He tried to analyse his own feelings and motives towards Lightfoot. It seemed ridiculous that he should feel so close to him, to someone so removed from his own way of life. Yet it was true. In the dinghy Lightfoot had patiently followed his instructions, yet once he had grasped the problems of sailing the boat he acted more as an equal than a subordinate being offered a favour. He had a quick, alien wit and a surprising interest in all that went on around him, and was quite unlike any other rating Colquhoun had met.

  They had grounded the boat on a sandbar and lounged in their swimming trunks, basking in the hot sun. Often Colquhoun found himself wondering about the clumsy attempt to sabotage the submarine’s steering and tried to imagine Light-foot as the culprit. It surprised him to find that it no longer seemed to matter. The boy had had some desperate reason, probably connected with his family. Right or wrong in his line of reasoning, Colquhoun knew that he would keep it to himself. Lightfoot had saved his life. And in some inexplicable way he seemed to need Colquhoun’s friendship, just as he knew his own feelings were reaching out in the same direction. It made him feel guilty and yet elated. It was like some inner challenge which set him apart from the others.

  The planesman whispered between his teeth, ‘Captain’s cornin’ up, sir!’

  Colquhoun pulled himself from his rambling thoughts and glanced quickly towards the watertight door.

  Jermain ducked his head down as he stepped through the oval frame and seemed quietly surprised as Colquhoun reported, ‘Course zero four zero, sir. One hundred and fifty feet at twenty-five knots.’

  ‘Where’s Number One?’

  Colquhoun said, ‘Sick bay, sir. Just slipped away for a minute or two.’

  Jermain smiled. ‘Can you manage her on your own, Sub?’

  ‘Just about.’ Colquhoun relaxed slightly. There was something very reassuring about Jermain. He was never sarcastic or overbearing. In fact, he did not seem to fit any mould at all. Even his interview after the clash with Wolfe had been patient and devoid of threats. Rather like a schoolmaster with a promising but tactless pupil, Colquhoun decided.

  Jermain walked through to the chart-room and checked the log. ‘We’ll go to periscope depth in half an hour, Sub. We’ll raise the radio mast and get ready to receive our first American signals.’ He seemed more preoccupied than usual, as if his mind was only half on his duties.

  Colquhoun watched his face with close interest. It was like being allowed to share something private. Jermain rarely showed anything but complete dedication to his daily routine, and this trace of uncertainty seemed to add to rather than detract from his stature.

  Jermain ran his finger down the neat line of pencilled figures and calculations left by the navigating officer and tried to relate them to what might lie ahead. In a day and a half they should reach the American operational base at Taiwan, and from there almost anything might come their way. He made an effort to build some enthusiasm out of the new destination as he had always been able to do in the past. It ought to be a great experience to use his new submarine alongside a fully trained and operational force. It should be a challenge, a rightful culmination to the months of training. Even Taiwan itself would be entirely new for all of them. The island which guarded the Formosa Strait and the main approaches to Communist China. Its ancient and feared General Chiang Kai-shek, whose gaunt shadow seemed to hang over the scene like some grotesque cardboard cut-out, supported by American money and materials of war, was a predominant factor in the undeclared battle between East and West. Yet as Jermain stared at the chart and the calculations, he could feel neither excitement nor pride.

  He had slept badly, tossing and turning in his bunk, and jerking awake at the most normal shipboard sounds. Time and time again he had pictured the girl in his mind, had almost sensed her touch and the warm softness of her body.

  An hour before the Temercaire had sailed Jennain had gone aboard the depot ship for his final briefing, but after leaving the operations-room he had come face to face with Conway. The meeting had been so unexpected that Jermain had been conscious of a sudden feeling of guilt. It was entirely new to him, and for a few moments he had been almost unnerved.

  Conway had been carrying his briefcase and was dressed for his flight to the north. He had said, ‘I had to come and see you before I pushed off, Commander. There was a lot I wanted to say to you, but it seems we’re bound for separate points of the compass.’ He had given his lopsided grin. ‘Very nautical, eh?’

  Together they had leaned on the rail and stared down at the black submarine. A blue haze had hung around the diesel generator outlet, and men had been moving purposefully about die upper deck loosening the mooring wires and stowing away the final stores for the journey.

  Conway had said suddenly, ‘I hear you had a good time with Jill. She hasn’t said much, but I think she was sorry she couldn’t spend more time with you.’

  Jermain had tensed at the mention of her name. It was obvious that Conway knew nothing of his daughter’s later meeting with him. Of the fact that they had slept together.

  Conway had hurried on, ‘Yes, I wish you could have seen a bit more of her. She needs someone a bit mature. Someone who’s just not another young hanger-on.’ He had glanced sideways at Jermain. ‘I’m not suggesting that you’re an old man, it’s just that she’s had a bad time in the past. Her mother and I have had a few worried moments, I can tell you.’

  ‘In what way?’ Jermain could not meet the other man’s gaze. He had wanted to change the subject or to end the conversation altogether.

  ‘When she was at university she met this man. He was much older than she was, and, worse still, he was married. He was a tutor of some sort, but I didn’t hear about it until the whole thing blew up. Well, of course it had to end, but I don’t think she ever really got over it. She went completely off the fails for months. Drank too much, mixed with all the wrong people, you know the sort of thing.’ He had seemed unable to stop talking, and Jermain had guessed Conway had bottled it all up within himself for a long time.

  ‘Somehow I managed to get her fixed up with my department. It’s got a pretty wide range of work, and above all it keeps her busy and occupied most of the time. But every so often I see the signs, and I get worried as hell all over again. She’s all I’ve got. I just want her settled.’

  At that moment Oxley had called up from the casing, ‘Fifteen minutes to go, sir!’

  Conway had added, ‘I hope I’ve not embarrassed you, Commander? I thought you might understand.’

  ‘I think I do.’ Jermain had tried not to think of the girl’s body naked on the bed like a pale crucifix. He had known he was doing wrong, and Conway’s confidence had added to his sense of guilt.

  Perhaps she had been using him as another ‘experience’, and he had remembered with sudden clarity that once during the night she had clung to his shoulder and called ‘John’. At the time he had put it down to the excitement, the all-devouring elation which had left them weak and at peace together. But Conway’s words had changed all that. She must have been thinking back to that other man, to those precious days which Jermain could never share. A passing substitute, the momentary recapture of a dream. He had felt sick.

  Conway had held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Commander. I hope we meet again with more time to spare.’ By the time Jermain had climbed down to the submarine’s casing Conway had vanished.

  Jermain had tried more than ever to push himself harder into his work, but even that evaded him. The boar was running like silk, there seemed little to do but think and brood over whai had happened.

  If only he could have seen her just once more. In the dawn light he had dressed quickly beside the bed while the girl watched him through half-closed eyes. They hardly spoke, but once when he stooped over her she gripped his hand so fiercely that her nails broke the skin.

  She had shown no regrets. Neither did she seem to care what he might have thought of her willingness to sleep with him. Each was wrapped in his and her private thoughts, and when the actual moment of departure came there was no longer any time for words.

  She had held his hand under her breast and watched the emotions crossing his face. ‘I won’t get up till you’ve gone.’ Her voice had been low and husky. ‘There’s no point in adding to the pain.’

  ‘I have to see you again.’ His voice had sounded as hopeless as he had felt. The waiting submarine, the remorseless passing of time, added to his feeling of inevitability and loss. ‘I have to!’

  She had kissed him quickly and hard, and then pulled the sheet up to her chin so that in the half-light she looked defenceless, like a child. ‘You might forget me by tomorrow.’ She had shivered beneath the sheet. ‘It might all be different then.’

  ‘What about you, Jill? How will you feel?’

  Her words still stayed with him, awake or in his restless sleepu ‘At this very moment I cannot bear the thought of your leaving this room. I cannot pretend to know how I will feel tomorrow.’ She had turned her face on to the pillow so that her hair had hidden her eyes. ‘Now go quickly, David. I’m not strong enough for farewells!’

  Jermain realised that Colquhoun was speaking again.

  ‘I saw the two security men go ashore, sir. Does that mean they’re satisfied with everything?’ Colquhoun was watching him closely.

  Jermain shrugged. ‘Maybe. Anyway, I’m glad to be shot of them. To get the boat welded into some sort of order again.’

  Colquhoun gave a quick grin. ‘No admiral either, sir!’

  Some of the tension drained out of Jermain’s face and he smiled. ‘Did you see your father before we sailed?’

  ‘I saw the admiral, sir.’ Colquhoun looked away. ‘I took a present up to the house to be posted back to my mother. My father was having a conference but condescended to come out for a few minutes.’ His voice became bitter. ‘He said I was wasting my time in submarines and that I should go back to general service.’

  Jermain said gently, ‘He means well, I expect He probably expects big things from you.’

  Colquhoun sighed. ‘I find his reasoning beyond me.’

  Jermain turned away. Don’t look to me for guidance, he thought. I imagined that I knew myself. Now I am not sure of anything!

  *  *  *

  Wolfe returned to the control room and glanced quickly at the clock. A few minutes to go and then the boat would be gliding upwards to listen to the far-off world of command and naval strategy. He felt depressed and uneasy, and his conversation with Griffin, the doctor, had gone entirely the wrong way.

  He had found Griffin seated at a table in the sick bay, apparently absorbed in studying a small carved figurine. He had said cheerfully, ‘Picked it up in the market in Singapore, Number One. Only cost a few bob. Marvellous piece of work.’

  Wolfe had said, ‘Probably made in Birmingham! They’re all bloody sham!’

  Griffin had sighed and placed the figurine carefully in a drawer. ‘It’s like that, is it?’ He had studied Wolfe carefully. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I have a headache. I want a few tablets for it.’ Wolfe had felt angry beneath Griffin’s cool scrutiny. ‘For God’s sake, it’s only a headache!’

  ‘Did I suggest otherwise?’ Griffin had pulled out his keys. ‘I’ll fix you up certainly. But have you had any sort of treatment recently? Are you sure it’s nothing worse?’

  ‘Look, if you don’t want to give me a simple remedy then say so! I can manage without a lecture!’

  Griffin did not seem to hear him. ‘Serving in submarines affeas different people different ways. It can produce the same effert as, say, alcohol. A man can show his real charaaer, just as he will do under the influence of drink or drugs. What he can cover up under normal conditions can overpower his usual control and become all-important and outsize, so that he can think of little else.’

  Wolfe remembered his angry sarcasm. ‘And how long have you been in submarines, Doctor?’

  ‘Two years, on and off.’ Griffin had eyed him calmly. ‘But you don’t have to be able to dig holes in the ground to learn about architecture!’ He had given him the tablets. ‘These should do the trick, but if they don’t I’ll give you a going over.’

  Wolfe had snapped, ‘Should I rely on your judgement?’

  ‘It seems that I must rely on you, Number One, so why not?’

  The petty officer of the watch said, ‘Time, sir!’

  Wolfe started. ‘Very well. Take her up to periscope depth.’ He felt easier in his mind when something was happening. He watched the gauges and listened to the gentle hiss of pressurised air.

  ‘Sixty feet, sir.’

  Wolfe grunted. ‘Up periscope!’ For several seconds he swung the big periscope in a slow circle, his eyes squinting against the glare. The sea was flat and glittering with a million bright mirrors. Like the pale sky it was empty. Not a gull or even a piece of flotsam marred the probing lenses.

  He said, ‘Raise the radio mast and inform the W/T room.’

  He heard Jermain’s voice at his side. ‘All quiet, Number One?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s a pity we can’t raise the radar mast, too. It would save all this scratching around for information.’

  ‘I agree.’ Jermain seemed distant. ‘But our orders do not change on that point. Any radar transmissions could easily be detected.’ He added suddenly, ‘I hear you were in the sick bay?’

  Wolfe caught sight of Colquhoun across the captain’s shoulder. ‘Just for a moment. Did he say I have been adrift for the whole watch?’ Even as he said it, Wolfe cursed himself. There I go again. What the hell is the matter with me? A matter-of-fact question becomes a major issue. Perhaps Grffim is right after all.

  Jermain replied calmly, ‘He made his report, nothing more.’

  Wolfe said, ‘Just a headache. What with one thing and another …’

  The radio supervisor interrupted by poking his head through the radio-room hatch. ‘Signal coming in now, Captain! From American Group Ten.’

  Jermain pursed his lips. ‘It feels strange.’

  ’I’ll bet the Yanks have been waiting for this.’ Wolfe scowled as he listened to the muted stammer of Morse. ‘They’ll just love to throw us around!’

  Jermain said, ‘I’d have thought they’d be more occupied in other directions.’ He broke off as the radio supervisor called, ‘We’ll have it all in another minute, sir.’

  Jermain said, ‘Right. Let’s have the code book and all the combat material in the chart-room. I have a feeling this is more than a social call!’

  *  *  *

  Able Seaman Bruce spooned down the last of his tinned pineapple and wiped his thick fingers on the front of his shirt. He looked around the mess table and continued with the story. ‘Yeh, as I was sayin’. I gets this tart back to her place and we starts bargainin’ for a fair price. Now, I bin out East afore, an I know the form …’

  Haley, the leading hand of the mess, reached for his pipe and said dryly, ‘I can imagine!’

  Bruce scowled. ‘These Chinese toms who hang about the dockyard don’t bargain unless it’s for a purpose.’ He winked across at Lightfoot. ‘When they’ve got a fair idea of the wad you’re carryin’ they gives a signal, an’ out comes a hairy great wog from behind the bleedin’ bed! Afore you can say “kiss my arse” he’s clobbered you, an’ when you awakes in the arms of a shore patrol you got no money, and no enjoyment!’

  Dale, another seaman, asked wearily, ‘So what happened this time?’

  Bruce smiled knowingly. ‘I dived for the back of the bed, and sure enough there’s this tart’s bloke hidin’ behind the screen. I kicks him once, and hard, then jumps on top of this bird.’ He threw bade his head and roared. ‘I guess if I’d been a bleedin’ marine I’d ’ave done the bloke as well!’

  Lightfoot eyed him distantly. He had heard much the same story before. The place varied, but the situation was always the same. He stiffened as he heard Archer’s familiar voice behind him.

  ‘Anyone got a fag to keep me goin’ till the canteen opens?’

  Someone threw a tin across the table but Archer seemed reluctant to return to his own mess. He said, ‘I heard a buzz that we’re staying with the Yanks for six months.’

  Dale choked on his cigarette. ‘Jesus! I was due for leave. It’s not damn well fair!’

  Bruce eyed him scornfully. ‘Pipe down, Mrs. Dale! You shouldn’t have joined if you can’t take a joke!’ He turned his gaze back to Archer, who was now standing directly behind Lightfoot. ‘So what else did you hear?’

  ‘That Jimmy the One caught some officer in his bunk with one of the lads.’ He laughed harshly. ‘I’ll bet it’s true an’ all.’

  Lightfoot tensed. He could almost feel the man’s breath across his neck. He kept his eyes fixed on Bruce’s face arid wondered how he could appear so casual. There was absolutely no sign of tension or caution. No sign that he was chatting with a man he had tried to kill.

  Bruce continued, ‘That’s a load of squit! Do you think they could keep it quiet?’

  Archer sounded angry. ‘ ’Course they could! Bloody officers stick together like dung on a blanket! I’ll find out who it was before long, you see!’

  Lightfoot stared down at bis plate. Once again things seemed to be moving too fast for him to regain control. After the incident in Colquhom’s cabin his inner sense had told him to stay away from die officer, to withdraw completely into himself. It had always been his method of keeping straight in the past. But Colquhoun’s kindness over his mother’s death, his genuine willingness to help, had been difficult obstacles to overcome. Furthermore, he had wanted to accept Colquhoun’s invitation to go sailing. He had really wanted to go. It had been a kind of challenge, like when he was a kid, answering a dare to run across the railway track only seconds before a passing train.

  At first he had imagined that he was using this unexpected relationship with the young officer as a possible shield against Archer, but deep down he knew it was not so. After all, if anything else went wrong it was obvious that Colquhoun had much more to lose.