Sunset (27 page)

Charles Yeung nodded. ‘That is so.'

Brooke tensed as Calvert's hand stilled in mid–air near the perspex-covered cockpit. Did he expect something evil? A reminder, perhaps, of his own experiences?

Charles Yeung sounded preoccupied. ‘I have had men looking after it, you understand? But a pilot's knowledge is what I need now.'

Brooke looked beyond the crouching aircraft and watched the
sparkling water, a few tiny junks and sampans. It was like being perched on the edge of a continent instead of a small corner of the same island.

‘It looks beautiful from here.' He barely knew he had spoken until she gripped his arm again and answered, ‘The
feng shui
man chose it well. The sea-dragons can reach their palaces directly from this place.'

He glanced at her and saw that she was quite serious, and yet somehow pleased by his remark.

There was a click and when they turned back to the seaplane again they saw Calvert's vague outline inside the cockpit, groping around while he closed the cover behind him.

Charles Yeung said, ‘Good, good.' He did not conceal his relief.

Within the damp silence of the covered cockpit Calvert eased himself into the pilot's seat. A ray of misty sunlight played across the instruments and controls and a bright silver plate with the maker's name engraved on it.
Cantieri Ruinti dell' Adriatico
. He guessed someone had polished it quite recently. Maybe just for his visit.

He reached down to find the log compartment and gasped with shock. How could he possibly have known where it was? It was nothing like the old Swordfish, and the Seafox he could scarcely remember.

He found he was shaking badly. Like those other times. When he had been released from care. The screaming memories, wide-eyed horror when young men had died without knowing why. He covered his face with his hands, surprised that his skin was so cold, that he was not wearing his old leather flying gloves. The two great battle-cruisers firing salvo after salvo, the shattered carrier ablaze and capsizing, her toy-like aircraft tumbling off the flight-deck into the sea. Then the lithe destroyer swinging round in a great creaming wash which he could almost feel.

His own voice, a stranger's as he had screamed, ‘
I'll get those bloody bastards! Hold on, Muffin! Here we go, Bob!
'

The last name helped to pull him out of his terror. Her husband's name. The one who had bought it in the
Hood
. He felt
the seaplane move slightly and knew somebody had stepped on to a float.

He slid from his seat and opened the curved hatch below the cockpit cover.

Brooke looked up at him. ‘You OK, Toby?' His voice was so calm.

Calvert took a deep breath. His fingers tingled as if he had been flying, weaving in and out of the bursting flak.

He found he could smile. The Skipper was concerned, genuinely so. A really nice bloke. Not like some.

He said, ‘Right as ninepence, sir!'

They studied each other for several more seconds. Two young men who had already seen and done too much, and would be expected to go on doing it at the gates of hell.

Brooke turned and saw the girl watching him, her hands clasped.

He said, ‘I think a large drink is indicated.'

Charles Yeung watched the secret embrace as Brooke greeted his daughter by the landing-stage, but ignored it and asked, ‘
Can
you help me, Lieutenant Calvert?'

Calvert grinned and wondered where the hidden madness had gone. Gone, until the next time.

‘You'll have to find a pilot, sir.' He nodded, stunned by his sudden confidence. ‘But, sure, I'll put her to rights!'

Charles Yeung touched his arm. ‘You are a brave man. Do not think I do not know!'

Calvert looked back only once as the men began to close the doors again.

Like a big, black bird. No accident. It had been waiting for him.

The small, two-storeyed block of apartments had been built originally for those passing through Kowloon on their way to other parts of Empire. Officers' wives, naval and military officials; simply a bed and somewhere to break the journey.

The occupants of the six apartments now were mostly permanent residents: some senior nurses from the military sick quarters, and on the ground floor, an army chaplain. One apartment was
still reserved for its original purpose. Like the others, it had a tiny balcony that looked out across the glittering water of Victoria Harbour, with its unending movement and countless moored ships, towards the notorious district of Wanchai.

The girl named Sue Yorke lay on her side, the shoulder straps of her swimsuit dropped from her shoulders, and watched the busy scene through the veranda rails. She was lying on what looked like a much-used sun-bed, her hair sticking to her forehead while her legs and shoulders burned.

She levered herself on to one elbow and shaded her eyes to stare at the naval dockyard and anchorage, which seemed to lie directly opposite her apartment. Grey ships and spartan buildings, White Ensigns lifting and curling only occasionally in the hot breeze. Which one was his ship, the
Serpent,
she wondered. Perhaps she could borrow some binoculars. It would be lovely to go over there to Hong Kong again, to meet him, perhaps to fight the feelings which would not be resisted.

What she was doing seemed pointless. The brigadier was always busy, seeing people, making statements, but mostly playing golf.

It was so unfair.
‘Just hold the fort, Sue. Shan't be long.'
It was wasting time, when otherwise she might . . .

She lay back again and stared at the awning overhead.
She might what
?

Sometimes she awoke in the night and wondered what had happened; how it
could
have happened. Bob carrying his sword and smiling outside the old cathedral at Winchester, brother officers making an arch of blades, the photographs and the hotel for the reception. A few weeks later Bob had gone, as if he had never been. She had tried to remember their intimacy, their brief love, and she had felt shame when she could think only of the man on the train who had written to her. A letter to England which she had never received.

She rolled over on to her stomach again, her eyes smarting from perspiration, like tears.

It might not last, even if they let it happen.
Serpent
could be returned to convoy duty; Toby had told her as much. She smiled and dabbed her mouth. Such a friendly name. Intimate.

On the other hand the brigadier might pack his bags, a fine job
done, whatever it was, and she would be sent back to some naval base or barracks.

Toby had called her two days ago but had been unable to meet her. Or was he trying to make it easier for her?

He had mentioned but barely touched on the favour he had carried out for some Chinese businessman, the one with the daughter. She had pressed him further but he had replied, ‘When I see you. I'd like to tell you. Explain. It would help.'

She stared hard across the water until her eyes blurred. He was over there. Was he thinking of her? Was there any point in it?

It was strange. Most of the girls she knew in the Wrens seemed so worldly, able to deal with everything. And yet she had been married, and still felt like the novice.

There was a knock at the door and someone strode into the adjoining room without waiting for an answer.

Ruth Shelley was a senior sister at the military hospital. She had a brusque, offhand manner, but had gone out of her way to make the young Wren comfortable.

‘God, look at you! The life of Riley, you naval people seem to have!'

She came out into the sunshine and regarded the harbour grimly. Tall and dark, with a strong sort of beauty which even a severe uniform could not disguise.

‘Another few months and it's back to Blighty for me, my girl.'

‘Don't you like it here? I think it's heaven!'

‘There are better things to do. You'll soon find out if you stay here. Horny majors, just glad to get away from their dull wives so that they can have a bit on the side, and pink-faced subalterns looking for a mummy-substitute or a favourite spaniel!' She looked at her directly. ‘God, girl, I've shocked you!'

Sue Yorke could feel her cheeks stinging and was angry that she was so easy to unsettle and embarrass.

‘I suppose I'm not used to . . .'

The tall sister reached over for a towel. ‘Not used to the heat either. I thought you might be here, trying to get a tan before you go home. Believe me, you'll get more than you bargain for if you don't take care of yourself.' She produced a yellow bottle and shook it vigorously. ‘Lie down again. I'll do it.'

Sue lay face down and waited for her blushes to leave her in peace. She felt the towel drying her shoulders and spine, the firmness of it somehow soothing.

‘Raise up.' She probably spoke to her patients like that.

Sue obediently raised her stomach and felt the swimsuit dragged down her back and beneath her.

Cool drops of ointment, and then a slow, steady massage.

‘Still wearing his ring, then?'

The girl had kept the wedding ring on a thin chain around her neck. A reminder? Or was it a protection from something else?

When she remained silent, the sister named Ruth said, ‘I was nearly married once, y'know. Wouldn't think it, I suppose.' She chuckled and rubbed the ointment into her shoulders. It was a sad sound.

Sue said, ‘What was he like?'

‘Like?'
The question seemed to take her aback. ‘A lieutenant in the H.L.I. You know what they say about the light infantry, carry their brains between their legs, eh?'

Sue pressed her face into the towel. Was she embarrassed again? She was surprised that she was not even shocked. If anything she was suddenly sorry for this hard-talking nursing sister.

‘It didn't work anyway.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Why should you be? You'll forget what I said once you're through that door.'

She was working on her legs now and Sue was secretly pleased that she had shaved them that day.

‘And what about you? Seeing some jolly jack, I hear?'

She half rolled over and exclaimed hotly, ‘He's not! I – I mean, it's not like that!'

She stared down at her bare breasts and tried to find the towel. Ruth Shelley rolled her on to her back as easily as she would a weak child.

‘I've seen tits before, my girl.'

Mesmerised, Sue watched while she applied more ointment, strong, powerful and yet for once quite gentle.

‘Lie still, let your breathing calm down – close your eyes if you like. I'll go away right now if that's what you want?'

Sue pressed her eyes shut. It was suddenly important that she should stay.

She allowed the rhythm to flow over her, muscle by muscle, until there was something else, but again she was not shocked. She said in a small voice, ‘I want him so much. We seem right for each other – I don't really understand why. He's a hero, a V.C. I'm, well, just a secretary, no matter what the uniform says!'

Just for an instant the hands stopped moving. One rested on her stomach, the other just touching her left breast.

Then she felt the hands moving her on her side, facing the sea again.

Over her bare shoulder Ruth said, ‘Nobody can see you like this.' Again the forced chuckle. ‘Except maybe some of the pilots flying out of Kai Tak Airport!'

Sue heard her drying her hands. Then she said, ‘If that's how it is, my girl, don't fight it. You've a lot to offer him!'

Then she bent over her and kissed her cheek as if it was something precious. Sue imagined she could feel her unsteady breathing as she whispered, ‘Now you know what went wrong with
my
marriage.'

For a long time after Ruth Shelley had gone Sue sat on the sunbed and let the sun explore where those hands had moved. Then she touched herself and tried to understand what had changed.

Aloud she said, ‘Third Officer Yorke, you're growing up at last.' She smiled shakily. ‘
My girl!
'

It was October when Commander Jeremy Brooke, Royal Navy, returned to Hong Kong. As he walked unhurriedly to Kai Tak's reception area to await the arrival of his luggage he glanced around, not surprised but depressed by the apparent lack of security.

He saw two of the Royal Air Force fighter planes revving up noisily, watched as usual through the wire fence by a cluster of local children. He thought of the dog-fights in the clear skies above Dover and the Channel. Aircraft like these would not last ten minutes in England.

There was a staff car outside the baggage area and he automatically smoothed the creases from his uniform. England, Australia and New Zealand, by sea and in hedge-hopping planes little bigger than the two on the runway. He made a point of never showing tiredness, just as he rarely hurried. It might be mistaken for urgency or strain.

Now he was back in Hong Kong. The humid air, the smells he had come to know so well on other visits, the perpetual movement of people, were like a welcome.

His admiral had briefed him on what he had to do. Like the grim posters in England.
If the Invader comes.
Jeremy's mouth turned down. He was not going to be popular, not with the top brass anyway.

He crossed to a window and stood directly beneath a revolving fan. Perhaps
Serpent
was in harbour? He examined his feelings
about meeting his brother again as he might skim through a despatch or signal. It annoyed him to realise that there was only envy, where by rights there should be none. It was even more irritating to realise that Esmond did not feel the same way about
him.
Even before he had been given the old
Serpent
he had been just the same. Not content; he was always too driven for that luxury.

He saw a porter carrying his bags and said, ‘Staff car. Outside.' He clenched his fists and waited for his temper to settle.