Deep Water (9 page)

‘Best ask the officers, madam. They’re expecting you both at ten.’

‘Where?’

‘The Polwherne Hotel – it’s naval property now. On the right as you leave Porthbeer on the Tregwidden road.’

‘What if we stay home?’

The petty officer lowered his voice. ‘I’d be sweet as sugar if I was you, madam. For the kid’s sake.’ He winked at her, and then turned to Justin. ‘Just answer their questions, lad, and you’ll be fine.’

Andrea said sharply, ‘He looks like a spy, does he?’

The man’s friendliness did not waver. ‘Let’s leave all that to the officers.’

‘It was a prank for Chrissakes.’

‘Leave it, mum,’ whispered Leo.

‘I’ll be getting back to bed, madam, if you don’t mind. G’dnight boys.’

After closing the door behind him, Andrea felt faint with anger. Why this stupid pretence that something awful had been done? It was cruel and pointless. Justin still seemed on the verge of tears.

‘Don’t be a ninny,’ she murmured. ‘What can they do?’

‘I dunno.’

‘Not a thing.’ She smiled at them both, but their faces remained glum and chastened. She kissed Leo, and gave Justin a hug, which he did not resist. ‘Don’t worry, Justin. What you need right now is a hot bath. Leave those sailors to me.’

When Rose brought in eggs and bacon for
breakfast
, Andrea dutifully oohed and aahed for the second day running, implying how lucky they were to have gained unrationed access to farm produce. The girl accepted this tribute in silence, making sure her employer noticed when she stared pointedly at Justin – though whether this was because he was wearing his school suit, or because Rose still had a grievance against him, Andrea couldn’t tell.

‘Why do ’ee wear Sunday best on Friday?’ the girl demanded, as she passed behind Justin’s chair.

‘He’s visiting some officers,’ said Andrea brightly, as if this was a rare privilege.

‘I’m getting a medal,’ added Justin.

‘Don’ ’ee go tellin’ fibs. I waked up and saw ’ee come home like a drowned rat.’ She leant forward and snatched away his empty plate.

On the way to Porthbeer Justin remained very quiet, staring out at the hedgerows as if in a trance. As Andrea tried to think of something comforting to
say, she noticed how tight his suit jacket was. Feeling tearful on his behalf, she said, ‘Don’t let them get to you.’

‘I won’t be cheeky, if that’s your worry.’

‘It would also be smart to promise you’ll never go near those ships again.’

‘I promise.’

‘Promise to
them,
Justin, not me.’

‘Okay, Mrs Pauling.’

‘Okay,
Andrea
.’

Her spirits plunged as she became aware of the great effort Justin was making to seem unafraid. She said gently, ‘You don’t have to pretend to be so gutsy, you know.’

He seemed puzzled. ‘You think I should make out I’m scared when they ask their questions?’

‘Showing respect will do fine. What I meant was you can share your feelings with me if it helps you.’

Justin did not reply but gazed intently into the woods on his side of the car. Suddenly he cried, ‘Stop here. Now!’

Andrea did as commanded and watched in astonishment as he disappeared between the trees. Just as she was beginning to think he had run away, he reappeared, pushing the bicycle she had lent him. Together they slid its muddy wheels into the car’s trunk. As he sat beside her again, she was dismayed to see tears spilling down his cheeks.

‘Hey, don’t do that,’ she soothed. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’ He pointed to his grey trousers where the bicycle’s chain had left an oily mark. His earlier calmness made this sudden breakdown over a minor
misfortune seem more shocking to her. Of course today of all days he would have wanted to look his best, and now he couldn’t. She gave him a handkerchief from her bag and he dabbed at his eyes before handing it back. ‘No, keep it,’ she insisted, ‘for luck.’

He surprised her with a wobbly smile. ‘Thanks,’ and after a brief pause, ‘Andrea.’

The Polwherne Hotel already looked a little down at heel, with the paint peeling from the drainpipes and window-frames and grass growing on the tennis courts. When Andrea had given her name to the sentry at the gate, he picked up a primitive looking telephone and rang through to the house.

Permission granted, they drove in, parked beside some Nissen huts and then walked round to the front. On a tall flagstaff with a crosstrees, a white ensign was flapping loudly, casting a moving shadow on the lawn beside the river. A long way out on the shimmering water – or so it seemed to Andrea – were some grey ships and a couple of others painted in patches of greys, browns and blues.

‘Did you swim to one of those?’ gasped Andrea.

‘To that one.’ He indicated a small ship, further away than the rest.

‘That’s amazing, Justin,’ she murmured, meaning it.

‘Thanks.’ To her relief he grinned at her but almost immediately his face resumed its strained expression.

It was a sunny morning and seagulls were wheeling and screeching overhead, their breast feathers looking improbably white. A naval motor boat, manned
by two Wrens in bell-bottom trousers, tied up at a small pontoon and landed a red-faced officer. Let’s hope
he
won’t be seeing us, she thought, on entering the house.

Although painted signs bore witness to the house’s former use – Reception, Tudor Bar, Reynolds Room, whatever that might have been – all vestiges of comfort had gone with the long vanished carpets and furniture. To protect the panelling, whole walls had been covered in brown hardboard, an ideal surface for the notices which proliferated.

‘Ugh! Just like school,’ muttered Justin.

A sailor wearing white gaiters and a matching belt ushered them along a corridor to a room facing the front lawn. A photograph of the King in naval uniform hung on an otherwise empty wall behind a table. A blackboard, with rows of chairs facing it, reinforced Justin’s earlier comparison.

The sailor said briskly, ‘Wait here, please,’ and went out.

As Andrea sat down she wished she had worn a different suit. Her cream-coloured wool which she had chosen for its youthfulness now seemed
too
young with its knee-length skirt and short jacket. She placed her handbag over her knees, thinking, as she did, that she would have been less likely to be
patronised
if she had worn a more matronly outfit. The man who had brought Justin home had said they would be seeing a Captain Borden, whom Andrea had never met, and Lieutenant Commander Harrington, whom she had. She imagined Borden would be older than Harrington, whose age she guessed to be about
the same as hers, though possibly he was younger. She remembered his cold hands and Sally’s remarks about his indifference to admirers. Something else had remained with her since their brief meeting at Elspeth’s: a suspicion that his inscrutable good looks masked an iron will responsible for his elevation above more relaxed contemporaries such as Tony Cassilis.

This impression seemed to be confirmed as he entered the room and ignored her in favour of a grey-haired companion whom she now recognised as the officer she had seen stepping onto the
pontoon
. Harrington turned his handsome face towards her at last.

‘Mrs Pauling, let me introduce Captain Borden, our senior naval officer on the river.’ He smiled at his superior and nodded in Justin’s direction. ‘And that, sir, is Mrs Pauling’s alarmingly aquatic son.’

Andrea said sharply, ‘Justin is my son’s friend.’

‘No offence meant, madam,’ muttered Captain Borden, seating himself next to Harrington on the opposite side of the table. ‘I understand you took great exception to the boy being ticked off by Petty Officer Lee.’

‘He was making way too much fuss over a silly prank.’

Borden stared back at her stolidly. ‘You think so.’ The deep creases on either side of his high-bridged nose gave him a sneering expression. ‘You think trespassing on naval property in wartime is
something
to be laughed about?’

Andrea sat up very straight. ‘Captain Borden, I did
not
say that.’

Harrington cupped his chin in a hand, and, to Andrea’s surprise, smiled encouragingly. ‘Go ahead, Mrs Pauling, and tell us exactly what you think about Justin’s escapade.’

‘My son was there, too. It was just a boys’ dare to swim out to the boats.’

Borden suddenly barked out, ‘Tell me, boy, did your friend get on board too?’

‘No, sir. He’s a bad swimmer.’

Captain Borden’s skin was sunburned and blotched with large freckles. In Andrea’s eyes, he looked self-important and peevish in his creased uniform with its rows of medal ribbons. ‘But you’re a good swimmer, eh, Justin?’

‘I’m better than him.’

‘So why didn’t you decide to win your bet by
swimming
across the river? You wouldn’t have failed.’

Andrea looked anxiously at Justin, but he said calmly, ‘It’d have been less fun, sir.’

‘Why’s that, boy?’

‘No chance of being caught.’

‘I see.’ Borden shifted his heavy body on his small chair. ‘So you were happy to play silly buggers with the navy for a bit of excitement. Too bad if you’d banged your head when you jumped over the side, or if one of our ratings had been drowned going in after you.’

‘They launched a boat, sir.’

‘In the middle of the night, just for you.’

‘I promise I’ll never do it again.’

Afraid that Justin was about to cry, Andrea felt suddenly distraught. ‘That’s enough, Captain.’

‘Why’s that, madam?’

‘Because he’s said he’s sorry.’ Borden’s
exasperation
with her for intervening made her angry. ‘So he saw inside a patrol boat. Is that such a big deal?’

Harrington faced her with an affability she decided was bogus. ‘In the navy we tend to think that even humble gunboats and armed trawlers shouldn’t be treated like public property.’

‘Damn right,’ agreed Borden. ‘Minor warships are bloody well invaluable. Who else looks after our coastal convoys and protects our fishermen from E-boats? Nobody.’

Andrea inclined her head. ‘Captain Borden, I didn’t question their value, only your sense of
proportion
.’ While Borden’s face went a deeper shade of red, Harrington seemed to have trouble keeping a straight face. Andrea feared he was laughing at her. ‘If he’d gotten aboard a new submarine or a secret airplane, I’d be on my knees to you. But all he did was climb onto a dirty old …’

‘That will do, madam,’ thundered Borden. He gestured to Justin to leave his chair and come closer. The boy did not look at Andrea before obeying. ‘You listen to me, young man. If I hear you’ve been within a thousand yards of one of His Majesty’s ships, I’ll have you in police custody within the hour. You and your friend almost rammed
HMS
Stork
the other day. Why was that?’

‘It was a mistake,’ quavered Justin. ‘My friend’s no good at sailing.’

‘Just tell him from me to stay away, will you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Or you’ll both find yourselves in police cells.’

‘Yes, sir,’ faltered Justin.

Borden pushed back his chair and rose. ‘I hope your mother won’t tell you it doesn’t matter, because it most certainly does.’ He thrust out his jaw. ‘Just remember that.’

‘You
know
I’m not his mother,’ cried Andrea, addressing Borden’s back as he turned to leave. The moment Justin began to sniffle she realised she should not have corrected the man. Her remark would have seemed a rejection to Justin. To make up for it she hugged him and then he really started to sob. Until then, the whole scene had been poignantly reminiscent of that famous painting of the brave and lonely boy being questioned:
When
Did
You
Last
See
Your
Father?
Not that a gruff old salt and a stereotypical stiff upper-lipped young officer could be expected to be touched by anything so vulgarly sentimental.

While trying to comfort Justin, Andrea started to feel let down by Leo. It was too bad of him not to have told her about the sailing incident. Though even if the boys had actually hit the side of a warship, that couldn’t excuse Borden for having spoken to Justin like a criminal – particularly after he had apologised.

Though Borden had departed, Harrington
lingered
, leaning elegantly against the door frame. Tall, slim, clean-shaven, with brown eyes and dark hair, his whole body conveyed arrogant English
sangfroid
. She hated his indifference to Justin’s tears.
The great value of Justin’s father’s former duties compared with the insignificant work Harrington and his colleagues were doing made her ache with resentment.

Andrea said dryly, ‘I suppose I should thank you for not bullying Justin, too.’

He looked past her towards the window. ‘I don’t disagree with what Captain Borden said.’

‘Do you ever?’

‘Almost daily.’ His eyes met hers with a
candour
that confused her. ‘Blast, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Do I look the type to tell him?’

‘Of course not.’ He laughed loudly, once more confounding her earlier assumptions. ‘But that’s not the point really,’ he added, becoming solemn again.

‘I get it,’ she said sharply, ‘loyalty, no matter why. Well, since I won’t be telling any tales, may I ask a favour?’ He nodded eager agreement, making her feel guilty, but only for a moment. ‘Tell Captain Borden that Justin’s father was a pilot who risked his life every day till he died, unlike some officers.’

Harrington neither avoided her eyes nor attempted to contradict her. He simply retreated a step as she pushed Justin past him. They were well ahead by the time he came after them. ‘I’m so damned sorry, Justin,’ she heard him call out.

Expecting Harrington to follow, Andrea
wondered
what she would say. But when she and Justin reached the main hallway, the corridor behind them was empty.

Justin cried some more in the car and begged her
not to tell Leo he had been upset. Andrea reluctantly agreed.

‘It’s because you mentioned my dad. I was all right until you did.’

She wished she could believe him but she couldn’t. Her thoughtless remark about not being his mother had left him vulnerable to self-pity, that deadly foe of all stoics. When he admitted how surprised he had been that she had stuck up for him, Andrea was mortified. She knew she deserved to feel bad. She had wanted to be rid of him almost since the start of the holiday.

*

Outside the dining room, Leo caught hold of his mother’s arm.

‘Stay here,’ he hissed. ‘Were they beastly to him?’

‘They were.’

‘Did he blub?’

‘Not once.’

‘What did I tell you,’ said Leo gloomily. ‘He’s just not human.’

‘But sweetheart, he feels a lot without ever
showing
it. I
know
he’s sensitive.’

‘Oh, mum, you don’t at all.’ She tried to keep hold of him, but he pulled away and went into the sitting room. She followed him and he
surprised
her by smiling happily. ‘Dad ’phoned soon after you left. He’s coming home at the end of the week. Isn’t that ripping, mum? He had a huge row with the dockyard people because he wanted to take everything to bits just before the bigwigs came.’

Andrea could well imagine the arguments. ‘What happened in the end?’