conning tower to smoke the cigarettes forbidden them when submerged. Everyone kept a careful lookout for intruders; for swift enemy E-boats and reconnaissance aircraft. At such times, when it seemed they were the only beings on a never-ending sea, Keth would close his eyes and let the quiet of the night wash over him, his mind a blank.
Few spoke when Selene rode on the surface. Sound carried far at sea. Some believed you could smell a man sucking a peppermint almost a mile away or see the glow of a cigarette end.
Keth blinked into the darkness, trying to define where the horizon merged with the land mass. A scudding night cloud covered the moon and someone said softly, ‘That’s more like it.’ Moonlight was not always a friend.
‘How far away now?’ Keth asked of the First Officer.
‘Far enough, but until we take you in we’ll stay in water deep enough to dive in.’
Number One. That really was his name. Not Tom nor Dick nor Harry. Not even Sublieutenant Smith, or Jones. Everyone with whom Keth came into contact was nameless and he, in return, was called Captain. Best that way, he supposed. What Gaston Martin didn’t know he couldn’t tell.
‘Do you want to eat, sir?’
Keth shook his head. Lately, he hadn’t even thought about food. These few remaining hours his thoughts were of the pill hidden in the cuff of his shirt; that obscene, fifty-seconds death pill. He thought, too, about Omega, the safe and solid mother ship, far away now in Loch Ardneavie and to which, before so very much longer, Selene would return. Without him.
Dot-dash-dot. Dit-da-dit. The letter R flashed from the shore and to which, when he landed he would reply with four short flashes: H – his own sign. For Hibou, owl, Gaston Martin’s codename. Someone, code-named Hirondelle would meet him. Hirondelle, a swallow. He wondered who thought up codenames.
‘I think you should eat, Captain.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’ Best he should. Only God knew when his next meal would be – and where. Keth felt his way carefully down the conning-tower ladder, then made for the galley.
‘Fancy something hot, sir, or a sarnie?’
The sea cook spoke with a Liverpool accent and it made Keth think of Daisy.
‘Whatever is going, thanks.’ It would all taste the same.
‘Mustard on your beef?’ The cook was buttering large slices of bread.
‘Please.’ The man was trying to be kind, Keth thought; sorry for the poor stupid sod they would soon put ashore. Rather him than me, mate!
Keth carried the plate to his bunk. He would never forget this bunk nor the fuggy, blankety smell of it. It had been his womb and soon now they would cut the umbilical cord.
‘They’re looking after you, then?’ Selene’s skipper, wearing canvas pumps, creased trousers and a navy-blue sweater, appeared. ‘You’re okay?’
‘Fine.’ He was not fine.
‘We’ll go further inshore about midnight when the tide turns. A leading seaman will be in charge of the dinghy. You’ll take your orders from him. He’s all right – done it before.’
‘Good,’ Keth shrugged.
‘Sparks has just had a signal from your lot. Everything’s okay at this end. No problems.’
Keth thought about Castle McLeish and the stone house. Of course there would be no problems. How could there be? Slab Face did not tolerate problems.
‘You’ve got your stuff handy, Captain?’
‘Ready and waiting.’ One suitcase; one brown paper carrier bag.
‘And you’ll go through your pockets beforehand? No duty-free cigarettes …?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘Nor submarine lollies?’ The lemon-flavoured sweets a submariner sucked when cigarettes were forbidden.
‘Nothing at all like that, but I’ll check.’
‘I’ll leave you then. You’ll want to get your head down for a couple of hours.’
‘Might be an idea. Thanks a lot.’ Sleep? Oh, no!
Think of Daisy, then? No, no, no!
Think instead of dit-da-dit, and hibou and hirondelle; think of Gaston Martin and the leading seaman who had done it before.
He chewed on his sandwiches. They were tasteless and hard to swallow.
All at once, Keth wanted it to be midnight.
‘I thought you’d be alone.’ Julia offered a spoonful of tea in a twist of paper. ‘Tom home-guarding again? Put the kettle on, there’s a love.’
‘You on your own too? Is Nathan out then?’
‘About the Lord’s business. I suppose you’ve got to accept that when you marry a parish priest.’
‘Tell me,’ Alice arranged cups on a tray, ‘I’ve often wondered: what’s going to happen when the war is over – to you and Nathan, I mean? When he took holy orders he couldn’t have known he’d inherit Pendenys.’
‘No. Nor half of his mother’s money either. But when it’s all over and the Army give back Pendenys, I’ll worry about it. I couldn’t live there, not for anything!’
‘Drew’s going to want Rowangarth,’ Alice persisted.
‘I know. He and Kitty living there will make me feel better about leaving it. I suppose Nathan and I could live in the bothy – when the land girls go home,’ she said absently.
‘Had you thought –’ Alice filled the small earthenware pot, ‘there’ll be a second-generation Clan for you. Drew’s children, I mean, and Daisy’s.’
‘And Bas and his brood.’ Julia’s eyes took on a yearning look. ‘Coming over every summer and Christmas …’
‘Bas isn’t married yet. Give the lad a chance!’
‘He will be,’ Julia smiled smugly. ‘And talking about courting – Tilda’s got a follower!’
‘What? Our Tilda?’
‘Oh my word, yes! Name of Sydney. She met him in Catchpole’s garden. He’s with the Green Howards, guarding Pendenys – and he’s single, would you believe! His father was killed in the last war and he looked after his mother till she died two years ago.’
‘Then here’s to Tilda and Sydney.’ Alice raised her teacup. ‘She was always a romantic; always had her nose in a love-book, as Mrs Shaw called them. I’m glad for her – even if nothing comes of it. Tilda was very kind to me when I came home from France – till Miss Clitherow put her foot down, that was.’
‘But wasn’t everyone kind?’
‘Not
