CHAPTER SEVEN

Deceit

At seven next morning Greg was woken by the sound of a car pulling up outside the caravan. It was Mary. This early? He tumbled out of bed, through the front door, jumped down the two steps, and grabbed her in a bear hug.

‘You lovely, lovely thing, you,’ he cried, and they kissed. ‘What are you doing here at this time?’

‘I couldn’t sleep so I just got up and drove. Do you realise you are barefoot and in your pyjamas?’

‘Oh, I am so glad to see you,’ he replied, and he guided her up the steps. ‘I’ll get the kettle on. What’s the latest?’

She sat down on the bed.

‘What would you say if I told you I was pregnant?’

Greg nearly dropped the kettle. He spun round, a huge smile spread across his face. He made straight for where she was sitting, sat down beside her and drew her towards him.

‘Wonderful, wonderful,’ he said as he nuzzled into her neck.

By now the tears were rolling down her cheeks. He took her face in his hands and they shared a long and intimate kiss.

‘Why are you crying?’ he said.

‘Tears of happiness,’ she replied, ’but I am so ashamed. Will you ever forgive me, my darling?’

‘Forgive you? What am I to forgive you for?’

She dropped her head, her eyes downcast.

‘I’m not actually pregnant. I only said to you, “What would you say if I told you I was pregnant?” but you gave me more than the answer I was longing for. Greg darling, I can’t live without you. I love you so much.’

‘But why did you have to tell me you were pregnant?’

‘I did not say that,’ she cried as she flung her arms around him.

‘God, how I love you!’ is all he could get out as they both dissolved in tears.

‘Darling, what have you got for our engagement breakfast? I’m starving,’ she said with a grin.

Greg started to rustle up the perennial bacon butty.

All he could think to say as they tucked in was ‘True love makes one hungry.’

‘Now can I tell you the news I’ve been keeping back from you?’ she said. ‘I’m going to give up my job, come down here, and be your assistant. So will you please start the job interview now?’

‘Good grief, woman, you can’t give up your career just like that. Firstly the agreement with QC isn’t signed yet. Secondly the job here is only going to pay barely a living wage for one person for months, maybe years.’

‘Greg, it’s not “just like that”. I’ve thought this through since you told me about the new brokerage. I’ve done my homework on QC of Lymington. They are a big, well-established company. You told me that sooner or later you would have to have an assistant because you couldn’t be in two places at once.’

Greg started to point out that they could only share the meagre salary he’d budgeted for.

‘What’s the point of getting married if we don’t share everything?’ she said.

‘But what about your promotion and pension prospects?’

She put her fingers on his lips. ‘Stop talking for once,’ she said, ‘and listen. Please don’t take me for a fool. You really don’t know everything about me. I can let my flat in Southampton like I did when I went to Aberdeen. It’s right in the centre of town and very desirable. It will bring in a good regular income. I own it. No mortgage. You seem to have forgotten that two can live cheaper than one. Not literally, of course, but you’re not paying your friend Chris to have this caravan here, you told me. My income from the flat will pay the extra cost of having me live here with you. I am arrogant enough to believe that you will do your job better with me by your side.’

‘You can say that again,’ he replied.

‘Quiet, and let me carry on. I’m not going to marry you unless I live with you. Besides, I want the job anyway. I don’t have to wait until you, the boss, decide you’re going to advertise for someone and then apply with all the rest - do I?’ Not waiting for an answer, she continued: ‘This new job of mine is not quite what I thought it was going to be. I’ve been frank with Don. He’s given me Monday off to sort myself out. As it is, I shall have to work for a month after handing in my notice before I can move down here. In that time I’ll find a tenant for my flat. Please, Greg, we’ve got a couple of days to talk this through - OK?’

‘I don’t know what to say’ was his reply.

‘Then don’t say anything. We’ll make a wonderful team, I just know it. I’ll even get used to steam trains rumbling through the cutting behind the caravan!’

‘They don’t do it at night,’ replied Greg, mischievously with a grin. ‘I surrender. As soon as I’m dressed, if you’re not too tired, we are going into Dartmouth to buy that ring.’

‘We can’t afford it, can we?’ she replied.

‘You may run the office if you like, but you’re not going to make all the decisions.’

Half an hour later saw them hand in hand walking through the yard. They went into No.1 Shed, where Bill Fossett, despite it being Saturday, was in his little cubbyhole poring over some paperwork to do with the patrol boat.

‘You’ve met Mary once before if my memory serves me right,’ Greg said. ‘We’re on our way into Dartmouth to buy the engagement ring. Soon Mary is going join me down here.’

Bill smiled. ‘That’ll be nice,’ he said. ‘This place is too much of a man’s world.’

In the jeweller’s Mary chose her ring after they had looked at several trays. It was a simple gold band with a single large brown topaz. Greg noted it was nearly the least expensive that they had been shown, but the look of delight on her face when she put it on and it proved to be her size stopped him saying that there were better. She turned to Greg, admiring her left hand.

‘It’s fabulous.’

Before they caught the ferry she insisted on shopping for something special for their supper - and paying for it with her own credit card.

‘Now it’s my turn,’ she said, and all the way home she kept looking at the third finger of her left hand.

‘I want to talk about a wedding,’ said Mary as they enjoyed their sandwich lunch. ‘Would it bother you very much if I told you that I would be happiest with a simple registry office marriage?’

‘Nothing you say bothers me, my lovely Mary.’

‘Doesn’t it surprise you that a vicar’s daughter wishes to be married in a registry office?’

‘I don’t see the connection really. You are your own person. I am happy about that if you are.’

‘Good. Settled then,’ she said as she leaned over to give him a kiss.

Greg had learned something about Mary by now: she always meant what she said. All he had to do now was to open his mouth when she wanted to know the date. She’d probably organise the whole thing. Without appearing to boss him, she most likely had it all planned.

She actually said, ‘I need to sort out the details of my resignation with Don when I get back. Don’t you think it would be nicer if we got hitched down here after I’d moved in?’

Greg looked at her in amazement.

‘I may be old-fashioned, I may want to marry you because I love you so very much, but I didn’t realise that I’d be getting a manager as well!’

Mary looked a little quizzical.

‘Is that a compliment or a complaint?’

‘Mary, Mary, in my eyes you can do no wrong. We’ll do whatever you say.’

Mary produced pencil and paper and together they prepared a list of guests and things to do.

‘Mary, my love, you’ve had a long day. You were driving before dawn. How would you like to rest here this afternoon whilst I go up to the offices and attend to the brokerage customers? Although I have the phone here now it’s better to be in the office. Saturday can be one of our better days. On the other hand, maybe I won’t have a single enquiry, but I have to be available.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Mary. ‘My apprenticeship starts today.’

The notice at the bottom of the outside staircase to the offices now said “Brokerage” as well as “Office”. They climbed up together.

‘Would you like to know more about the girl you are going to marry?’ she said, waggling her left hand in front of his face.

‘Yes, I would’ was his reply as he sat down behind Chris’s desk. ‘Make yourself comfortable in the client’s armchair. You don’t have to confess all to me - everyone should be allowed to have their secrets.’

She laughed. ‘No secrets, really. My father used to say confession is good for the soul. I was engaged ten years ago to someone I met at university. We had a great future mapped out. We even talked about raising a family and looked seriously at buying a property together. One day I arrived unexpectedly at his parents’ house. The front door was open. I found him in bed with another girl. Not just any other girl - my best friend. At twenty-five this taught me more in one minute than I had learned in four years studying sociology, among other things, at university. I thought that sort of thing only happened in novels. My parents died soon after. So I concentrated on building a career.’

At this point Greg could see she looked sad.

‘You needn’t continue, you know,’ he said.

‘I’ll tell you about my parents another time,’ she said.

A car pulled up outside.

‘I’ll just see if that’s a customer,’ said Greg as he moved across the room and out onto the balcony. He heard the phone ring when he was outside and returned to find Mary had got up from her chair and was answering it.

‘Mr Norfield is coming right now - may I have your name, please?’

As he took the phone from her she said quite loudly, ‘It’s a Mr John Evett, Mr Norfield.’

When Greg had finished with the call he looked at Mary.

‘Now you know it was a compliment when I said you were a manager.’

‘The only thing that’s been missing in my life has been a man. Now I’ve got you my cup is full.’ She took his face in her hands and kissed him. ‘Oops,’ she said, ‘I’ve never kissed my boss before!’ - and they laughed.

The rest of the weekend together was dominated by Mary taking a close interest in how the new brokerage would be run if the QC plan came to fruition. Greg was impressed with her many suggestions, from the physical building of the office alongside No.1 Shed, to details of the equipment needed within.

Don Carruthers had given Mary the Monday off from her duties. She had told him the purpose of her trip to Dartmouth. She had not told him she was about to resign. She had something else on her mind as she drove back to Southampton that morning. Why was she going to need even more time off?

No call came from QC that afternoon. When Mary phoned Greg that evening to say she had arrived safe and sound he had no news for her. He spent the evening writing up his favourable report for ‘X’ Spars about the mainsail-furling gear. He also wrote his suggestion for a press release which they could use as they wished. It was late before he turned in, and he slept fitfully as he realised how much depended on the QC decision.

Chris got the call from Brian Hope at nine the next morning. He summoned Greg to hear the good news.

‘All systems go. Opening day will be the first of July. Your employment with QC starts on the first of June. I’ve told them that you will be in charge as from now of building the new office and that you will liaise with them regarding the fitting-out and contents etc. John will deal with the builders, so work with him on that.’

Greg went into the next office, where John Dalton was waiting to talk to him. As he returned through Chris’s office he asked Flossie to put a line through to the caravan. The next thing was to call Mary. He phoned her office in Southampton. They told him that she was out and not expected back that day. He phoned the flat and left a message on the answerphone.

***

Mary waited in the dingy wood-panelled office furnished with just one long oak table and nine dark leather-covered chairs, there was one ornate version with arms at one end and four either side without arms. There was a portrait of the Queen on one end wall and a small high window in the other that gave a view only of the sky. She sat down. The train to Waterloo had been crowded, also the Underground, and the side entrance to the building in Waterloo Bridge Road had been difficult to find.

The man who came into the room was tall and lean, with smooth grey hair. He was clean-shaven and aged about mid-fifties. He was wearing a light grey suit and sombre tie against a white shirt. She was reminded of her English master at school some twenty years earlier.

‘Miss Rowlinson - is that right?’ he said, as he held out his hand, ‘I am Commander Williamson. I take it you have something important to tell me.’

‘That is for you to judge,’ she said. ‘I think it is.’

‘Before we go any further I am obliged to remind you that both you and I are bound by the Official Secrets Act,’ said the Commander. With that he sat down in a chair opposite her on the other side of the table. He placed a file he had brought with him on the table. ‘What is on your mind?’

Mary took a deep breath. ‘When I was invited to join the organisation some two years ago I understood the aims and objects and why secrecy was demanded. I have maintained those criteria. Now I am faced with a moral dilemma.’ She looked at the man on the opposite side of the table for some response.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Please continue, Miss Rowlinson.’

‘I have passed on information to you and not known if it has been of value. The last time I responded was when I was asked to recommend somebody with specific attributes. I gave you the name of a person I thought fitted the bill and who might be of use to the department. You wanted an adventurer, someone who could be trusted but at the same time motivated by cash. You wanted someone with a boat based on the South Devon coast - a good seaman and navigator. Nobody has told me, nor do I expect to be told, the outcome of my referral.’ Again she looked at the Commander for some response.

There was a long pause.

‘And. . . ?’ he finally said.

She continued: ‘I have to tell you that since I gave you the name of that man I have become personally involved with him. He is terribly important to me. We are to be married. My idea of marriage is that there should be no secrets between husband and wife. What should I do? If necessary, I would resign.’

‘Miss Rowlinson,’ said the Commander, peering at the file in front of him, ‘you would not be the first of our operatives to be so involved. However, we specialise here in the choosing of persons to work for us who have outstanding attributes and character. Because of the way human beings behave we are well aware that friendships, alliances, marriages, intimacies - call it what you will are forming all the time. You have sworn never to reveal the nature or details of the work of this department. You are never released from that, whether you resign or not. It is something we all have to live with. Is that all?’

Mary nodded her assent. She had dealt with men of few words in high places before.

He closed the file in front of him, picked it up, walked round the table, offered his hand and gave a slight bow, which was followed by ‘Miss Kershaw will show you out.’

He left the room.

***

Greg did not get a reply from Mary’s flat when he phoned in the evening. He phoned her at home again at seven next morning, Wednesday.

She answered and cut him short: ‘Darling, I have to be early this morning, it’s no good asking me why I wasn’t around yesterday. You know I cannot discuss confidential matters with you. Ring me tonight after six. Bye.’ And she hung up.

Greg seized the moment. He had promised Chris some time ago that he would tell the Trehairnes, and Robbie in particular, why there would be no more “trade”. He phoned Frank and told him he was hoping to come over that morning.

John Dalton was in his office when Greg went in to ask if he could borrow a van. ‘For the last time,’ he said. ‘I’m going to take Chris’s advice and get myself some wheels. The Rover dealers in Totnes ought to have something decent.’

At nine thirty he was on his way. There was a tidy white second-hand Rover 2000 in the showroom that he thought would look right for a brokerage manager. A deal “for cash” was agreed.

Now he would drive the short distance to Salcombe, to see the Trehairnes, to bring closure to the “bits of trade”.

Frank and Joan ushered him into the living room, looking very concerned and muttering about how long it had been since they had heard from him.

‘You sounded anxious on the phone, Greg. What’s on your mind?’

‘I know you guys are busy. Quite simply, you have been good friends to me. I owe it to you to tell you all that’s been going on. He brought them up to date with his plans.

‘More importantly, Frank, please tell your brother I will simply not have any time for his excellent “bits of trade”. I doubt if there will be any sailing at all for some time.’

‘Don’t you worry about Robbie. No problem there. We’ll explain. Last we heard concerning your new boat was something about engine trouble. Nick Wroughton was enquiring.’

Back at the yard Greg felt more at ease as he went to see John Dalton about the proposed office. He phoned Mary that evening to tell her all the news.

‘Oh, Greg,’ she said. I just knew it would come right for us. Don Carruthers is a lovely man. I am allowed to work two months instead of one, but I only have to work a four-day week.’

‘So where does that leave us?’ said Greg.

‘You must have been working too hard,’ she replied with a measure of sarcasm. ‘It means that I can have a three-day weekend, every weekend, with my fiancé! I will be free to join you at the end of June. How’s that for planning?’

‘Oh, Mary, my love, that’s fine for me but you’ve got to do all that driving.’

‘Well, there’s a fine thing. If you don’t want me around we’d better call the whole thing off.’ She was laughing as she heard him spluttering his apologies. ‘You told me love would find a way. Perhaps you’ve got a better idea?’

‘Can’t think of one, but weekends are going to be busy here. It won’t be much of a break for you was what I was thinking.’

‘Greg, my dearest,’ she nearly shouted, ‘I don’t want a break; I want to be with you. I want to share in this great new adventure. It’s our future. I want to share it with you - right from the beginning. I know I can help to make it a success, even if it is only three days a week to start with. You won’t get a better offer!’

‘Indeed I won’t, my lovely.’

Both of them were happy when they signed off, and even more happy at the thought that they would be together again in a couple of days.

Early on Friday morning Flossie called Greg in the caravan.

‘I have had a call from QC - a Captain David Worthy. He says he needs a private word with you as soon as you can call him back. He’s given me a special number to call him on. It’s not very private over here at the moment - shall I give you a direct line?’

‘Yes, Flossie. Thanks,’ said Greg thoughtfully.

He dialled the number. A voice that sounded familiar answered.

‘David Worthy speaking.’

‘Greg Norfield here. You asked me to call you.’

‘Yes indeed. I am the QC sales manager. I imagine that Brian Hope has told you about me. I have been overseas for the company for the last three weeks. Got back yesterday. I missed your visit here. Brian has only just filled me in on the details of the new brokerage. I rang by way of an introduction.’

‘Captain Worthy. I do not recall Mr Hope mentioning your name but the voice sounds familiar.’

‘So it should, Mr Norfield, but we will not discuss that now. I am about to jump into my car and drive down to see you if that’s all right.’

‘Why yes, of course,’ replied Greg, and he furrowed his brow as he tried hard to recall when and where he had heard that voice before.

‘We have a lot to discuss, Mr Norfield. Best we get acquainted as soon as possible. I reckon I should be there by lunchtime. Oh, I hope you’ve got that engine fixed!’

The line went dead. Where had he heard that voice before? What engine was he talking about?

Mary arrived about twelve thirty. Their greeting was uninhibited and noticed by Chris from the top of the office stairs. He gave a smile and a wave to Mary.

‘Makes me feel young again,’ he called out.

‘Me too,’ shouted Greg, all smiles.

They made off to the caravan. As they were catching up with each other’s latest news the phone rang. It was Flossie.

‘I have a Captain David Worthy in the office to see you. He’s having a chat with Chris and John at the moment. He says you are not to rush. He would like to wander along the pontoons and have a look around if you would meet him down there in quarter of an hour or so.’

‘Tell him that’s fine, Flossie. Thank you. I’ll find him.’

Greg explained to Mary about the unexpected visit from the sales manager.

‘It sounds like he wants to talk to you in private. Must be important. How about I get some sandwiches from the van and bring them down to Amity? You won’t be disturbed there and you can make him a cup of tea. I’ll take any calls or messages in the caravan.’

‘You’re a gem, my lovely. I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

‘You won’t. This man is your future boss. He hasn’t driven all the way down here to be fobbed off so that you can see your girlfriend!’

‘Fiancée, please. Of course you are right as usual. That looks like it might be him going down the visitors’ gangway now.’

Greg gave Mary a hug and left to meet his new boss. As he approached, the man was looking closely at Amity and had his back to him. Greg had a strange feeling of recognition. Hearing Greg approach, Captain David Worthy turned to face him with a grin.

‘Told you we would meet again one day,’ said Troag.

They exchanged a firm handshake and broad smiles, both shaking their heads from side to side.

‘Call me David, please, Greg. I can tell you it was only yesterday that I learned of your involvement here. I had a job to control myself in Brian Hope’s office when he mentioned your name. My boss, of course, knows nothing of our previous meeting. Where can we talk in private?’

‘Right here on Amity. My fiancée, Mary, will bring us sandwiches. We will not be interrupted. Come aboard.’

‘First things first, Greg. I suggest our cover is that we met briefly many years ago as visitors to the Royal Yacht Club in Lymington. I am here on official QC business, but before we get into that what did you do with the flight case?’

‘Aha! Funny you should mention that. I’ve been meaning to sink it when I got out into deep water again but the opportunity has not arisen. Sailing back from Cowes recently I thought about it, but there are too many divers to the wrecks in those waters. I have it here in a forward bunk locker.’

‘I imagine it is empty?’

‘Nearly, all but a couple of bricks.’ Greg grinned. ‘And I burned your note.’

‘Well, I can save you the trouble. That was a brand-new and very expensive case. I will have it back before I leave. I must get away about three. We will talk another time on those matters.’

Mary arrived with the food and Greg introduced her to David.

After she had left them David spoke: ‘Charming. You must tell me all about her when we have more time together, and that may be sooner than you think. I have a prospective buyer in Cornwall for a rather nice Dutch steel cruiser, which is with our people in Amsterdam. I am getting it skippered to Cherbourg in the next couple of days. I would like you to crew with me to get it back to Dartmouth. My buyer will find it more convenient to have the boat here rather than in Lymington.’

‘I will look forward to doing that trip with you. I’ll reserve space on this pontoon to berth her.’

‘This delivery exercise,’ said David, may be required at very short notice. The way of these things is not always to our convenience. I have discussed everything I need to know here with Chris Curnow and seen the site for the office.’

After another firm handshake, Captain Worthy made for his car and was away. Mary came round the corner as Greg was walking back to the caravan.

‘You two looked as if you knew each other,’ she said.

‘I don’t know what makes you say that. But yes, long time ago. When I was given the name Captain David Worthy this morning it just didn’t ring a bell. He reminded me that we met in Lymington at the yacht club years ago. I’m not sure I even knew the name.’

Mary gave him a funny look and he hated himself for lying to her yet again.

Later, she helped him move a couple of boats to make space for the Dutch cruiser. Then, after hugs and kisses, she left him standing there forlornly, to return to Southampton early Sunday afternoon.

When she got back to her flat there were two messages on her answer machine. The first was Greg to say how much he was already missing her. The second was the voice of Commander Williamson.

‘Now that you have completed a few days with your boyfriend I would like to be updated about your resolve.’ After a pause it finished with ‘The terms of your service require you to erase this message immediately.’

This she did.

Tired from the long car journey Mary sat down with a cup of tea to think. Just how had the Commander known about her trip to Dartmouth?

It had been a long day. She was about to go to bed early. The phone rang.

‘Yes, darling,’ she said automatically, thinking it was Greg.

‘I don’t get called that very often,’ said the Commander.

Mary felt a complete idiot and told him so.

‘Well, don’t,’ he said. ‘It confirms what you told me last week. I’m sorry to have disturbed you so late. I’ll make this short. I simply require affirmation that you are still prepared to serve.’

‘Absolutely,’ she replied. ‘Nothing has occurred since our meeting to make me change my mind. Should you ask something of me that my conscience would not permit, I will tell you at the time. I will never betray that to which I have sworn. Will that do?’

‘It certainly will’ came the answer.

‘Just one thing,’ she continued: ‘how did you know I’ve been in Dartmouth?’

‘Really, Miss Rowlinson - we are the ones who ask the questions. Goodnight.’

Greg completed his business at the bank in Dartmouth. As he walked back to the ferry he had no way of avoiding Selby Somerfield-Smythe. This horrible little man seemed to pop up in front of him out of the pavement like a jack-in-the-box. The meeting was clearly intentional.

‘I say, old boy, fancy meeting you,’ said Selby. ‘How very fortunate! I’ve been wanting to parley.’

Greg drew him to a quiet bench on the waterfront, where they would not be overheard.

‘Look, Selby,’ he said, barely suppressing his irritation, ‘tell me what’s on your mind. I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

‘I hear you’ve gone straight. Just wanted to tell you that your secrets are safe with me.’

Greg smelled blackmail again. What was he to do about Selby?

‘Exactly,’ said Greg as he got up ‘I’m off now - my ferry is due.’

He shot down the street as close to a sprint as he could disguise. Over on the Kingswear side of the river, as he walked back to the yard he asked himself several times, ‘What to do about Selby?’

Back at the yard he went straight to the warehouse.

‘Harry,’ he said, ‘would you like to pop into the caravan for a natter tonight on your way home?’

‘Great’ came the reply. ‘How did it go at the weekend? I hear you had a high-powered visitor?’

‘I’ll fill you in when you come round tonight.’

There was a clatter at the door of the caravan. It was Harry.

‘This is the last bottle of loot,’ said Greg. He poured Harry a good tot of Calvados. ‘I had an unwelcome meeting with your friend Selby this morning. You shared a room at Her Majesty’s pleasure with him and you now share a cottage with him. What’s he all about?’

‘He was in for larceny. He’s now going straight. He gets up most people’s noses, I know that. I also know you think he’s a problem. Well, he isn’t.’

‘Harry,’ said Greg, ‘we’re going to make a go of all this. I want you to know that despite our differences in the past we can work together. We both owe it to Chris and we owe it to ourselves. I accept Selby is your business, and I must get on with mine. Please let me know how I can help at any time.’

‘Thanks, Greg,’ said Harry. ‘The helping bit is mutual. I think Selby feels isolated. There is one thing I learned inside - we all need help, and sometimes it comes from surprising quarters.’

They shook hands and Harry left for home.

The next morning Greg’s Rover was delivered. John Dalton peered down from the top of the steps.

‘Very nice. What did you do, then - rob a bank?’

‘Something like that,’ replied Greg with a grin.

Little did John know how close to the bone he’d come.

***

Next weekend when Mary arrived early on the Friday it was bright and sunny.

‘I’ve got a plan for part of our day today,’ said Greg after they had extricated themselves from their overt tender and warm greetings. ‘I have no appointments today but it looks like being another busy weekend. I’ve put Amity on a mooring to make more space on the pontoon. How about rowing out there with our lunch to watch the world go by on the river - just you and me?’

‘Yes, please.’

Mary went off to the caravan to get the lunch and Greg climbed the stairs to have a word with Flossie. He told her the plan.

‘That’s nice. I’ll tell any callers that you are out with a boat and won’t be back until later this afternoon. How about that? There’s the cellphone if it’s urgent.’

‘The truth is always best,’ Greg said with a wink.

And so before lunchtime they rowed out to Amity on her mooring. As they watched the boats plying up and down the river they snuggled up in one corner of the cockpit with their lunch.

‘You really don’t know very much about me, do you, Gregory Norfield?’

‘You once said you would tell me about your parents,’ Greg replied. ‘You looked so sad when the subject came up.’

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it’s a subject that I still find painful to talk about.’

‘Then don’t,’ said Greg.

Mary was quiet for a moment.

‘No, I want to tell you. This feels like the time. My father was ordained into the Anglican Church just at the beginning of the war and chose to serve his country by joining the RN Chaplaincy. He actually did his Royal Navy service training on top of the hill over there at the College. That’s why I’d like to go there one day. Mum and Dad spoke little about the war. They didn’t meet until it was nearly over. Mum was in the Wrens and Dad was for some reason or other a patient at Haslar Naval Hospital, Gosport, when they met in 1945. They married in 1947 and I was born in 1950. Shall I go on?’ she said, and as he pulled her tighter to him she knew the answer. ‘When I was a little girl, five or six maybe, I remember on more than one occasion when we had visitors at home, always men, I was pushed upstairs or out into the garden while they talked. One day I crept back and listened outside the living-room door and heard mention of “men lost” and the word “tragedy”. I thought for ages, childlike, that “men lost” meant that they had wandered off and couldn’t find their way home. It was years before Daddy considered me old enough to be told of one horrendous event when his ship was sunk, and of the significance of the silver model of a battleship on our mantelpiece.’

Mary went on to tell Greg that the men who used to call had brought it as a gift for her father. He told her that he was on a battleship in the Pacific when it was sunk by the Japanese towards the end of the war. Hundreds of men were “lost”. Her father was one of a small number that were rescued after many days clinging to a raft in shark-infested waters.

‘He rarely spoke to anyone of his wartime experiences. The men that called at our house were survivors who had come to thank Daddy for helping them.’

It was a long time before either of them spoke as they contemplated the peaceful waters of the river and thought about what she had said.

‘Would you like to hear more?’ Mary asked. She looked pensive.

Greg smiled, and nodded his head.

‘It all came to an end whilst I was away at Southampton University. Daddy was based in Portsmouth. One day they decided to drive up to Yorkshire to visit some distant relatives of Mum’s. I didn’t even know they existed.’

At this point Mary’s eyes started to fill.

‘You needn’t go on,’ said Greg as he kissed her gently on the cheek.’

‘I must, I must. I have to get this out. They were driving north up the M1. A lorry from the southbound carriageway careered through the central barrier and hit them head-on. Somehow Daddy survived the horrific pile-up. Mummy was killed outright. Just a few minutes after the impact witnesses found the bodies of Daddy and the lorry driver in the crumpled cab of his vehicle. In Daddy’s hand they found the crucifix that he always carried on a chain around his neck.’

Greg wiped away the tears that had started down her cheeks.

‘Please go on,’ he said kindly.

‘At the inquest that followed, a verdict of death by misadventure on all three was passed. The lorry had a blow-out on a front tyre, causing the vehicle to swerve to the right and through the barrier. The coroner wished it to be noted that there could be no other reason for finding Daddy’s body in the lorry cab other than that, after the crash, having ascertained that he could do nothing for his wife, he had managed to crawl to the lorry - there was a trail of blood to prove it - where he was ministering to the driver when they both died from their injuries. Mummy and Daddy were only fifty-two years old,’ she sobbed, ‘and right at the end Daddy was doing what he always did - comforting other people.’

Greg pulled her closer to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and, with the gentle movement of the boat on the tide, Mary, totally exhausted, drifted off to sleep in his arms.

When she woke, she said, ‘Thanks, I haven’t spoken about that to anyone since it happened.’

‘What are you thanking me for?’

‘For helping me to lay a ghost,’ she said.

Greg now remembered seeing the little silver battleship, and next to it a wood-and-silver inlaid crucifix, on the mantelpiece in her flat in Southampton.

‘I was an only child, you see. I inherited the whole estate. I sold the house and was able to buy my flat in Southampton outright. This has enabled me to stand on my own two feet from the day I started work. Now I have someone to share it all with it doesn’t seem such a burden any more. I know my Mum and Dad would have approved of you. Daddy used to say, “I do hope you’ll meet someone mature at university.” Well, it’s taken rather longer to meet someone mature. But now I am supremely happy.’

Mary returned to Southampton. Her story gave Greg much to think about - mostly matters of morality. Could he meet up to her standards? He was a smuggler - of people as well as goods; she was dedicated to catching men like him. How could he make vows of marriage to the woman he loved, knowing that he would continue to deceive her about covert operations? Was he really prepared to work on illegal exercises because they were “in the interests of the country”? Or was it simply greed? Does the end justify the means?