Dive in the Sun (30 page)

Bombers, he thought breathlessly, as his boots tripped and stumbled across the road. Perhaps they were British planes, and the idea gave him an unreasoning comfort.

They climbed in silence, Curtis keeping his eyes on the road, or on the broad, sweat-stained back of the Italian captain.

The village was even poorer than the one he had already seen, and he was amazed at the flimsy, rough-boarded hovels which were hunched on the side of the hills, overlooking the
inlet
. A dog whined dismally in the distance, and once Curtis thought he heard a child cry out briefly in one of the dwellings. Nets and various oddments of fishing gear, all crude and much repaired, lay heaped between the low rooftops, and they had to climb and duck over several piles, before the captain could find his way on to the main road through the village. There were no motor vehicles of any kind to be seen, and only once did Curtis see any building constructed of concrete.

He stopped dead in his tracks and pulled the captain close. The building was smooth and grey, with small black slits for windows.

‘Hold it!’ he gasped. ‘That’s a pillbox, a gun-mounting, or something!’

With something like a swagger the captain walked over to the concrete emplacement and kicked it with his shoe. He chuckled. ‘See? Empty, like their promises! They have all left, I tell you!’

They hurried on, and Curtis wondered what the captain might have said if some Germans had come out of the pillbox to see who was knocking at such a late hour.

‘Ah! There it is!’

Curtis almost collided with the little man, as he halted and pointed ahead.

‘For one second,
signore
, even I was beginning to think I had lost my way!’

The small church was almost invisible against the hillside, and only the small bell-tower broke its dim craggy outline.

They passed around the low side, and the captain pointed at a small extension at the rear.

‘I must see the priest, you understand. Only he can help us.’ He peered at Curtis with sudden eagerness. ‘You trust me,
signore
?’

Curtis nodded wearily. ‘Go ahead. But how d’you know it’s the same priest who was here before?’

He shrugged. ‘I do not. But we will try caution, and if that fails, we will try the revolver!’

He motioned Curtis back into the shadows of the church, and then began to pound gently on the door.

In the stillness of the night it sounded like a gun being fired, and Curtis tore his eye from the captain to look back along the roadway. There was only the pillbox, white in the moonlight, to remind him where he was, and but for the distant murmur of the sea, he could have been anywhere.

A light flickered beneath the heavy door, and Curtis heard the captain speaking softly through a small grille which was suddenly lighted by a lantern from within.

A chain clattered, and the door was opened slowly to reveal a tall, thin figure in the traditional black robe of a priest. His features were thin and yellow against the raised lantern, and the sparse hair on his narrow head stuck out above his ears like little tufts of white feathers.

The captain grinned with obvious relief. ‘It is Father Bernucci! We are saved!’

Curtis felt the man’s deep-set eyes watching him, as the captain rattled off a lengthy explanation, with many gestures at Curtis and towards the sea.

The old man nodded slowly and beckoned them both inside.

It was cold inside the unlighted porchway, and it was with amazement that Curtis found himself being ushered into a low beamed room, lit by candles and by the cheerful flicker of a dying fire. The walls were lined with old, leather-bound volumes and several faded pictures, and the plain, stone-flagged floor was comfortably decorated by two long woven mats.

The priest continued to question the captain, as he added a log to the fire and then laid cheese, wine and a dark loaf on the carved table.

Curtis sank into the high-backed chair and drank the wine with quiet relish. He was aware of the fatigue which hovered just behind his eyes and the difficulty he had in focussing on the long-stemmed glass in his hand.

The priest sat stiffly on a bench facing him, his bony hands resting in his lap. A large crucifix swung from his neck and glittered in the candelight.

Curtis felt his eyelids drooping. Another squadron of
bombers
droned overhead, or perhaps it was the same group going back, their evil work done and their youthful crews returning to their beds.

The priest suddenly spoke, his voice soft and husky, and his English so perfect, that Curtis was startled into attention.

‘I have listened to Fausto Macchia, and I think I understand what has happened.’ The old eyes rested on Curtis’s uniform in a brief appraisal. ‘You are an enemy of this country, but,’ he lifted a finger as Curtis leaned forward, ‘I think it will not be so for long. Be that as it may, I will help you, and at once.’

‘That is most kind of you, Father. The wounded soldiers need proper attention, and more than I can give them.’

‘If you had not come ashore like this, how many of them might have died?’ The eyes were unwavering.

The captain interrupted with a laugh. ‘Less than half! Yet the lieutenant here has risked his own life and everyone else’s for the sake of those few!’

‘I was not prepared to take such a risk, that’s all,’ Curtis answered simply.

‘Quite so, my son. It is strange what war will do to us as individuals. In war, the young often feel they have no real mission, and yet,’ he fingered the gold cross thoughtfully, ‘perhaps you at least, have been allotted your task to perform.’

He wrote slowly on a sheet of paper, and when he had finished, he glanced at Curtis, his eyes enquiring. ‘You would like to see what I have written? It is a message for my friend. He is the doctor.’

‘I trust you, Father.’ He found that he meant it. ‘Will there be any Carabinieri on the roads tonight?’

The priest smiled sadly. ‘They have been conscripted into the army. They left this morning!’

He handed the message to the captain. ‘Take this to the doctor, Fausto. You know his house.’

The captain tucked it into his shirt. ‘Have you still got your old bicycle, Padre?’

The priest nodded. ‘Take it, Fausto. It will help to remove some of the signs of good living from you.’

The captain picked up his cap and walked to the door. ‘This will not take long, Lieutenant. I shall be back to the ship with the doctor within an hour!’

‘Right. I’ll find my way back there now, and have the wounded prepared for immediate treatment.’

He took the priest’s dry hand. ‘And thank you, Father, for everything.’

‘For everything?’ The priest cocked his head on one side. ‘For the help, do you mean? Or for the faith?’

He was still smiling as Curtis stumbled out into the darkness and started to feel his way down the road to the village and the sea.

DUNCAN SAT UNCOMFORTABLY
on the stone bollard opposite the schooner’s bows and stared into the shadows at the far end of the jetty. An unlit cheroot hung from one corner of his mouth and his hands lay spread across his knees. Occasionally he looked across at the ship, as an unusual noise or movement caught his attention, but otherwise he remained wrapped in his own concentrated thoughts.

It seemed ages since the skipper had gone up towards the silent village, although he knew that it could not have been more than half an hour or so. At first, he had driven the Italian sailors like mad to get the water tank filled, and he had kept the others occupied with boiling water and preparing the more seriously wounded for inspection. He shifted his buttocks angrily on the cold stone. It was damned unlikely that any such doctor would be available. More likely a couple of platoons of Jerry soldiers.

The corporal, his head wrapped in a balaclava, crossed the jetty, his studded boots clinking on the stones, and halted beside him.

‘Give you a break, sir?’ The man stared over Duncan’s shoulder with practised eye.

‘Fair enough.’ Duncan stood up and stretched. ‘I’ll go and give the ship a shake-up!’

He climbed over the gunwale and walked carefully to the hold. Removing the canvas which hid the lights beneath, he lowered himself into the too-familiar place, which to him had become a symbol of suffering and discomfort.

The girl was there he saw, and with Taylor was busy with one of the wounded. It was damned odd, the way that she and the skipper looked at each other.

Taylor glanced up and grimaced. He had washed his hands and arms free of engine filth, and compared to his body, they gleamed with unnatural whiteness under the lamplight.

‘Skipper back?’ he asked shortly.

Duncan shook his head and took a dirty dressing from the girl. He threw it quickly into a pail, aware of the sickly smell which seemed to pervade the hold.

Carla Zecchi sat back on her haunches and blew a loose strand of hair from her face. ‘I am getting stiff!’ She tried to smile, but the tiredness was too strong for her. ‘I wish we had just one more helper.’

Duncan grunted. She probably meant Ralph, he decided. ‘Well, perhaps the doctor
will
come,’ he said. ‘But we must be ready for the worst.’

‘You’re a cheerful one!’ Taylor covered the soldier with a blanket and stood up. ‘You’ll ’ave me in stitches, you will!’

‘I am sorry about Ian.’ She looked at both of them anxiously. ‘It was a strange thing to do.’

Duncan could see that she wanted to ask him something, but his face remained impassive.

‘I s’pect he wanted to stretch ’is legs, miss!’ Taylor said, and moved across to the next man. He stooped down, his sharp eyes moving despairingly from the bandages on the soldier’s legs to the expression of glassy concentration in his eyes. He grinned. ‘’Ere, mate, let’s ’ave a look at yer. Doctor’s comin’ to fix yer up!’

The soldier moved his white lips and a thin stream of saliva ran down his chin.

‘What the hell d’you want to tell the poor joker that for?’ Duncan hissed down at him, his eyes hard. ‘You’ll do him no good if the bloke doesn’t arrive!’

Taylor continued to grin at the soldier. ‘’E’ll come,’ he said softly. ‘Skipper’ll get somebody.’ Under his breath he added, ‘’E’s
got
to!’

Duncan stood up and cursed as his head collided with a beam. He was now so much on edge that he felt he had to be doing something.

‘I’m goin’ on deck to have another prowl round,’ he said. ‘This hangin’ about is drivin’ me up the creek!’

As he swung round to leave the girl caught his arm, her eyes steady with resolve. ‘I should like to speak to Ian, please. I think it might help. He must be very worried about all this.’

Duncan shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I don’t suppose Ralph’d mind. And in any case, I’m in charge at the moment!’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind anyway,’ she answered softly. ‘And thank you.’

Taylor watched them go. ‘Can’t do any more ’ere till we get some more dressin’s,’ he called, ‘so I’ll keep an eye on things ’ere!’

‘You’ve been a wonderful help,’ she said. ‘You understand these men.’

Taylor moved his feet uncomfortably. ‘That’s right, miss. Proper Florence Nightingale I am!’

It seemed even darker on deck, and the moon had moved behind the hills at the back of the village.

They climbed down the aft hatch and the soldier outside the cabin door yawned and nodded companionably.

‘How are you, digger?’ Duncan peered at the man’s bandaged hand.

‘Could do wiv a drink, sir.’

‘Nip off an’ have one then. We shall be down here for a bit.’

The hatch closed and Duncan reached out for the key which protruded from the lock on the cabin door.

‘Want me to come with you?’ His tone was gruff, but the uneasiness was clear to her.

‘I wish you would. It would make things easier for all of us.’

Duncan swallowed and slammed open the door with unnecessary violence.

Jervis jumped up from the bunk, his eyes startled.

‘Carla! And … and Steve!’ He held out his hands, his mouth quivering. ‘Thank God you’ve come down!’

‘Her idea.’ Duncan folded his arms and eyed him coolly.

Jervis turned to the girl. ‘Where are we? What’s happening? I’ve been nearly going mad in here!’

‘We have arrived at some small place that the captain knows. We have got some water,’ she dropped her eyes, ‘and perhaps a doctor may be found also.’

Jervis stared at her incredulously. ‘But what about the Germans?’

‘They are not in this place apparently.’

‘So your little bit of stupidity misfired, Ian.’ Duncan’s face was hard and unyielding.

‘Why did you do it, Ian?’ she asked gently. ‘Why did you not trust your own captain? He is a strange man, but … but …’ Her lashes dropped with sudden embarrassment. ‘… he has suffered much for all this.’

Jervis’s jaw dropped. ‘What are you saying? How can you of all people talk like this?’

‘What do you mean, Ian?’ She held her slender body erect, her small chin high. ‘What are you suggesting?’

Duncan had tensed. ‘Yeah, what in hell’s name are you babbling now?’

‘But I did this for you!’ Jervis still stared at her. ‘And now everything’s changed!’ He ran his fingers through his hair desperately. ‘I didn’t realize we were still going to try to get away!’

Duncan leaned his back against the door as someone moved quietly in the passage. These soldiers don’t take long to get a drink, he thought.

‘I am only a passenger … a prisoner, call me what you like.’ She tossed her head impatiently. ‘But I understand what
your
captain is trying to do, and I think he is right. My father may think otherwise now, but later on he may be glad all this had happened.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You were wrong to do what you did!’

Jervis’s face collapsed. ‘But I did it for you, Carla! I didn’t want you to be punished for … for what you did with the water! But it was all wasted, I——’

She crossed the cabin and seized his hand. ‘What are you saying? I did not touch the water! I did not even know where it was!’

Duncan breathed out explosively. ‘Hold it! D’you mean, Ian, that you just admitted to this, to cover up for her?’