The Man who Missed the War (14 page)

When he awoke it was late afternoon, and his first thought was that he was hungry. His next was of Gloria. The radio had been switched on, and dance-music was coming from the cabin.
Since he had locked her in there she was now in control not only of the galley but also of all his edible stores. He wondered if she had cooked herself any lunch—it was not his fault if she hadn’t.

As he got up he saw with some alarm that an old-fashioned sailing barque, flying the Finnish flag, was no more than half a mile distant and standing towards him. Fearful of attracting attention by moving about, he sat down again, and spent an anxious half-hour watching her tack back and forth on his starboard beam. At last she had definitely passed without hailing him, so he breathed freely again. But not for long. In the distance, from what appeared to be dead ahead, an oil tanker was now coming up. She gave him another half-hour of acute trepidation, although she eventually slid by a good mile away to port.

Two such close calls in so short a time made him wonder how many others he had had while he was asleep, and convinced him of the wisdom of having left Gloria locked up all day. Moreover, it made him feel that it would be most unwise to release her until darkness had fallen. In consequence, all through the long summer evening, for some four seemingly interminable hours, he endeavoured to busy himself with little jobs about the deck and in the engine-room, in an effort to stave off his hunger.

When twilight had come and visibility dropped to about half a mile, Philip felt he might safely switch on his beacons and navigational lights and go below. Unlocking the cabin door, he nerved himself for another encounter with the temperamental Miss Smith.

He did not, as he had half-expected, receive a crack on the head from a saucepan. She had switched off the radio some time before, and was sitting there quietly in the semi-darkness.

‘Hello!’ he said, as he turned on the light.

‘Hello!’ she replied. ‘Was it nice bein’ up there on deck all day?’

‘Oh, all right. As a matter of fact I slept a good part of the time. Sorry I had to lock you up, but I hope that tomorrow it won’t be necessary. Have you had anything to eat?’

‘Thanks, yes. All I was wantin’. But how’s yourself managed all these long hours?’

He gave a rueful laugh. ‘To tell the truth I haven’t, and I’m darn’ hungry.’

She stood up at once. ‘ ’Twas your own silly fault, but now you’ve apologised I’m not one to bear malice. Just lay up that table, an’ I’ll have supper ready in no time at all.’

Evidently she had taken the opportunity of exploring the cabin thoroughly during her enforced confinement, as she now seemed to know where everything was kept, and with a deft, efficient touch which compelled his admiration she very soon had an appetising meal cooked and on the table.

The eating of it provided him with the best opportunity he had so far had for studying her closely. No one, he decided, could possibly call the round freckled face opposite beautiful, but it certainly had character. There was something about the jawline and the set of the eyebrows above the bright blue eyes which could flash so angrily. Then he thought again of the account of her life she had given him that morning. If it was true—and he now saw no reason to doubt it—she had had a pretty raw deal, poor little wretch, and had put up a darn’ good show in an extraordinarily tricky situation.

He was inclined to discount her victorious preservation of her virtue to some extent, on the grounds of temptations and rewards connected with immorality being in direct ratio to the good looks of the young women concerned, until he remembered that an embryo-doctor friend of Cambridge days had told him that it had been proved through scientific observation in clinics and police courts that professional prostitutes were plainer as a class than either shop girls or factory workers, and that looks had no relation at all to morality. It seemed, therefore, that Gloria must be given full marks for her refusal to be bullied into following her mother’s and sister’s example, and when she asked him what he was thinking about he frankly said so.

She laughed and, after a moment, replied: ‘ ’Tis an old saying that vice does not pay. An’ believe me ‘tis a true one, as you’d know if you’d seen all that I have. ‘Tis a fool’s game for a girl that’s ambitious, an’ how would I ever get one of me paintin’s in the
Salon
if I wasted the best years of me life anglin’ for men?’

‘How long is it since you got this great urge for painting?’ Philip asked.

‘I guess I’ve had it all me life. When I was only a wee thing playin’ around with chalks an’ the like me poor ould dad said that one day I’d make a name for meself. But it’s hard to become real good when you have your living to earn. Evenin’s an’ weekends is all the time there is, an’ ‘tis steady work that gets results in art, same as in everythin’ else.’

Going over to the bunk she had chosen for herself, she pulled from beneath it an old suitcase in which she began to rummage, as she went on: ‘ ’Twas terribly difficult to know what to bring. Not that I’d be tryin’ to fool you that me wardrobe rivalled the Queen of Sheba’s. I have me warmest suit on me back already and me only dacent dance frock is right here. I mean, in the way of me drawin’ an’ paintin’. I’ve left albums and albums back home but maybe you’ll think these few not too bad.’

Philip knew nothing about the technicalities of art, but it was obvious to him that the girl had talent. She had brought only two small canvases, one a painting of a negro’s head and the other a street scene; but there was a folio with the best part of a hundred drawings in it. The street scene was done in a very modern style, and he thought it rather messy, but the head had a tremendous vitality about it, and the drawings, most of which were anatomic studies, were, he felt sure, of a very high standard.

As he looked slowly through them he made a number of admiring comments, before he finally remarked: ‘I think they’re terribly good. I only wish I could discuss them with you properly, but the trouble is that I know practically nothing about art. These last few years I’ve spent practically all my time studying engineering.’

‘Why, that’s interestin’ too,’ she smiled kindly. ‘Gettin’ somethin’ yourself has conceived in your mind done jus’ the way you wan’ it is creation sure enough, whether ‘tis a bridge built in steel or a still-life on paper.’

‘That’s right,’ he said eagerly. ‘And that’s exactly how I feel about crossing the Atlantic with these rafts. You see, I first thought of the idea nearly two years ago. I’ve spent thousands of hours planning the job, and I’ve dreamed about it for months. It’s never been done before, you know; and now that it looks as if another world war is inevitable it’s terribly important that it should be done.’

She shrugged. ‘ ’Tis nonsense you’re talkin’ now. There’ll be no world war. A little bit of a scrap in Europe maybe, but we Americans are wise to things now and we’ll not be drawn into your muddles a second time. But will you be tellin’ me how driftin’ across the ocean at the pace of a tortoise is goin’ to help any sort of a war?’

Philip asked nothing better. He told her the whole history of his struggle and did his utmost to impress upon her the fact that if their voyage were successful it might enable him to save his country from starvation, should the war, that so many people in Europe now considered as certain, actually break out.

She listened to him patiently and asked several quite shrewd questions, and it was clear that she was considerably impressed; but, as she appeared to have little more interest in Britain than in any other European country, it was scarcely to be expected that she would become really enthusiastic about the object of the voyage. After a little, she sighed and said:

‘ ’Tis a great patriot you are, Mr. Vaudell; but ‘twas a black day for me when I picked on your boat back in the harbour there. This day the blessed Saints have been kind an’ the sea like a mill-pond, but what of tomorrow an’ all the days after? One puff of the wind an’ I’ll be as sick as I was the time I got plastered on hooch at the Art Students’ dinner-dance. Sure I’ll be dead of sea-sickness before we’re half of the way over.’

‘No, you won’t,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘However good the weather a small boat like this always tosses about quite a bit; so the fact that you haven’t been sick yet proves that you’ll be a good sailor. If you do have a bout you’ll soon be all right again.’

‘ ’Twas all of a week before I recovered from the hooch, an’ two-three months is a real terrible time. I doubt if there’ll be two-three days together in all of it that we’ll be free of the wind, so it’s murderin’ me you’ll be by forcin’ me to come with you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Philip. ‘Really I am, but I’m afraid there’s no alternative.’

‘Ah, but that’s just where you’re wrong.’ She bent forward quickly. ‘It come to me all of a sudden this afternoon. I was lookin’ out of a porthole an’ I saw a ship. Then I sez to meself, sez I: “We’ll be passin’ lots more ships an’ if we signal one that’s headin’ for New York it’ll stop to ask what we be wantin’.
Then himself can be asking them to take me on board an’ be rid of me; an’ I’ll be blessin’ him all the days of me life.

Philip shook his head. ‘No, I hate to disappoint you, but it can’t be done. As a matter of fact, the main reason why I kept you down here all day is because I was afraid that if a ship came within hailing distance you might try to attract the attention of someone in her.’

‘But, merciful Saints, why shouldn’t I?’

‘Because I don’t want anything to do with any ships on the way over, particularly vessels going into New York. I want to keep my, er—I mean, the whereabouts of the convoy secret as far as possible. That may not sound an awfully satisfactory reason to you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with it.’

For a moment she sat silent, then she looked up with a faint smile. ‘So you’re scared of that Hitler an’ his Nazis already, eh? For shame, man! He’s only a great bag of wind and so near as this to America not one of them would dare to touch a hair of your head.’

Philip resisted the temptation to enlighten her and give his real reason for being so anxious to avoid the attention of all New York-bound shipping. Instead, he took her taunt with a smile, and said: ‘Perhaps. Anyhow, this show means a lot to me and I’m not taking any unnecessary chances.’

‘Well, if that’s the way you feel …’ She left the sentence unfinished, and went on: ‘I’ll be doin’ the washin’-up. There’s a cloth there for you to be dryin’ the things on.’

Together they cleared away the débris of their meal, and shortly afterwards Philip said: ‘I expect you’d like to be turning in soon. I’m going to have a look at the engine.’

‘O.K.,’ she replied laconically and, humming a little tune to herself, she walked over to a small mirror that she had hung above her bunk and began to pull the pins out of her flaming red hair.

The engine-room was situated forward and reached by a separate hatch, which necessitated going out on deck. The night was fine and starlit. One glance at the pointers of the Dipper carried his eye to the Pole Star, and he saw that they were still heading in the right direction, although the speed of the launch was so slow as to be almost imperceptible. As he listened to the
note of the engine, he smiled. His long days of work upon it had been well worth while. It was purring like a Rolls. Having checked the gauges and made a very slight adjustment to the fuel supply, he whiled away half an hour looking over his stock of spare parts, then returned to the main cabin.

Only one light was now on, and Gloria was tucked up in her bunk with her face turned to the wall. It took him only two minutes to undress, switch out the light and slip into the bunk opposite. He began to think about his strange and exciting day, which had started with the appearance of Gloria. It seemed extraordinary to think that this time last night he had still believed Eiderman to be his good and helpful friend, and that he had not even known of Gloria’s existence. And now Eiderman was dead and Gloria sound asleep only a few feet away from him on the other side of the cabin. He wondered how long it had been before they had discovered Eiderman’s body. He wondered too what would happen when he reached England. Would there be a warrant out for his arrest? Probably, and, as Eiderman had been killed in United States territorial waters, it was quite on the cards that the United States Police would apply for his extradition. That was a most unpleasant thought to sleep on, and it would be quite time enough to worry about it when he was nearing England.

His thoughts turned again to Gloria. What a strange little person she was; in some ways so young, in others so sophisticated. He began to wonder whether, if given the choice, he would rather have her or not with him on the voyage. It would have been terribly lonely cooped up in the launch for six, eight, perhaps twelve, weeks, without a soul to whom he could talk, and, provided Gloria did not become permanently either sullen or ill, she promised to be much better company than the crew of five roughnecks he had left behind, even if it had not been their intention to murder him. Gloria, too, seemed quite a passable cook, which was an unlooked-for blessing. True, the violence of her temper was apt to make her dangerous at times, but he felt that things had now more or less sorted themselves out. The fact that she had refrained from making a fuss when he had refused her request after dinner to put her on a ship, and had gone quietly to bed without locking him out of the cabin, or some
nonsense of that kind, showed clearly that she had accepted the situation, and he did not think he would have any more trouble with her.

Having reached this happy conclusion, he drifted off to sleep. Later he dreamed that he was in a toboggan, then that he was in a speed-boat. The waters were rushing past, and he was going faster—faster—faster. The dream ended in a terrific crash. The launch stopped with a shuddering jerk. Next second he was flung violently from his bunk to come smashing down on the floor of the cabin.

For a moment he lay in pitch darkness, wondering if he were awake or still dreaming. Then the navigational lights flickered and went on again. Their faint glow coming through the portholes showed him that he was lying full length on the cabin floor, which was now tilted at a sharp angle. In the brief but violent process of being hurled from his bunk his head had come into collision with the beam above it, and now ached intolerably.