Dive in the Sun (23 page)

‘It never fails to move me.’ Curtis was quite sincere. ‘It makes all this seem so fragile and unimportant.’ He laughed, as if embarrassed. ‘It’s quite something, as Steve would say.’

Two seamen appeared on deck, scratching and yawning, and from the spindley funnel over the fo’c’sle a puff of smoke proclaimed that breakfast, of sorts, was on the way.

Curtis examined the long telescope which he had procured from the captain and tested it on the horizon.

‘Not exactly a Zeiss, but it’ll have to do,’ he commented.

Jervis walked slowly across the sloping poop and stared back along the dim, uneven wake, following it until it was lost in the fading shadows and torn apart by the short, steep waves. Already the outlines of the individual white crests were becoming more clearly defined, whilst around him the ship seemed to grow larger, and more vulnerable.

He turned his back to the sea, and watched Curtis pacing briskly up and down across the poop. The wind ruffled his fair hair, and gave him back his boyish look, but the eyes which darted up to the masts, or scanned the lightening horizon, were neither young nor restful. Jervis sighed, and wished he understood what was going on behind those cold eyes, and whether any of Curtis’s thoughts were directed at him.

There was a slight disturbance at the hold hatchway, and Sergeant Dunwoody stood swaying in the grey light. Seeing Curtis, he stamped aft and halted by the wheel. His hand swung up in a smart salute.

‘Mornin’, sir! What orders, sir?’ His eye studied the tired
naval
officer with interest, but his expression was calm and respectful.

‘We must bury those four chaps of yours.’ Curtis pointed with his pipe stem. ‘It won’t do the rest of them any good to see them lying there.’

Sergeant Dunwoody fidgeted with his sling. ‘Another gone in the night I’m afraid, sir. ’E was done for before ’e got on the boat.’ His tone, although matter-of-fact, did not disguise his sadness.

Curtis looked at the compass, his eyes distant. ‘I see. Very well, we’ll get on with it now. Before there’s anything else to worry us.’

The sergeant hurried back to the hold, beckoning as he did so to two seamen.

Curtis stared at Jervis. ‘Give him a hand, Ian.’

Jervis stood by the lee rail as the seamen unlashed the bodies and laid them in readiness. The extra one was hurriedly wrapped in a length of worn canvas, and an old seaman, his face a mass of tiny wrinkles, like a piece of hardened leather, began to sew the ends together with twine.

A bar of gold light mounted the ship’s rail and spilled on to the deck, lighting the seaman’s bent head and his thick mass of grey hair. There was little warmth in the gentle ray, yet already the decks had lost their coat of spume and spray, and even the sounds of the sea seemed lulled.

The sun glinted on the man’s needle, as with a jerk he broke the thread and raised his eyes, their watery brilliance telling nothing to Jervis, who stared fascinated at the soldier’s boots which still protruded from the end of the canvas.

He shook himself and looked quickly at the hold, aware that some of the soldiers had come on deck and were standing in a silent group by the hatchway, their bandages white against their sunburned faces, and their tattered khaki clothing clashing with the dark green and silver of the sea.

Sergeant Dunwoody glared round and nodded to Curtis. ‘Ready, sir!’

Curtis stared in silence at the five bundles which had once been men.

‘Have you a British flag aboard?’ He faced the captain, suddenly angry.

‘No,
signore
. We have just the usual signal flags.’ He pointed at the locker by the mainmast. ‘I am deeply sorry, but we have no use, you understand.’

Curtis walked quickly to the locker and wrenched open the lid. He could feel all eyes on him as he pulled the untidy bundle of flags on to the deck in a tangled mass of colour.

He had intended to drop the soldiers over the side during the night, but now that he had seen the sergeant’s face and those of the other wounded, he was glad he had waited. Whatever lay waiting for them in the path of the sun, and however wasted his efforts might be, he suddenly felt that this thing was terribly important. His fingers closed over the International Code flag V. It was a white flag with a bright red diagonal cross. That would have to do, he thought, and beckoned to Jervis.

‘Spread this over them,’ he said, ‘it’s all I can find.’

Over his shoulder he said curtly, ‘Stop the engine!’ He heard the long lever grate over, and seconds later, the engine coughed and died away.

The engine-room hatch banged open and Taylor’s heat-reddened face appeared over the coaming.

‘’Ere, what the ’ell d’you think you’re doin’?’ He glared at the captain, who pointed quickly to Curtis and laid a fat finger across his lips. Taylor blinked wearily. ‘Sorry, Skipper!’ He then leaned across the coaming, his chin on his forearms, his eyes distant.

Curtis looked round the watching faces, and wondered what he was going to say. He had never seen a sea burial before, let alone conducted one.

A squeaking block distracted him, but when he turned angrily towards the sound, he saw the captain hauling the Italian tricolour to the position of half-mast. He had removed his greasy cap and his bald head gleamed in the sunlight like a brown egg.

His eyes fell on the girl and her father, who had also appeared on the poop. Signor Zecchi looked old and crumpled, but the girl at his side stood proudly against the stiff breeze,
her
thin dress pressed against her slender body, her gaze fixed upon Curtis. He noticed vaguely that her hair was loose, and some of the severity seemed to have left her, as with each breath of wind she put up her hand to brush the hair from her face.

Curtis tore his eyes away. The ship lolled heavily in each trough, and started off a fresh set of noises. Ropes creaked and blocks clattered as the rigging bit at the spiralling masts, while at the waterline the water gurgled impatiently, as if hungry for what was to come.

‘We came together by accident,’ began Curtis, his gaze fixed on the wavering bowsprit, ‘and I don’t know these men as well as you do. But I know that I am speaking for all of you when I give them God’s blessing.’ He stopped. The words sounded foreign and stilted, and he looked quickly at the men. Their faces were set and grim, yet some of the tension seemed to have gone. ‘We will now commit their bodies to the deep.’ He finished, his mind empty. ‘Carry on, Mr. Jervis!’

The planks were hoisted by the seamen, and Curtis set his teeth, as one of the bodies began to slide towards the edge.

Suddenly the sergeant’s voice crashed on his ears. ‘‘A’ Company, ’shun!’

The soldiers lurched to attention, and Curtis was thankful, knowing that the sergeant and all the others had felt as he. They did not need his words. They were saying good-bye in their own way and tomorrow, if it came, they would speak with friendly ease of these five men.

The seamen placed the planks carefully on the deck, and one of them rolled up the flag. It was over.

‘Thank you, Sergeant. You can carry on to breakfast now.’

‘Sir.’ He wheeled to leave and paused. ‘A nice neat job, sir, if I may say so.’

Curtis nodded to Taylor. ‘Full throttle, George!’ His head vanished, and Curtis breathed with quiet relief as the engine rumbled into life.

The captain had put another seaman on the wheel, and wiped his hands across his trousers. ‘I will see that my men carry out your orders. You can trust me,
signore
. I have never
liked
working for the Germans.’ He spat accurately over the rail. ‘They have no humour, you understand!’

Curtis smiled, and the captain spread his hands with obvious delight. ‘See,
signore
, you at least agree with me on that!’ He ambled forward, humming to himself.

Signor Zecchi turned up the collar of his thin jacket, and glanced from Curtis to the empty sea.

‘Where are we this morning?’

The girl interrupted with a soft laugh. ‘Does it matter, Papa? We are his prisoners!’ She smiled sadly at Curtis, her teeth gleaming through the dark veil of her blown hair.

Curtis shrugged. ‘What difference indeed,’ he answered. ‘You will be safe aboard this ship, but who knows what is happening on the mainland by now. Perhaps the Germans have started to shoot some of your countrymen by now!’

‘Never! We hate war, but we are loyal to our allies!’ But there was less conviction in his sunken eyes.

The girl shivered, and her father took her arm. ‘Come below, Carla. There will be breakfast soon. You will become ill in this wind.’

Her eyes played across Curtis’s face. ‘I will wait a little longer, Papa. You go below now. I will watch the sun drive away the night.’

He sighed and left them together at the rail.

‘I liked the way you spoke to your men, Lieutenant. It was a bad thing you had to do.’

‘I’ve had to do worse. Thank God there weren’t more of them.’ He looked sideways at her firm chin and slender throat. ‘If they had been left down there without attention, many more would have died.’ He watched a small pulse beating beneath her throat. ‘As it is, I can’t be sure yet.’ He left his fears unsaid.

‘You have done what you thought you had to,’ she said gravely. ‘If you had followed my plan, you could have been safe in a good hiding place.’

‘Then we could have waited with your father for the British Army; then he
and
his social position would be restored, is that it?’

She kept her face averted, but he saw her shoulders toss
with
impatience. ‘Would you not do that for your own father?’

Curtis laughed aloud, and she stared at him in a mixture of rage and despair. ‘You are mocking me, Lieutenant!’

He laid his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. ‘I am sorry,
signorina
. I apologize for laughing, but I am afraid you do not know my father!’

He fell silent, and she lowered her eyes to his hand, which still rested across her shoulder. ‘I think I will go below now.’

He dropped his hand, conscious of the warmth in his palm. ‘Perhaps you will be good enough to help with the wounded again?’

‘Is that what you really wanted to ask, Lieutenant?’ She smiled at the discomfort on his face, and walked to the hatch. ‘I will help.’ With a wave to Jervis who hovered eagerly nearby, she ran lightly down the ladder.

‘What a girl, Skipper! I’ve never seen anyone like her!’ Jervis scratched his head, as if the right words would come from there. ‘Why, she’s lovely!’

Curtis examined his pipe and began to fill it. ‘What would
your
father have to say about her, I wonder?’

Jervis drew himself up and inserted one hand melodramatically into his jacket. ‘Looking at girls, Ian? Disgustin’! What’s her phone number?’ Jervis stopped the imitation and grinned with embarrassment. ‘Well, something like that anyway.’

Curtis stared at him in amazement. It was as if the boy had suddenly taken on a new personality, or a fresh lease of life. ‘Well done, Ian!’ he said, knowing that if he had treated him better he would have behaved like this before. ‘I’m sure your old man would say nothing of the sort!’

He loosened his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. The air was humid, in spite of the wind, and the clouds seemed to be holding the heat steady over the sea, while the sun dipped and wavered across its surface, plunging it into dark shadow for one minute, and opening up the rollers into barriers of green glass the next.

He felt his rough chin as he watched a seaman place a tray of coffee and hot sausage on the deck by the wheel.

‘After that, I’m going to have a shave, Ian,
and
a bath if I can manage it.’

‘Shall I call Steve to relieve you, Skipper?’

He smiled briefly at the boy’s pink face. ‘You’re the navigator. You can manage by yourself, eh?’

Jervis grinned. ‘I think so, in fact, yes, Skipper!’

The morning wore on, the schooner’s course taking her further and further from the mainland, until it seemed to all aboard that they had been sailing purposefully towards the horizon for days instead of hours.

Curtis had stripped to his trousers, and was busy shaving with the captain’s razor in the cabin. His skin, washed and briskly towelled with a sheet from the bunk, glowed pleasantly, and he smiled at his reflection in the small mirror as he remembered the captain’s own towel. It was hardly the thing to touch, let alone use.

Duncan sprawled in the bunk, snoring with relaxed ease, and from across the passage he heard the girl talking to her father.

He paused with his shaving and rested his hand on his own shoulder. He met his own gaze in the mirror, as he remembered how she had looked at him.

An urgent tapping overhead on the glass skylight made him glance up, ashamed of being discovered with his thoughts. Jervis was stooping over the sill, squinting through the dirty glass.

‘Skipper! Another ship! Fine on the starboard bow!’

Curtis dropped the razor and kicked at Duncan’s outflung arm. All the peace and security which had lulled him during the dawn fell away in a second, and he felt that he and the ship had been laid bare and open by his weakness.

Duncan rolled off the bunk and landed lightly on his feet, reaching automatically for his pistol belt, and glancing up at Jervis’s face as he did so.

‘What’s up? A riot or somethin’?’

‘A ship, Steve!’ Curtis threw his jacket across his bare shoulders and wrenched open the door. ‘Keep down as we go on deck, and make sure all our people stay hidden!’

‘D’you aim to fight it out?’

Curtis paused at the top of the ladder and looked downwards, his face a mask. ‘Fight? With what?’

Duncan grunted and pulled the belt tight around his waist. ‘Well, I don’t aim to end up in any stinkin’ grave, not without a scrap, anyroad!’ He glared belligerently.

Curtis laid the telescope on the hatch coaming as Duncan squeezed past him, and dropped uncomfortably on to his knees. ‘Remember the wounded, Steve!’ He hissed the words after Duncan’s bent shoulders. ‘D’you want to get them shot up, too?’

Duncan did not answer but ran crabwise towards the hold.