained his drink, without noticing any taste.

He was, in fact, completely happy, and was content to leave the lunchtime conversation to Leach and Carver, while he sat and simply devoured her with his eyes.

“We're having the big eats tomorrow at fourteen hundred, or thereabouts,” Carver was saying. “After the lads have had theirs. That gives us time to serve them with their grub for a change. Very democratic ship this. When will you be coming?”

Julia laughed, “I haven't been asked yet!”

“You must come just as soon as you can,” blurted Royce. “I've made arrangements with the N.A.A.F.I. boat to run you over whenever you arrive.”

“I'd love it anyway. Will there be many others?”

“Oh, just a few.” Carver was vague. “And now you've christened the boat, Mid'll be able to bring his young lady too!”

How quickly the hands of the wardroom clock flew round, and soon it was time to think about Julia's transport arrangements. As he helped her down into the motor dory, the anchorage was in darkness, the stars hidden by scudding banks of cloud.

The engine coughed into life, and the helmsman steered the boat skilfully between the moored vessels. A keen, icy breeze whipped the water into angry little whitecaps, and Julia shivered.

Royce sensed rather than saw the movement, and without further thought he stood in the swaying boat, and stripped off his greatcoat, calling to her above the clamour of the engine. “Here, put this on, or you'll end up on the sick list!”

She nodded thankfully, and slipped her arms into the coat, drawing its thick folds around her body. “Thank you, that was very sweet of you,” she called. “But what about you?”

He laughed happily. “Not to worry, I've got sort of used to this sort of thing.”

“Oh, have you? I thought I was the first female visitor you'd had aboard?”

“Gosh, I didn't mean it that way!” he stammered hastily.

She found his arm, and squeezed it gently. “It's all right, I'm only teasing again.”

The boat squeaked against the jetty, and together they ran quickly up the slippery stairs.

“Shan't be long, Cox'n! Go and get a cup of tea at the Guardhouse. I'll call for you in about ten minutes.”

The muffled figure at the tiller nodded, “Aye, aye, sir.”

As they walked briskly along the cold, deserted streets towards the hotel, Royce slipped his arm through hers conscious of her nearness.

“I like the way you always think of your men,” she said suddenly.

“No more than anyone else. After all, they don't get a lot of luxuries, do they?”

“It's a lot more than some officers I could mention. There's one who calls in at the Signal Station sometimes. He's always boasting that he never speaks to anybody below a Petty Officer!”

“I'll bet his men just love him!” said Royce, for some reason feeling a pang of jealousy. How could he possibly hope to win her affection, when they were to be separated by the length of the whole country, and she would be back at the vast naval base, surrounded by dashing and eligible officers, many of whom were shore-based, and had apparently little else to do, but pay visits to the Signal Station?

“Penny for them?”

“Oh nothing,” he answered mournfully. “I was just thinking how very quickly this Christmas leave is slipping away.”

They turned into the High Street, only a hundred yards to go now. A searchlight cut half-heartedly into the night sky, swung in a small arc, and then went out. Two policemen passed them, pushing their bicycles, their chins tucked down into their capes.

Royce stopped suddenly, pulling Julia up short. He looked round searchingly, but was confronted by the blind eyes of the darkened windows.

“What's the matter?”

“Sorry, but d'you know, I've been looking forward to seeing you again so much, and I've hardly had a moment alone with you since you arrived. And now there's nowhere to go.”

He looked down at her upturned face.

“I know, it's just one of those things. Never mind, perhaps we'll manage tomorrow.”

Royce groaned inwardly. He knew what his boat would be like on Christmas Day. “Look, there's something I must say, even at the risk of upsetting you, and I wouldn't willingly do that for the world,” he said quickly. “You might have guessed that I'm more than just fond of you.”

She started to speak, but he hurried on desperately.

“No, let me finish, I've got to get it off my chest. The fact is, and believe me, I've thought about it a lot, I knew when I first saw you on that dreadful station, that there could never be anyone else, never be another girl who would make me feel as I did then, and as I have been feeling ever since. You see, Julia, I love you.”

For a moment, there was silence, then she took his arm, and together, they walked on, slowly. At length she spoke, and her voice was so low that he had to bend his head to hear. “What can I say, Clive? Of course, I'm not upset. How could I be? I'm very flattered. But you have known me such a short time. Why, I may be quite different from what you expect.”

His heart plunged, and the night became darker. He realized then that they had stopped outside the White Hart, and at that moment he hated the sight of it.

“But,” she went on, her voice serious, “there's another reason.”

Further and further, his soul spiralled into the bottomless abyss.

“Do you really think it's wise to talk of this so seriously, when any day or hour, one or both of us may be taken, like John was?”

The side door of the hotel opened slightly, and the porter poked out his head. “Ah, thought I 'eard you, miss. I've got yer key ready.”

She nodded to him, and turned to Royce, who stood back limply. “Please, Clive,” she whispered, “I'm tired. It was so unexpected, I must think. You do understand?”

“Yes,” he answered miserably. But he didn't.

“Do you still want to see me tomorrow?”

“More than anything in this life. I'm grateful that you didn't just box my ears for being impertinent,” he said, trying to smile.

She took his hands in hers. “I'll be there. Now take your greatcoat, before you freeze.”

He took the coat dumbly, and struggled into it.

“Well, good night, Julia.”

He couldn't tell what expression the darkness was concealing. He could only see the pale outline of her face. Without warning she reached up, and he felt her warm, soft hands on his neck.

“Dear Clive,” she said softly, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she was gone.

He walked across the road, and looked up at the hotel's darkened windows. How long he stood there he didn't know, but eventually he moved off towards the harbour, kicking blindly at a paper bag which blew along the pavement.

What else had he expected? he asked himself. What could she see in him anyway? Damn and blast, he swore, she was just letting him down gently. Still, she hadn't actually said no. And she had kissed him. If only there was more time.

He found the boat's crew waiting by the jetty, and clambered into the tiny cockpit.