Sunset (31 page)

There were voices in the adjoining room, the sounds of tea being prepared.

She whispered, ‘Your ship is not going yet, Es-mond?'

‘No.' He squeezed her hand and imagined what it would be like to be with her. To love her.

‘When you look at me like that, Es-mond, I see myself very differently. A person of wind and dust, and not the sheltered daughter of a great man.'

Brooke smiled at her concern. He knew enough to understand the term she had used. A prostitute. ‘I think not!'

She was not convinced. ‘When you are close to me, even when I think of you, when we are not together, I cannot but want you to hold me, and not leave me untouched, not to have felt the waves of the wind like other girls.'

A small servant opened the door and ushered them through. Charles Yeung was sitting in an armchair and was rolling down the sleeve of his shirt. He looked strained, but what Brooke noticed most was his hair, usually so perfectly groomed. It was tousled, probably from when he had been lying down to have his heart tested.

‘You are welcome, Esmond!' He frowned. ‘All this fuss for nothing!' He reached for a cigarette box on the nearest table.

‘Too many of those!' That was Camille. She was folding up her bag of instruments with quick angry movements. ‘You must take more care. You can afford it!'

A very large man in a creased, lightweight suit and brightly flowered tie introduced himself. ‘Hello, Commander Brooke. I'm Harry, Camille's old man!'

Big and outwardly amiable, but he was no doubt wondering how he was supposed to react.

Jeremy came in from the terrace, and summoned a smile. ‘Like the bad penny, Esmond. But I'll be leaving quite soon now.' He took out his own cigarette case and added, ‘I saw you arrive with that little Miss Know-it-all.'

Lian watched them both from beside her father's chair. Then very softly, she asked, ‘Did she turn you down, Jeremy?'

Doctor Harry Quayle of Nashville, Tennessee held up his big beefy hands in protest.

‘It's like this.' He looked at Brooke wearily. ‘We had this notice about quitting Hong Kong if the need arises. I don't want to become involved. As an American citizen I'd put my wife first, naturally. But the fact remains . . .'

Camille's eyes flashed. ‘I'm not leaving, I tell you that now! I am
needed
here, and if the worst happened, the need would be all the greater!'

It was strange to hear her slightly American accent, Brooke thought, after the soft voices of the others.

Jeremy said sharply, ‘It was my duty to tell them. There would be no difficulty in getting them a passage to Australia, as a first step anyway.'

He turned on Lian, still smarting from her cutting remark about the Wren officer.

‘And
you
wouldn't leave either, I suppose?'

She touched her father's shoulder. ‘You are right. This time.'

Charles Yeung stroked his daughter's hand and asked, ‘What do
you
think, Esmond? You are a friend now. I have already said what I believe. If a passage to a safer place is offered I think my daughters should take it. They of course refused, for various reasons.'

Brooke looked at her for several seconds. It was like something physical, unbreakable. He saw her put her other hand to her breast and then nod very slowly.

‘I would do all I could if such a thing did happen. You must know that.'

Charles Yeung clicked his lighter, like a gunshot in this quiet room above the sea.

‘I do know. I have watched you. But wars do not respect the people who are made to fight them. You may have to leave here. I cannot see that you will be allowed to choose.'

Brooke turned to his brother. Relaxed now, a comfortable spectator again.

‘What have you been saying to these people?'

Jeremy gave an elegant shrug. ‘I thought they should be told. We owe it to them. In any case, the possibility might not arise.'

You bastard, he thought. So he did know more than he was saying.

‘And your yardarm is clear, is that it?'

Jeremy glanced at his watch. ‘Something like that.'

Lian said softly, ‘I will stay in Hong Kong as long as I am needed here.' She faced her father. ‘With you.' Then she turned towards Brooke and the others. ‘And with the man I love.'

Charles Yeung leaned back in his chair. Was he displeased? He certainly showed no surprise.

‘Have Jeremy driven to the ferry.' He held out his hand. ‘Now you owe us nothing, Commander.'

Jeremy paused, and said lightly to Brooke, ‘See you in England some time, old son.' But there was no emotion there. Perhaps there never had been.

‘I want you to come with me to the yard.' Yeung's authority seemed to exclude the two doctors. ‘But first, we will eat.' He smiled gently as Camille began to protest. ‘
Shh!
I am a man again. I will not be told!' Then he got to his feet and looked around as if he had not expected to recover his strength.

Brooke asked quietly, ‘Why did my brother speak of owing something?'

Yeung shrugged. ‘My people can always discover things which no intelligence officer would even hear about. In exchange, your brother could be helpful to me.' He shook his head and smiled. ‘Not, I assure you, a court-martial offence!' It seemed to amuse him.

Lian said, ‘You should have been a pirate!'

He touched her hair, his eyes seeking something. ‘Some of my ancestors were, I believe. Too hard a life for me!'

The doctors had gone out on to the terrace, and Yeung asked abruptly, ‘Do you love my daughter, Esmond? Above all else? Is that what she is telling me?'

Brooke found it was easy to answer. ‘I want her. I have never known real love until I saw her. You may regard my prospects as poor. But for the war I would have been outside the navy because of my leg.'

Charles Yeung raised his hand. ‘Suppose you took her back to England . . .'

She interrupted, ‘I have
been
to England, Father!'

‘It is not what I meant and please do not intefere!'

Brooke smiled. ‘Of a different race and culture, do you mean?'

Charles looked into the distance. ‘Not exactly. Lian's grandmother was French, you know . . . and her mother was so beautiful.'

Lian shook her head. ‘Do not distress yourself, Father.'

He turned towards her and smiled. ‘I am happy with her memory, my child.'

Brooke said, ‘I would take good care of her, Charles. And if –' He glanced at her, hesitating until he saw the encouragement in her eyes. It was as if she could read each word before he uttered it. ‘If there were children, you would be their only grandfather.'

‘Yes. In war, who can tell?' He seemed to shake off the thoughts. ‘So let us eat now. Tell your girl officer Miss
Knowitall
, was that her name?'

Lian exclaimed, ‘Oh, Father – this is only insulting nickname!' She brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘I will find her.'

Alone in the big room Charles Yeung said, ‘I could have gone against it, fought you, Esmond. I might even have used my influence to have you transferred. But you are a man of honour, I have never doubted that. And on occasions, when I consider it necessary, so am I.' He reached out and took Brooke's arm and said, ‘You have her heart. Do not break it.'

They turned to greet Lian as she entered with the little Wren at her side. They both looked very happy, and somehow shy.

Brooke watched them. So different, so far apart except for one thing.

They had made their decisions. Now there was no turning back.

Lieutenant Toby Calvert stood on the slipway and mopped his face with a grubby towel. Even with the doors wide open the sun on the corrugated iron roof made it like an oven.

‘Well, what d'you think, Paul? Will the brute ever get airborne, or is it all a waste of bloody time?'

Kipling was stripped to his shorts and his bronzed shoulders were daubed with grease and oil beneath the seaplane's twin floats.

He grinned. ‘Like a bird, Toby. Boy, I envy you – I nearly had a go at the Fleet Air Arm but I've got no head for heights!'

Calvert took a glass of juice from one of the Chinese mechanics who had been working with them.

He could still scarcely believe it, or what he had done. That first time, in the light of early dawn, he had risen from the bed, choking back a scream as the nightmare had returned more vividly than ever.

But it had not been the same
. She had been with him, had held him, pressing his head against her bare breasts, murmuring and stroking him until the horror had receded into the shadows.

It had happened again with her, and each time they had fought it together.

He had discovered that while she had held him he had been able to speak of it. Tell her, as he had always needed to tell somebody who would understand. He had built up pictures of his crew, Bob Piper the observer and the telegraphist air gunner, ‘Muffin' McDowall, a kid just out of training when he had been allotted to Calvert's Swordfish. Always together, except when divided by wardroom and messdeck: runs ashore, spirits high even in the face of danger.

Sue had told him once that she felt she had been there in the cockpit, that she could have recognised his friends, so real and clear had he made them.

Even the old Swordfish, the Stringbag. He had described her with true affection.

She had stroked his hair when he had come to the worst part, the realisation that the carrier,
his
carrier, was turning turtle, the heavy shells from the two battle-cruisers still dropping, destroying any hope of rescue for the struggling survivors.

‘Then she was gone. There was nowhere for us to go. Nowhere to fly, nowhere to land.' There had been a long silence and he had heard her heart beating against his cheek. ‘So I went for the enemy. It was hopeless, I always knew that. They put a destroyer between us and the big ships. There was flak everywhere. Poor Bob got it first. He just hung in his harness, trying to speak, blood pouring out of him. I just watched that destroyer in my sights and kept on going. Then Muffin was hit – even above the
explosions and the din I heard him screaming. They didn't want to die, you know. I killed them.'

She had hugged him. ‘Tell me about it.'

He had continued without emotion. It was like being asleep. Continuing a dream. ‘Then the engine was hit, I could feel the old Pegasus coughing and spitting. There was no more time. I just flew straight in until that bloody destroyer filled the sea, the world. Then I dropped the torpedo. I don't remember much else except that we just made it over the funnels. I thought we were going to smash into them. Next thing I was in the sea and I saw the old Swordfish dipping under. Then there was an explosion. I felt it like a boot in my guts. I was floating in my Mae West and I saw the destroyer for just a few seconds. She must have been going so fast and turning to try to get away that when it hit her the blast tore off half of the fo'c'sle.' He had given a tremendous sigh. ‘After that I had the sea to myself.'

‘Oh, Toby, I do love you so!' He had felt her tears on his arm and had tried to comfort her.

‘A trawler picked me up. God knows what she was doing there.'

‘Thank God she was!'

Calvert had realised then that he was no longer shivering. No longer afraid.

He had said, ‘So I met the King. Nice bloke, I thought. He said something about being a hero. I don't remember exactly. I was all choked up because of Muffin and Bob.'

‘You didn't ask to be a hero. But you
are
!'

Lieutenant Kipling was watching him. ‘Penny for them, Toby?'

‘Just thinking about my girl. I'm going to marry her if I can.'

Kipling's teeth were very white through his tan and oil stains.

‘You funny old bugger! I thought you were bothered about this plane again.'

Calvert touched the warm metal. ‘Not really. Mr Yeung's going to get some Dutch pilot from Java to fly it.' He patted it, surprised at himself. ‘I shall miss the thing when we leave.'

‘Have you heard something?'

Calvert shook his head. ‘There was talk of
Serpent
being withdrawn to be converted into a long-range escort. But I gather
the Skipper won't discuss it. Not even with Number One. He loves that old lady, you know.'

Kipling sighed. ‘I'm damn glad we've got
him
in command.'

Calvert looked at him, aware of his sudden apprehension.

But the mood changed as Kipling threw his rag in the water and exclaimed, ‘
Shit!
'

‘What?'

When he twisted round Calvert saw the reason for his concern. A little procession was entering the hangar from the other end: Charles Yeung with his daughter on his arm while the commanding officer, accompanied by the urbane Chief-of-Staff, followed behind with the Wren called Sue.

Kipling wiped his dripping chest. ‘Look at us, for Christ's sake!'

Calvert smiled. How close they had all become in the little destroyer
Serpent
. And how much they depended on one another. Because of the ship or because of her captain? They certainly belonged. Like one.

The Chief-of-Staff,
Bertie,
sniffed the air suspiciously.

‘Well, I've explained to
Tamar
and of course the harbourmaster, but the responsibility must rest elsewhere.'

Charles Yeung carefully put out his cigarette and smiled.

‘I understand that the Assistant Governor is willing to shoulder that!'

The shot went home.

Kipling shouted to the mechanics, ‘Jump about! Chop-chop! Let's warp the kite to the end of the slipway!'

Sue Yorke moved nearer to Calvert and whispered, ‘Is he
really
an officer?'

Calvert grinned as sunshine flooded over the seaplane's cockpit. Where he had been so terrified, and yet more afraid of showing it.