Heavy cloud hung over a steel-grey sea. Thorshavn nestled up to the mother ship, as Lars called the factory, sucking Solglimt’s tanks empty like a nursing babe, and the wind carried the promise of a chill deeper and more dangerous than they’d known.
Leaning against the rail, Ingrid saw Solglimt’s crew waiting, hooks up, for the next whale to come in. They watched her openly, perhaps enjoying the novelty of a woman. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave and they waved back, pulling their pipes out of their mouths, their filthy faces splitting into wide grins.
The factory’s winches started up again. Another catcher must have arrived with a load of whales and the men turned away to begin their work. Ingrid made her way to where Qarrtsiluni and F18 were moored and dodged out of sight, to a spot where she could see open water on the other side of the ship. A squall was coming, blotting out the faint distinction between sky and sea. Ingrid wanted it to blanket the ship, cut off her line of sight to Solglimt and blow away the stench that hung over them.
Ingrid was a hunter and she didn’t flinch from killing. But there was something about the mechanised harvest of the whales that took this out of the realm of hunting. She’d been fine until she saw the whale foetus slumped on the deck. She couldn’t stop wondering what it felt when its mother was harpooned. Did the aftershock of the harpoon’s head exploding in its mother’s flesh ripple through to the womb? Did the foetus sense its mother’s death throes? She shook her head and pressed her eyes with her gloved hands to dispel the image.
Lars had told her she would need courage for this trip and she’d thought it would be the courage to face the unknown, to endure the ship’s tossing and the cold and the ferocious Antarctic storms. But that was the least of it. She hadn’t expected squeamishness and jealousy to be her challenges.
She gripped the rail hard. The prospect of Mathilde boarding Norvegia with Hjalmar and joining his expedition enraged her, though she hoped she’d been able to hide it. If she had to face the reality of whaling without showing disgust, she didn’t see why Mathilde should be let off so easily. Nor why she should be the only woman on Norvegia when Ingrid herself hadn’t been permitted to travel without a female companion.
The squall was coming closer and Ingrid pulled her collar up around her ears. The cold wind cut through her attempt at self-deceit. In truth, she wanted to go on Norvegia herself, but could never abandon Lars and her duty to him. So the thought of Mathilde blithely going where Ingrid longed to was insufferable.
Sleet began to slice into her face and she turned away and went back to the cabin. Lars was sitting up in the bunk writing in his diary when she came in, pushing the door shut behind her against the wind.
‘I thought you’d be asleep,’ she said.
‘I can’t.’ He rubbed his hands through his hair. ‘It’s too light and too exciting. We’re going to take one of Solglimt’s catchers and look for land.’
‘Not with a storm coming, surely.’
‘After the storm.’
Ingrid smiled. ‘Then we might catch some lost sleep?’
He nodded, closing his diary. ‘Yes, please. I always sleep better with you.’
She began to undress. The wind was moaning through the ship. She closed the curtain so the room became semi-dark and clambered into the narrow bed beside him, pressing her body against his welcome warmth.
‘You did well today,’ he murmured, tucking her head under his chin.
‘We may have a problem,’ Ingrid said. ‘Mathilde is revolted by the whole business. She says she will change ships and go home with Norvegia to get away from it.’
‘Unfortunately, Norvegia has been delayed by ice. We won’t be meeting her until after the factory ships, so there’s no point in Mathilde going with her.’
‘I think there’s something else going on,’ Ingrid said. ‘She wants to get away from us.’
Lars shrugged. ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad thing.’
Ingrid rolled apart from him. The wind howled and whirled and the running of the oil pumps vibrated through ship and bed and body.
‘You couldn’t seriously allow her to travel unchaperoned on Hjalmar’s boat, even if it were safe,’ she said.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I just thought –’
‘You must make sure she knows it’s impossible.’
‘Well, just tell her.’
‘I did, but I have no authority here. She says she’ll throw herself on Hjalmar’s mercy and beg him to take her.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t worry; she won’t do any such thing. Once she sets eyes on Norvegia and sees her bobbing like a cork on the ocean, she’ll stay.’
‘Can you at least speak to Hjalmar?’
‘I’m sure it won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘Mathilde just wants to get home, and Thorshavn is the most direct route.’
Ingrid didn’t want to press any further, lest Lars see her jealousy. She curled in closer to him as the wind screamed around the porthole. ‘Do you think we’re close to land?’
‘One of the catchers has done depth soundings not too far away and the water was unexpectedly shallow,’ he said. ‘Hjalmar tells me that’s as good an indication as any. But there are lots of icebergs around this season, so conditions are treacherous.’
‘When are we going?’
Ingrid felt his body draw back from hers, a subtle tightening across the surface of his skin.
‘I’ll have no argument on this,’ he said. ‘I agreed to bring you on the tanker, but I’ll not let you travel on a catcher into unknown waters.’
She sat up. ‘You can’t be serious? Leaving me here covered in the stink of whale while you go looking for land?’
‘The catcher is a more dangerous proposition. It would be unfair to our children to put us both together on one.’
Ingrid took a deep breath lest her rage become white hot and blast out of her. ‘Surely you don’t think that’s fair.’
‘The catcher stinks as much as any factory, and it’s small, wet, cold and uncomfortable. It won’t be an easy trip. I won’t discuss it further.’
Ingrid slid out of bed and began to fumble for her clothes.
‘Where are you going?’
Where indeed? Ingrid stood shivering in her half-dressed state. A blizzard was howling across the ship and she couldn’t think of any place she’d be welcome.
Lars propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Don’t let’s fight over this. You won your victory. I brought you with me.’
‘But I came to see Antarctica.’
He held out his hand. ‘And you will. When Hjalmar and I have done our reconnaissance in the catcher, I’ll have Horntvedt bring the ship to land if we find it. You won’t miss out.’
Ingrid fought down her anger for another moment and then walked back to the bed. She got in and rolled away from him. He curled around her back and she forced herself to relax against him, leaning back in the familiar position that inevitably led them both into sleep. His breathing slowed and Ingrid slowed her own to match it.
The wind sped up outside and she heard the scream of the saw descending on a whale carcass. She pressed her eyes closed and tried to remember the icebergs, but the insides of her eyelids were red.
Ingrid felt Lars kiss her cheek. She pretended she was still asleep as he climbed out of bed and dressed. She heard him pause at the door but she kept still, facing away from him and after a time she heard the cabin door close. She lay in bed listening to the thumps and clanks as Thorshavn rose and fell, coupled to Solglimt. She couldn’t bear to watch Lars and Hjalmar preparing for their adventure, but lying in bed left her free to dwell on Mathilde.
It occurred to Ingrid that she could speak to Hjalmar herself, making it sound like Lars had asked her to deal with the matter of Mathilde discreetly. She checked the clock. There may still be time to catch him alone before he departed with Lars. She got out of bed and struggled into her outdoor clothes, clumsy with haste, her bootlaces in a tangle. In the end she groaned with exasperation, wrenched the door open and rushed out. As she stepped on the icy deck her feet skidded, the laces tangled around her ankles and she went down, arms and legs flailing, hip and elbow connecting with the steel in a sharp jolt of pain.
She came to rest staring up at the sky, and as she waited for the pain to subside and her thudding heart to return to normal, she saw it was blue for the first time in at least a week.
‘Mrs Christensen? Are you all right?’ Tobias, the mess boy, was holding a tray and staring down at her in concern.
Ingrid sat up. ‘I’m fine. I just slipped.’
He helped her to her feet. ‘Thank you,’ Ingrid said. ‘Do you know where Captain Riiser-Larsen is?’
Tobias grinned. ‘Flying!’ At her perplexed look he pointed towards the rear deck. F18 and Qarrtsiluni were strapped in their usual places. Ingrid peered more closely. She could see the outline of a head in the pilot’s seat. Qarrtsiluni wasn’t just her private refuge, it seemed.
‘His favourite hidey spot,’ Tobias said.
Ingrid took a coffee from Tobias, descended the steps and crossed the deck, her soles clanking on the metal and making the two planes quiver. She stopped at Qarrtsiluni, the coffee cradled in her hands. With a creak the door opened. Ingrid saw Hjalmar pull the lever, and the steps folded out, coming to rest on the deck beside her. She gripped the handrail, stepped up, ducked her head, and entered.
Hjalmar took the proffered coffee without a word. Ingrid lowered herself into the rear seat while he drew up the steps and shut the door. It was only a little warmer inside the cockpit than out, but its snugness felt comforting. As Hjalmar gulped the coffee Ingrid looked across his shoulder. Through the tiny windscreen the vast landscape around them shrank. Through that portal she could see nothing of Thorshavn or the factory ship, just sea, sky and icebergs, neatly framed.
‘I can’t help thinking of Amundsen in here,’ she said. ‘Do you think they died quickly?’
Hjalmar sighed. ‘No, I don’t. I saw the wing float that was found. It had been interfered with after the crash. Someone was still alive.’
Ingrid felt a pain in her chest. ‘You never told me that.’
He shrugged. ‘Did you really want to know?’
She watched his profile. His face was naturally cheerful but at the mention of Amundsen it creased with grief.
‘You must miss him,’ she said. ‘Although I know you had some differences.’
Hjalmar glanced back at her. ‘He never forgave me for supporting the Italians in going to the North Pole. He refused to speak to me for the last two years of his life.’
Ingrid was silent as Hjalmar took a puff on his pipe. There was no one else who shared this understanding, no one who’d known and loved Amundsen like they both had. The man had wounded them both, she realised.
Smoke drifted back towards her, strong and earthy, and the stench of the factory ship seemed to recede. At home she didn’t like the smell of tobacco, but here, with a need to inhale something that didn’t stink of viscera, it seemed appealing.
‘May I?’ she asked, reaching out her hand.
He passed it back and she grasped its stem. Suddenly the request seemed terribly intimate, to put her own lips where his had been moments ago.
‘Don’t draw the smoke in,’ he said.
Ingrid puffed and felt an illicit thrill travel down her body. The long, dark pipe tasted undeniably of him. She could feel herself blushing and was glad he hadn’t turned to watch. She took a couple more puffs. Her head spun and she closed her eyes. The tobacco crackled and glowed in the pipe bowl. Ingrid cupped her hand around it to extract the heat before returning it.
‘I could come to like that,’ she said.
He put his lips to the stem and suddenly Ingrid wished she had wiped it. The cabin, with two bodies in its confined space, was beginning to warm up.
She sensed that Hjalmar regretted speaking of Amundsen, and changed the subject. ‘You must be looking forward to joining Norvegia.’
He nodded.
‘You don’t care much for this business.’
The silence was so long Ingrid thought he wasn’t going to answer. She had just opened her mouth to speak again when he did.
‘My business is going places no one else has been. When I came here four years ago, the Antarctic was full of whales and empty of men. Now there are two hundred and fifty ships and ten thousand men hunting whales.’
The windscreen was fogging from their breath and Hjalmar reached forward with a gloved hand to wipe it clear.
‘Mathilde says you think whaling is wrong,’ Ingrid said.
‘I don’t think any creature can survive such an onslaught for long. I fear the whales will go the way of the fur seals.’
‘But Lars operates under the strictest guidelines.’
He swivelled. ‘I’m not criticising your husband. I know he instructs his crews to work under those regulations. But he’s just one fleet owner. There are ships from half a dozen nations whaling here. We’re a very long way from where regulations are made, and Antarctica is not a place where regulations stick.’
‘No,’ Ingrid said slowly. ‘I’m beginning to see that.’
‘Every whaling industry in the past hundred years has fished its grounds until there were no whales left.’
The wind whistled through the plane’s stays and in the distance, muffled through the cockpit, Ingrid could hear the scream of Solglimt’s bone saw. ‘I need to speak with you about Mathilde. She has some foolish idea of going home on Norvegia.’
‘And that would be quite impossible?’
Something in his voice made her pause. Perhaps he did want to take Mathilde with him. ‘Completely impossible. You mustn’t let her think otherwise.’
‘I’m surprised you’re so old fashioned,’ he said. ‘The world’s changing, as I told Lars when he first refused to take you. A woman on a ship isn’t the scandal it would have been once, as you know.’
Ingrid tried to think of another approach. Lillemor, she thought, would have no trouble convincing him. What would she have said?
‘You’re only just divorced, Captain. Are you looking for another wife?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ He swung around.
Ingrid mustered all her nerve to meet his eyes. ‘Mathilde is a widow with children. Do you intend to marry her? Or just leave her alone back in Sandefjord after your jaunt on Norvegia? It’s easy for you to think there’s no scandal, being a man. For Mathilde it would be a scandal by any count back in Norway, and would ruin her chances of finding another husband. She’s probably not thinking of that clearly, as she seems to still be grieving. Her judgment’s poor.’
He eyed her in silence, until the moment became uncomfortable. Qarrtsiluni rocked in the wind.
‘Are you giving me an order?’ he asked.
Ingrid slid forward in her seat. ‘Could you let me out, please?’
Hjalmar cracked the door and icy air streamed in, metallic with the smell of freshly flensed whale. He pulled the lever to unfold the steps. Ingrid climbed down.
‘I’m sure we don’t have to make it an order.’
‘On Norvegia I’m the captain,’ he said.
‘Lars makes the ultimate orders on all his ships.’
‘I won’t forget that.’ He pulled the lever to raise the staircase. He reached across and took the door handle. ‘Thanks for our little chat, Mrs Christensen,’ he said, and pulled it shut with just enough force to qualify as a slam.
She’d lost him, she realised, with a sinking heart.