Shropshire making heavy weather of it, in position 51 degrees 31 south, 55 degrees 10 west, in transit to R/V at first light with a royal fleet auxiliary for transfer of personnel and mail. The SBS team had been crossdecked to Invincible twenty-four hours ago, might by this time be on shore again, on East Falkland… John Saddler, at his desk in the day cabin, unfolded a letter he’d been writing earlier to his daughter, and added a postscript to it. ‘This won’t be going by fleet mail, as I have a courier who’ll deliver it to you personally. Don’t ask him for explanations, because he won’t be able to give you any. Just take this at its face value, I mean accept it, and give him — give yourself, my — a break, as our US cousins say. Bless you.’
He folded the flimsy sheets, pushed the wad of them back into their envelope. Glancing across the cabin at Andy MacEwan, who in about an hour’s time was to be transferred to the storeship for passage to Ascension and thence onward by Hercules to RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire. Saddler said, ‘It’ll be some while before you can expect to hear anything about your brother, I dare say.’
‘I suppose so.’
Not that it mattered. Either way, he’d sell out when he could. When the dust settled and lines re-opened, he’d instruct lawyers to negotiate with — well, Robert’s or Francisca’s, the MacEwan family lawyers. No doubt with Alejandro Diaz calling the shots from the background, if Robert wasn’t there to do it. But it truly didn’t matter, it was all mere triviality in comparison with one’s recent experience, the huge, extraordinary achievement.
Tom Strobie, of course — he mattered. How old Tom came out of it would remain a source of sharp anxiety, until some word came.
He got out of his chair, and accepted the letter from Lisa’s father. ‘I’m very grateful, sir.’ Shifting his feet quickly: with the weather on her bow, Shropshire was demonstrating her tricky corkscrew roll. Saddler said, ‘Don’t tell her any more than she can guess — which’ll be more than enough, so make sure she keeps her big mouth shut. I’m breaking all the rules by letting her know this is where you’ve been. Can’t help it — since I want what I think might be best for both of you, no other way to do it… Best thing, Andy, might be to convince yourself it really didn’t happen, you dreamt it. Right?’
Harry Cloudsley had suggested something rather similar. Cloudsley who might at this very moment be crawling up some dark, wet beach. With Tony Beale in company, maybe — and those other dimly-perceived shadows would surely be Geoff — Monkey — Jake West… Could be others too, others like them — if you could stretch the imagination to the possibility of there being others even remotely like that bunch… Saddler’s quizzical stare and outstretched hand pulled him back into the present; the dreamlike images faded as he shook the hand.
‘Right…’