Dive in the Sun (11 page)

There were plenty of similar craft plying their trade up and down the Adriatic, and the Germans had made full use of them for carrying supplies and troops, and thereby relieve the overworked railways and roads. A few figures were on her littered deck, but only one man appeared to be in uniform. The sun flashed on a white cap and drill tunic as a tall figure strode from one side of the poop to the other.

Instead of going about and making for the open sea, she altered course towards the cove, and he saw a group of figures gathering in the bows around the anchor.

Must know the water pretty well, thought Curtis, as he watched the ship feeling her way between the dark patches of
the
shallows. He remembered well enough how little depth there was outside the cove, and wondered if the little schooner was permanently based here.

He watched narrowly as a dinghy was lowered over the ship’s side and bobbed reluctantly against the hull, while the vessel continued to move slowly towards the shore.

He heard a faint shout, and saw the splash under the bowsprit as the anchor plummeted down.

A moment later the little schooner swung lazily at her hawser, and the engine, after a few rasping coughs, fell silent.

Curtis sat in the grass, biting on the stem of his pipe and feeling the warmth of the forenoon sun coursing through his whole body. A tiny sea-breeze fanned his face, and he jerked back his head to shake away his dry, salt-caked hair.

He found that he was able to concentrate more fully and his mind had stopped jumping from one possibility to another. Somehow, he knew that this schooner was the answer to his prayer, the avenue of escape.

Thinking of the others brought his mind back to Jervis. They had to find him before they could do anything else, before they could contemplate any movement at all.

Then there was the problem of finding out about the Allied invasion. Suppose it had been called off? That would mean a complete alteration of plans.

He leaned forward as the dinghy shoved off from the schooner’s side. Two roughly dressed seamen pulled at the oars, while two other men sat in the stern.

Curtis snuggled down deep in the grass and made a small opening to watch the boat’s leisurely approach.

One of the passengers was a short fat Italian in a faded red shirt, and a greasy peaked cap tilted over his eyes. Flabby and middle-aged, he had only the cap to show his authority. Must be the captain, thought Curtis. Yet the other man, who sat stiffly on the thwart, was obviously no mere seaman.

The boat grated ashore and the fat Italian stood up and stepped easily over the gunwale on to the firm sand. As he stepped clear of the dinghy he revealed his slightly-built companion, whose white drill jacket and well-creased trousers
clashed
with the rough appearance of the other men. Curtis’s heart quickened as the second passenger stepped carelessly on to the beach and, after a brief word with the Italian, started to walk up the cove, practically on the same track which Curtis had just taken. As he walked he swung his uniform cap in his hand, his fair hair tilted to the sun and tanned skin dark against the white drill.

The sun also reflected on the glittering shoulder straps of his tunic. As he drew nearer Curtis realized what he had first feared, that the man was a German naval officer, the two bright bars of gold lace proclaiming him to be a lieutenant.

Must be in command of the schooner, he thought. It was common practice for the Germans to put their own officers in charge of the normal Italian crews.

The German was practically below him, and Curtis caught his breath as he stopped to examine the deep footmarks in the sand. Curtis’s own footprints. But after a cursory glance round, the lieutenant carried on his way towards the end of the cove.

Curtis lost sight of him for a few minutes, and then saw that the German was climbing up the hill by a small narrow path, his legs moving in long rhythmical strides and his head thrown back like an athlete.

He waited until the other man had passed over the rim of the hill, and then, very slowly, his mouth dry, and not only from thirst, Curtis started to follow him.

The house which confronted him on the other side of the ridge was a surprise in itself. Two-storied and spacious, it stood in the middle of a vast, diamond-shaped flower garden. Small stone walls separated the various colourful sections from the wide circular drive which surrounded the house, and several large ornamental ponds, with gentle fountains playing on the dark water, were placed at intervals around the gardens.

The house, white-painted and cool, seemed to be all windows, and as he watched he saw the German run lightly up the steps to the deep, sun-shadowed porch and disappear into the house.

In the drive stood three cars—two large Fiats, and the dusty scout car which Curtis had seen earlier.

He licked his cracked lips as the sound of the hissing fountains penetrated his racing thoughts. He cursed himself for his weakness, and tried to peer round the small wall nearest him to see the other corner of the building. Probably a German officers’ mess of some sort, he decided. Although a more un-military place would be hard to imagine. He glanced at his watch. Ought to be getting back soon. Taylor will wonder what the devil’s happened to me.

There was a sudden grinding of gears and the sound of a labouring engine beyond the line of trees which framed the house, and then a long-muzzled armoured car, the black crosses clearly painted on the turret, drove into view and parked beside the scout car. After a few moments three soldiers in field-grey uniforms tumbled out of their vehicle and sat on the grass under one of the trees. He could hear their laughter, and watched enviously as one man, a corporal’s chevron on his sleeve, held a chianti bottle high over his head and tried to catch the liquid with his open mouth as it splashed redly across the front of his tunic.

Curtis tore his eyes away and began to retrace his steps. Once clear of the ridge he started to run down the hill towards the beach, conscious of the need to get under cover and discuss his discoveries with the others.

He paused wearily at the foot of the small cliff and mopped his streaming face with his sleeve. As he lowered his arm he froze, and stared fixedly at the horse and rider which were cantering slowly and easily towards him.

At any other time the girl and her chestnut horse would have been a sight to make any man stand and gasp, but at that moment, as she turned easily in the saddle and shaded her eyes to watch the anchored schooner, Curtis was rooted to the spot with the sudden danger and menace which she represented. She was clad in a bright green shirt and well-cut jodphurs, and her hair, which was woven into a long single plait, hung across her slim shoulders like a blue-black snake that rippled and shone each time her body jerked to the horse’s motion.

A sudden desperate idea came to Curtis as he watched her drawing nearer and nearer to his position. The schooner was
obviously
a regular visitor to the cove, as was the German officer, so why shouldn’t this girl take him for a German from the ship?

He already had his battledress trousers tucked into the top of his leather sea-boots, and with his fair, sun-bleached hair and blue eyes he looked more like the popular conception of the typical Aryan than did either of the officers Curtis had already seen.

The horse saw him and stopped, its huge liquid eyes watching him anxiously, while the front hooves pawed the sand in quick, agitated movements.

The girl swung round in the saddle, a look of brief annoyance flitting across her dark face. Then she saw Curtis, and her full red mouth tilted at the corners in surprise, and for a moment Curtis thought she would speak.

With his heart pounding against his ribs, Curtis nodded to her, his head bobbing forward in a neat motion which helped to hide his face from hers.

Keeping his eyes hard and cold, he allowed his mouth to smile briefly. ‘
Guten Tag, Fraulein!
’ And then he had passed her.

He forced his eyes to stare dead ahead at the wavy line between sand and sea, and waited breathlessly for the girl to call after him, or hear her challenge his appearance on the lonely beach.

After a while he stopped and bent down to remove his boot. As he tipped an imaginary stone from it, he glanced quickly back up the beach. He was just in time to see the sun’s reflection across a piece of green shirt and the horse’s chestnut flank before both horse and rider vanished over the Ridge towards the hidden house.

A shiver ran through him, and he looked down at his filthy battledress and salt-whitened boots. His face felt rough and bruised, and his whole being throbbed with weariness and sudden frustration. His father’s voice seemed to boom in his ears, probing, chiding, and sarcastic. All at once Curtis began to realize just what his present position really meant. He was little better than a hunted animal. As a person he no longer
existed
. He thought of the proud girl on her horse, the look of surprise and contempt on her face. No doubt the mistress of one of the Germans, he thought, and he suddenly felt the old hatred begin to mount within him. It was as if his father had forced him to hate once more, had even provided the goading force to make him act. He ran blindly along the beach, only half aware of the rocks which he ducked around and the stunted bushes which afforded him cover.

He was breathless when he eventually reached the top of the hill, and fell gasping beside Taylor and Duncan, who eyed him with alarm.

‘O.K., Ralph? Did you find anything?’

Curtis lay propped on his sore elbows, his chest heaving painfully. For a few moments he could not speak, but he stared unbelievingly at the flask of water which Duncan proffered him. He grasped the slim, straw-bound bottle and lifted the neck to his lips. They watched him as he swallowed a mouthful of water and closed his eyes in silent ecstasy.

‘Well, Ralph?’ Duncan rubbed his hands together impatiently.

Curtis nodded slowly. He could still feel the water in his throat. It was like the fountains around the silent house. ‘I saw some more soldiers,’ he answered flatly. ‘And the ship!’

A light gleamed in Duncan’s eye. ‘The ship? Ah, yes. We are thinking the same things, eh?’ He grinned recklessly.

‘Where did you get the water?’ asked Curtis sharply, the bottle again catching his eye. It was like a piece of another world.

‘Christ, never mind the bottle!’ Taylor exploded, his face drawn. ‘What about the bleedin’ Jerries?’

Duncan ignored the outburst. ‘Found the bottle outside a hut, and then tumbled on a stream. But, Ralph,’ he leaned forward, his face urgent. ‘I found out a few things, too! I think Jerry is movin’ up troops all over the place, and look at this!’ He handed Curtis a crumpled sheet of newspaper. On the front page was a printed map showing the southern half of Italy. The whole southern coastline was stabbed with huge arrows, each marked with a Union Jack. Curtis stared at it
blankly
, the glaring Italian headlines dancing before him like a weird code. ‘Don’t you see, Ralph, it’s on! The boys have landed!’ Duncan’s voice was dangerously loud. ‘The invasion’s under way!’

Curtis handled the scrap of paper as if it was a precious document.

‘Today’s date on the paper,’ he said at length, ‘so they must have been fighting for a couple of days already.’

‘Does that mean we’re going to pinch a boat?’ Taylor looked anxiously from one to the other.

Duncan eyed the schooner, which swung at her anchor like a small white toy, the distance masking her scars and adding to her graceful beauty. ‘Too goddamned right we’ll pinch a boat! Eh, Ralph?’ He rubbed his hands together like sandpaper. ‘There’s only a Jerry officer an’ a handful of flamin’ dagos aboard! We can get aboard her easy, an’ with the grenade and our two pistols we can take care of them easy!’

His jubilation and wild excitement was infectious, and Curtis rolled over to stare at the ship, his blue eyes cold and hard.

‘We might, at that,’ he said softly. ‘We shall have to do it when she’s due to sail, and not before.’

Duncan shrugged. ‘Hmm, I guess so. It wouldn’t do to give anything away to the locals. I don’t reckon that old engine’d take us far enough before the high-fly boys came after us.’ His eyes took on a dreamy look. ‘Just think, George, a coupla days and we’d be reportin’ to Admiral Cunningham in person. One flamin’ dock blown up, and one little Eye-tie schooner for a bit of yachtin’!’

Taylor looked unconvinced. ‘It’s a long way,’ he muttered.

Duncan slapped him across the shoulder. ‘Yeh! An’ it’s a damned long way to walk, too!’

Curtis was thinking hard; a plan was coming at last. All they had to do was find out when the ship was leaving, and be ready. He sighed,
and
find Jervis. He suddenly remembered the Italian girl. She had been beautiful, and he tried to picture her face, but he could only see her red mouth and the arrogant tilt of her head.

‘Bitch!’ he said savagely.

‘How’s that again?’

Curtis shook his head, irritated with himself for allowing the girl to intrude on his plan. ‘Nothing. But I was just thinking, we’ll have to get ourselves cleaned up a bit.’

Duncan’s jaw dropped. ‘We aimin’ to go callin’ on the local parson?’

‘We may have to look like Germans,’ answered Curtis slowly.

‘Us?’ Taylor was looking worse. ‘We’d never get away wiv it!’

‘I already have!’

He turned back to the ship. She was suddenly inviting and beautiful, like a lonely woman. He sighed wearily and rested his head on his hands. Where the hell was Jervis?

As if reading his thoughts, Duncan said quietly, ‘If the boat’s ready an’ we haven’t found Ian,’ he paused, ‘well, are we leavin’?’

‘What d’you think?’ He kept his eyes averted.

‘I think we shall have to go. After all, he may have bought it already.’ He shrugged. ‘Still, you’re the skipper.’

Curtis felt desperately tired. ‘Yes,
I’m
the skipper,’ he answered bitterly.

Taylor shifted uncomfortably in the sand. ‘The crew of the boat ain’t come ashore yet. Maybe they’re shovin’ off sooner than we think?’