From the vicinity of Rathlin, where they’d hauled three half-drowned U-boat men out of the water, the run to clear Kintyre by a safe margin was thirty miles on ESE, with visibility no better but a fog signal bleating from the Mull, and, after covering about half the distance, the company of an armed trawler which came up from astern showing its steaming lights and took station on the beam to port. A signal, one of many, had informed the Old Man that this escort would be joining them – either out of Londonderry, or one they’d encountered westbound off Rathlin Island; that apparently blind one, maybe, and there was no relaxation of the lookout. Andy’s watch ended at about this time, but as navigator and in close proximity to land he’d stayed on the bridge; in fact had manned the Aldis when the trawler had called them up and flashed: ‘See the conquering hero comes’, replying to it with the Old Man’s rather lame: ‘Glad to have your company.’
There’d been a whole succession of wireless signals, after the Anna had woken them all up with a report to Clyde Naval Control. That she was still afloat and getting home under her own power would have been welcome news, but on top of that to have sunk a U-boat – they might have wondered whether they were having their legs pulled. Congratulatory signals were still coming in: from Naval Control, and Admiralty, and most recently from the owners, informing the Old Man that the chairman, Sir Alec Dundas, would be on the dockside to greet him. Dry dock in Port Glasgow, this would be, but there was a stop before that; in greying light – no fog now, but sleet showers and low cloud – a rendezvous off Brodick on Arran, where they were met by another trawler and a tug, a Clyde pilot on the tug and in the trawler a party of Royal Marines to take charge of the prisoners – the U-boat’s captain, a junior lieutenant and some kind of petty officer. They’d been accommodated in the bosun’s cordage store in the foc’sl-head, and had looked somewhat resentful as well as the worse for wear, but they’d been (a) pumped out, and (b) given tea, biscuits and blankets; really had very little to complain about. Off Arran they were induced to transfer to the trawler, which sped off with them, and the Anna had got underway again with the pilot conning her and the tug in company. The armed trawler, her job done, had turned back south.
North by east then, four miles up-Firth to enter the narrows between Garroch Head and Little Cumbrae; Great Cumbrae then, and Rothesay off to port. Lazy man’s sailoring, with the pilot doing all the work – and very welcome, being tired and hungry, having had no sleep except for a doze last evening before midnight, and no breakfast yet, but still reluctant to go below even for ten minutes, miss any of this homecoming: Skelmorlie there, for instance, and Wemyss Point, Ardgowan; then the Cloch – where the boom gate was standing open for them and the Old Man remarked to Chief Hibbert as the pilot guided them through a crowd of ships at anchor in the Tail of the Bank – ships mainly in ballast, no doubt awaiting convoy westward – ‘Must be scared if they held us up a minute we’d bloody sink,’ and Hibbert shrugging: ‘Still might, at that’; adding, ‘Red carpet treatment, though, is what it is. You’re a hero all over again, Josh. Knighthood this time, shouldn’t wonder.’ Suppressed mirth from Ingram, who was on the wheel: and to starboard, Gourock coming up, Andy using Fisher’s telescope to spot the Bay Hotel – where by golly there’d been high jinks from time to time. Between Gourock and Kilcreggan now: and as the woods on Roseneath Point slid away out of the line of sight – there was Helensburgh. Home – the house itself not visible, but where by the end of what was certain to be an exhausting day he was counting on ending up in a soft bed between clean sheets – well fed, at that – and come to think of it, when the time came you wouldn’t want to turn in all that soon, even if you were half dead on your feet.
Here and now, anyway – back to the other side, the starboard bridge-wing, for a better view of the southern bank through more driving sleet. This was Kempock Point to starboard, and Greenock with its pier coming next: you were out of the Firth, in the river itself now, with Port Glasgow up ahead.
Hibbert hadn’t been far wrong about red carpet treatment. There was quite a bit of a crowd cheering and clapping the old Anna as she slid her half-sunk forepart into the dock, the tug with a line on her stern to middle her until wire ropes were out and secured both sides, stern line then cast off so the dock gate could be shut and pumps started to drain the dock down, eventually settle her on the blocks. Andy was on the stern end of all that – since the Old Man hadn’t needed him on the bridge, and Fisher as acting mate had to be up for’ard – while a brow with handrails was being lowered into position by a crane, and the chairman of Dundas Gore, Sir Alec Dundas, was the first to cross it, along with his marine superintendent – Captain Straughan – and a middle-aged civilian by name of Colley, Blood Line’s office manager, and two younger men, clerks, whom an hour or so later – an hour of fairly thorough-going chaos – this Colley person would leave to do the rest of the donkey-work after he, Colley, had been ordered by Sir Alec to visit Mrs Halloran, impart to her the sad news of her husband’s death – which Messrs Dundas Gore hadn’t known about until now – and convey to her his own and his fellow directors’ deepest sympathy. Colley, of course, had no option but to comply, but asked to be accompanied by someone – a deck officer, presumably – who’d actually known Halloran.
Which of course came down to Andy: on the Old Man’s orders, relayed to him by Fisher.
Colley, at the wheel of his Morris Twelve, trundling westward along the river through continuing rain and sleet, was a red-faced man of about fifty: dark blue suit, macintosh and bowler hat. He and Andy had loaded the former mate’s gear, suitcases and his sextant, into the back of the car, were taking it as well as the chairman’s condolences to Leila at 11 Merriwell Way, Greenock.
‘What sort of fellow was he, then?’
‘Oh. A good first mate. The men liked him. Stood no nonsense, but – fair, you know.’
‘Pierhead jump, wasn’t it, the way he joined us. Replacement for Harve Brown when he got took ill. Consequence of which we don’t know much about him – except he was on tankers, then did a stint with Grants. Know anything about the wife, do you – the widow, I should say?’
Andy shook his head. Windscreen wipers squeaking monotonously and the car jolting in and out of potholes. He said, ‘Only that she’s pretty and quite a bit younger than him. He had a portrait of her in his cabin.’
‘Hm.’ Frowning at the downpour. ‘Not a nice task, this. I can see Sir Alec really had no option but to send me, but – well, I’m glad to have you along, seeing as you knew him.’
‘As well as anyone did, I suppose. Can’t say we were close friends, exactly – first mate and third, after all. But we went ashore together once or twice.’
Once. ‘Once or twice’ sounded better, somehow.
Even without having been detailed for this by the Old Man, he’d have volunteered. After the months of sneaky glances at Leila’s portrait, and envy of Halloran – who’d sensed it and seemed perversely to have taken pleasure in it. But to show willing in any case – feeling that at least one of the man’s brother officers should pay respects, offer sympathy. Fisher hadn’t been volunteering – in fact had given Andy a funny look when he’d accepted the instruction so readily. While the Old Man certainly couldn’t have taken it on, even if he’d had any such inclination; he’d had his hands more than full enough already, entertaining the chairman – who, incidentally, had offered to take Julia in his Daimler to the Central Hotel, where her mother, who was on her way from Newcastle, had said she’d meet her – and coping with the Marine Super, answering or maybe stone-walling fussy questions about the flooded hold – as well as the routine arrival tasks such as Customs entry, cargo documents, health regulations and – most time-consuming of all – paying off the hands. A lot of it would be dealt with by Fisher and Colley’s clerks, but that still left plenty needing the master’s personal attention. On top of which there was a trio of shore-based naval officers taking up his time, or waiting to do so, primarily on the subject of the U-boat, but also the Glauchau business; there was to be a press release covering all of that, even a photographer standing by.
The Old Man had had no sleep last night, either. At his age, would be feeling at least as rough as Andy, who had his head back and eyes shut when Colley asked him, ‘What’s your future now, Holt? Signed off from the PollyAnna, have you?’
‘Not yet. Old Man being up to his eyes in it at this stage. When we get back I’ll try to see him. If they’re going to mend her good and quick – well, might take a couple of weeks’ leave. Happen to be rather well-off at the moment – had my twenty-first when we were in Brazil, so –’
‘They’ll waste no time mending her. Ships aren’t being left idle these days. I’d guess he’d be glad to have you sign on again. We’ll be asking him to stand by her, I’d imagine. Might install Harve Brown, come to that – seeing he knows her inside-out. You live at Helensburgh, that right?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, instead began to brake – pulling over to the right then. ‘Here’ll do us, now. I’ll ask ’em where Merriwell Way might be.’ He’d stopped in front of a newsagent, was out of the car and hurrying across wet pavement, hunched and turning up the collar of his mac. Andy, hungry as well as tired, reflecting that he might have gone along too, found something like a bar of chocolate – depending on what was rationed or available or not in this wartime Scotland in which one was virtually a stranger. But Colley was already on his way back, telling him as he got in, ‘Easy enough by the sound of it. Straight ahead then a left and second right. Merriwell Close, Merriwell Walk, then Merriwell Way… What grand weather you’ve come to, eh?’
‘You had it worse a week or two ago, we heard.’
‘You’re right, we did. Some o’ the same lot you was in yourselves, I dare say. And that couldn’t’ve been much fun – eh? But now where the dickens…’
‘There?’
Number 11 Merriwell Way was one half of a cube of yellow brick. One window downstairs, with flouncy curtains in it, and two on the floor above; in front, a few square yards of mud and weeds bisected by a concrete path. If this had been costing Halloran an arm and a leg, they must have seen him coming. Or seen Leila coming – he’d said proudly that she’d found it, Andy remembered. Colley switched off the wiper and then the engine: ‘Best make sure she’s at home before we haul his stuff out – eh?’
‘I’ll do that.’
A vision in mind then – unsought, unexpected, maybe prompted by Colley’s reference to foul weather – as he approached the blue-painted door. Mind and memory back in that Atlantic storm, its incredible ferocity, the Anna three-quarters buried in it, battling to remain afloat, and the doubt in all minds that she’d be able to; whether any of them – including most prominently in his own thoughts, Julia – would be alive by evening or morning, whatever… How many days and nights, facing that? And having by some miracle come through it – what, sniffing around Halloran’s leavings now?
All right. Motives as stated. But some of which he wouldn’t have tried to explain to Julia.
He’d hardly taken his finger off the bell-push when the door jerked open.
Blonde girl. Well – woman. Thirty-ish. Not unattractive, in an obvious sort of way, but nothing at all like Leila. Her figure – well, neither the skirt nor the sweater were doing much to hide it. She turned to look behind her, snapping, ‘Won’t you belt up now, Billy?’ Welsh accent: and the scowl changing to a smile as she swung back and looked up at him – he’d edged in slightly, out of the weather, removing his uniform cap. He’d have shifted into civvies before coming ashore but there hadn’t been time – Colley wanting to get away, have it done with and get back again… The girl asked purringly – as a toddler squeezed up beside her, clinging to her – ‘What can I do you for, then?’
‘Does Mrs Halloran –’
‘When she’s in the mood, she does, but –’ She’d checked that, the giggle faltering and smile fading as she saw the car and Colley climbing out of it. ‘What is this, then?’
He’d been about to ask did Mrs Halloran live here – because the blonde might have been a relation of some kind – but that facetious answer had suggested she was Mrs Halloran. Although even if she’d dyed her hair… Hell, couldn’t be. She was gazing up at him suspiciously, while the child clung to her leg and slobbered around the dummy in its mouth. He told her, ‘My name’s Holt – third mate of the SS PollyAnna. Are you Mrs Leila Halloran?’ Jerk of the head, tossing back yellow hair.
‘Name’s Lucy, not Leila. Is Dave in some kind of –’
Checking again, watching Colley struggle with one of the suitcases. ‘You and your friend coming to stay, is that it?’
‘Bringing your husband’s gear, Mrs Halloran. I’m terribly sorry. Excuse me though, just one moment –’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘Give us a minute?’
‘Jamming his cap on, hurrying to join Colley at the car; taking that heavy case from him and the other from inside, leaving the sextant in its brass-handled box for the older man to bring, muttering to him, ‘It’s her, but not the one in the portrait, and her name’s Lucy, not Leila, says she never heard of Leila, and – see…’ The child had tottered out into wind and rain, she’d sprung after it and caught it, called as she dragged it back inside, ‘You’d best come on in. But’ – dumping the child and turning back – ‘bringing his gear, you say – where’s he?’
‘This is Mr Colley, office manager of Dundas Gore, the PollyAnna’s owners. Mrs Halloran, I’m dreadfully sorry to bring such news – as I said, my name’s Holt –’
‘Something happened to him?’
‘Yes.’ A glance at Colley – who was resolutely leaving this to him. Back to the girl… ‘He drowned, Mrs Halloran. Swept overboard in terrible weather four days ago. We docked this morning in Port Glasgow. Captain Thornhill asked me to tell you how sorry he is, and the same goes for all the rest of us. We were in really huge seas, had one hold flooded – tell you the truth, we were in danger of foundering. Your husband took two men for’ard to check for damage; they had lifelines but for some reason his didn’t hold – big sea hit us and – well, he didn’t stand a chance, he just – went.’
She was still gazing at him. Wide-eyed – still dry-eyed – mouth slightly open. Hadn’t sunk in yet, he guessed, wasn’t real for her yet. Colley put his oar in then: ‘As Mr Holt mentioned, Mrs Halloran, I’m with the owners, and our chairman, Sir Alec Dundas –’
She’d stooped to the child. ‘Gentlemen come to say you’ve no daddy now, Billy-boy. Have to find you a new one, won’t we…’ She’d kissed him, straightened now with one hand resting in his curls, refocused on Colley. ‘Excuse me – you were saying –’
‘My chairman – Sir Alec – asked me to express his sympathy in your tragic loss, Mrs Halloran. He himself was only apprised of it this morning. I must add that – well, turning to practicalities such as money that may be due to him – and now of course to you – you’ve been receiving a monthly allotment, I know that, but whether there may be any balance due –’
Andy said, ‘I’ll wait in the car.’
‘All right. Mrs Halloran, I’ll sort it out in the next day or two, and we’ll be writing to you. Meanwhile however…’
She’d find the violet-coloured letters when she went through the cases, Andy realised. Would see then why he’d thought her name was Leila: and from the portrait in the leather frame would get to see what Leila looked like. Might even know her? Probably not, though. Probably wouldn’t have an address – not if Leila had been consistent with that You know where dodge.
What the dodge had been for, perhaps?
Colley came hurrying, wrenched his door open. ‘Phew…’
He’d been meaning to telephone home before returning to the ship, but Colley didn’t want to stop, and on the way back he decided it might anyway be sensible to leave it until he had a better idea of what was happening, one way and another.
The dock had been pumped out, PollyAnna’s keel rested on the central blocks with a forest of timber props out on both sides all down her length to hold her upright; engineers and dockyard mateys were moving around under her dripping forepart. It felt like a dizzy height he was looking down from, crossing the swaying brow to the fore-deck, after end of number three. Colley had been right – they certainly weren’t wasting any time. On board, Fisher told them she was quite badly holed, that it looked as if she might have struck some underwater object – which was possible: at the height of it all she might have come down on some submerged or semi-submerged – well, God knew what, but it could have happened without anyone being aware of it, when things had been at their worst. Damage couldn’t be assessed from inside yet; cranes were being brought up to start unloading the ore from all five holds, and floodlighting would allow that to go on all night and round the clock until they’d emptied her.
Fisher asked him, ‘How did it go with Mrs Halloran?’
‘She took it surprisingly well. But – that sudden, out of the blue – well, by this time –’
‘Yeah. Sink in later, maybe… Like her picture, is she?’
‘Surprisingly, not at all. For one thing, she’s a blonde.’
‘Peroxide, or –’
‘Not that girl at all. And there’s a child, about two years old.’
‘Good God!’
Chief Hibbert and Tom McAlan were still on board, apparently – or in the vicinity, the dock bottom maybe – but most of the officers and crew had left, including the Cheviot Hills survivors – Benson, Ah Nong and company – who’d been taken to the station by some individual from A & J Hills’ Glasgow agency. Finney had gone with them, en route first to his family in London but then – so he’d told Fisher – to a berth Messrs Hills had for him in some ship sailing from Liverpool in a week or ten days’ time. And Julia had gone. Andy had guessed she might have, having seen that the chairman’s Daimler was no longer on the quayside. Her absence left him feeling – well, lonely. Actually, sort of cut off at the knees. That she’d have left without a word – message – anything at all. Admittedly he’d left her, when he’d dashed off with Colley; simply hadn’t envisaged her not being here when they got back. Although she could hardly not have gone., he realised, when the great man had been ready to hit the road and she’d already accepted his offer of a lift.
From home, he thought, get her number from directory enquiries. First thing in the morning.
Fisher told him – in the saloon, Andy gulping stale bread and mousetrap cheese which he’d foraged from the pantry, Fisher at the table working through a stack of paperwork that would have been for Halloran to deal with – ‘The Old Man went with ’em. Chairman was dropping him off at the St Enoch’s Hotel, which now houses Naval Headquarters, apparently. He’ll be back by and by. Expects you to sign on again – what you want, isn’t it?’
‘Except that right away I’d like to take some leave.’
‘He knows that. He wants a break, too. So do I. PollyAnna’ll be in dock a week or so, any case. Here and now I’d stick around, if I were you… By the way, Julia left a farewell note – did you see it? In your cabin?’
He pushed his chair back. ‘No –’
‘Must be there somewhere. Unless she changed her mind or they didn’t give her time. She said she was going to –’
‘I’ll be back to finish this.’
His cabin looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. He’d been sorting gear ready for packing, and it was scattered around in heaps. He’d looked in here briefly on his way to the saloon, hadn’t seen any note: wouldn’t have, without specifically searching for one… But there it was – brown envelope with ANDY pencilled on it, and inside that – ripping it open – a half-sheet of paper with what looked like a telephone number at the top and below it:
Andy dear. Have to run without saying goodbye. Going to the Central Hotel, where my mother’s arriving soon or may have already. I don’t know if we’ll be staying the night or going straight back to Newcastle – it probably depends on trains – but anyway here’s our home telephone number, and if you still want to pay us a visit, just ring and say you’re coming.
I very much hope you will. Meanwhile, thank you for everything – you really have been an absolute darling. Even if you find you can’t make it this time, some time please do get in touch?
All my love – J.
He’d muttered aloud, ‘Oh, crikey. Oh, Julia…’ And read it through again before going back to finish his bread and cheese.