The Last Wolf (29 page)

‘Did you take my photograph from the piano as well?'

‘Yes, I stealed that also.'

‘Stole.'

‘I forget my English. I stole it. I'm sorry.'

‘I suppose you went all over the house?'

‘I am afraid so.'

‘Upstairs?'

‘Yes.'

She pictured him going from room to room, opening and shutting doors – prying in her bedroom, too. Looking at her books, her clothes, touching things.

He said, ‘I saw the photograph of your brother, Hamish, on the piano. He is also in the Royal Navy, isn't he? He has served in the corvette, HMS
Buttercup
.'

‘How on earth did you know that?'

‘You told me.'

‘I told you? That's impossible.'

‘I found a letter that you had written to your grandfather in his desk and you spoke of your brother and his ship. It was very interesting to me because I had come across HMS
Buttercup
in the North Atlantic. She had stopped to rescue survivors from a sinking ship. I was very sporting, as it happens. Instead of torpedoing her, we went quietly away. Your brother was very lucky.'

She said angrily, ‘I must say I think you've got an awful nerve, Reinhard. Coming into this house, stealing things, playing the piano, drinking whisky, reading private letters.'

‘I was curious to know what had happened to all of you – especially you. Why the house was empty.'

‘That's no excuse. What else did you steal?'

‘Nothing – unless you count a sheep. We killed one and took it for food.'

‘That's stealing too.'

‘Yes, of course, but we had nothing much to eat on our boat.'

She looked away from him.

‘My grandparents are both dead now. I expect you found that out as well.'

‘Yes, and I am so sorry. I pay them my respects.'

‘Grandfather willed Craigmore to Hamish and me when he died. Do you know that too?'

‘No. You once told me that this was your favourite place in the world, so you must be very happy that it is now yours. Your brother also.'

‘Actually, Hamish doesn't want to live here. He's getting married to a girl from the south who doesn't much like the idea of living in Scotland.'

‘But perhaps when you have left your women's Navy you will live here?'

‘I've already left it.'

‘Already? The war is only just finished.'

‘They invalided me out.'

He frowned. ‘You have been ill?'

‘Not exactly. I broke a leg.'

‘How did you do that?'

‘I fell off a ladder.'

‘What were you doing on the ladder?'

‘That's none of your business.'

‘Let me guess. You have been in Liverpool – I know that also from the letter to your grandfather – and that you were doing something very secret. It must have been to do with your Atlantic convoys. To do with U-boats and maps. And so to do with me. Am I correct?'

She didn't answer.

After a moment, he went on. ‘I wrote you a letter after the war had started. I gave it to someone to send from Ireland. Did you ever receive it?'

‘I burned it.'

‘But you read it first?'

‘I might have done.'

‘If you did, you will know that I have never forgotten you. Have you ever thought of me? Have you wondered if I was dead or alive?'

She said flatly, ‘I thought you must be dead. So many U-boats have been sunk.'

‘Yes. There are not many of us left.'

‘Why have you come here, Reinhard? Your Admiral Dönitz ordered you to surrender to the Allies.'

‘Do you know what is going to happen to us U-boat men when we are taken prisoner?'

‘No. Not exactly.'

‘I do. It happened to my father at the end of the last war. He told me all about it. We will be treated as evil criminals, and we will be kept as prisoners for as long as it suits the Allies. For years, perhaps. I have already lost almost everything. My father died when Hamburg was bombed; my brother, Bruno, was not as lucky as yours. He was killed flying a Messerschmitt against American bombers. Many comrades are dead. My city is in ruins, also much of my country. I have only one thing left – my freedom, and that is very dear to me. So . . . no, I am not going to surrender.'

She was silent.
Why should I care what has happened to him, or what will?
He must have killed hundreds of people, thousands. He could still sink more ships, he could still kill more people; he's still the enemy
. And she thought of the hideous photographs she had seen in the newspapers.

She said quietly, ‘I'm very sorry indeed about your father and Bruno. But if you're treated badly, it will be because of the wicked things the Nazis have done. We've seen photographs in our newspapers of the concentration camps where they sent Jewish people. They gassed them in ovens – men, women and children. There were piles of corpses . . . you must have known about it.'

‘No,' he said. ‘I heard that some Jews had been put in work camps but nothing of the rest, though I do not expect you to believe me. My war was at sea. Nazis were not welcome in U-boats and I never belonged to their Party. If what you say is true, my whole country is to be blamed.'

‘You must have killed many men yourself, when you sunk their ships.'

‘It was my duty. The British have killed many, too.'

She was silent again.

‘If you do not surrender, where would you go?'

‘Somewhere.'

‘Do you think I'd betray you if you tell me?'

‘Of course. You must.'

‘They'll find you wherever you are. And they'll bomb your boat to bits.'

‘They have not succeeded yet.'

‘But they will.'

All the time, while they had been talking, she'd been thinking what to do. If she could get out of the room, she could make a dash for the barn where the old bike was kept. She could ride to Port Ellen and telephone RAF Coastal Command HQ at Bowmore. Their aircraft would locate and destroy the U-boat before it had a chance to get away. Before it could do any more harm.

She was quick but he was quicker. He reached the door first, slammed it and leaned his back against it. She retreated.

‘Your knee is bleeding, Stroma – just like when I first met you.'

She glanced down at the trickle of blood. It must have happened when she'd tripped over the rock on the hillside. ‘So it is. I ought to go and wash it.'

But he stayed where he was, barring the door.

‘When you were twelve, you didn't wash a little cut. You thought it not necessary.'

‘Well, I've changed.'

‘Not so much, I think.' He looked her over. ‘And you are still not very tall, are you? I do not think that you even reach my shoulder. Let's see.' He held out his hand. ‘
Kommen Sie bitte hier
. . .
zu mir
.'

She must play along with him. Lure him away from the door so that she could get out of the room. Then through the kitchen and scullery, across the yard to the barn and the bike.

She took a step forward.

He shook his head. ‘That's not enough. I cannot tell from so far away.'

She took another step.

It was a bad mistake because it brought her within his reach.

RAF Coastal Command had taken over the town's distillery but there was no guard at the entrance when Stroma rode the bike at break-neck speed into Bowmore. The only person to be seen was an RAF officer who was pinning something up on a noticeboard in the hallway. He turned round, startled.

‘Can I help you?'

She was gasping, out of breath from the ride. ‘I'd like to speak to someone, please. It's very important. Very urgent.'

‘May I ask what it's about?'

‘A U-boat.'

From his expression, she could see that he took her for some deranged creature: a mad woman that he would have to deal with very tactfully.

‘You'd better come into my office and sit down.' He opened a nearby door. ‘I'm Squadron Leader Bell. Do you mind telling me your name?'

‘Stroma Mackay. I'm from Craigmore on the other side of the island. Sir Archibald and Lady Mackay were my grandparents.'

She could see him revising his first opinion to hysterical, but not totally mad.

‘Yes, of course. I met your grandparents when we first came here. They were kind enough to invite some of us to dinner over at Craigmore. You must be very sad to have lost them both.'

He was a rather tubby middle-aged man and he smiled as a kindly uncle might smile, pulling a chair forward for her before going to sit behind his desk. He rubbed his hands together.

‘Now, Miss Mackay, what's all this about a U-boat?'

‘I've seen one. In Glas Uig.'

‘Glas Uig?'

‘That's the Gaelic name of a cove not far from Craigmore house. The Green Cove. It's hidden by rocks and the water's deep. Deep enough for a submarine to go in submerged.'

‘Really? It sounds a very mysterious place.'

‘It is. You can't see it from the seaward side because of the rocks, or from the land side either because of the thick woods growing up the hill. There's an old track where they used to herd animals down to a jetty and ferry them over to Jura and the mainland, but nobody uses it now.'

The Squadron Leader cleared his throat. ‘And you say you saw a U-boat there?'

He made it sound as though she had spotted a flying saucer.

‘Yes. I saw it come to the surface.'

‘That must have been quite a shock. When did that happen exactly?'

‘Yesterday evening, as it was getting dark. I'd arrived from London the day before. There's nobody living at the house at the moment – not since my grandfather died. It's been shut up for the duration.'

He fingered his moustache – not the usual dashing RAF kind, but thick and close-clipped like the overhang of a thatched roof.

‘Wasn't it getting rather late to be wandering about?'

‘Not for me. I know the way down to the cove very well. I've known it since I was a child. My brother and I used to play there.'

More throat-clearing. ‘So you went for an evening walk.'

‘Not a walk. I went out to shoot rabbits. Dusk is the best time.'

‘Really? And you saw a U-boat surfacing in the cove? Remarkable.'

‘I'm not making this up, Squadron Leader. I've served in the WRNS as a Third Officer and I was stationed in the Map Room at Western Approaches. I do know what a U-boat looks like.'

‘I'm sure you do. Are you on leave from the WRNS at the moment?'

‘Actually, I've left the service.'

‘Oh?'

‘I had a fall and broke my leg rather badly. I was in hospital for several months. They decided to invalid me out.'

‘I see.'

She saw what he saw. The fall had somehow unhinged her, or perhaps she was one of those people who invent fantastic stories to get attention.

She said slowly and clearly, ‘There was a U-boat in Glas Uig. I'm telling you the truth.'

He said jovially, ‘Well, I gather they've been popping up all over the place, waving their black surrender flags.'

‘This one had no black flag. And it wasn't surrendering. I thought you'd want to know about it.'

He cleared his throat again. ‘Quite. I'll be making a full report, Miss Mackay. You probably don't realize, but we no longer have Sunderland flying boats moored at Bowmore. The weather up here's rather against us, unfortunately. We nearly lost the lot when there was a big storm in March 'Forty-Three. They've been moved elsewhere, together with most of our coastal chaps.' He smiled wryly. ‘They've left me like Alfred watching the cakes, so to speak. Or rather, the stills. I can't grumble about it, I must say – though, of course, they're not in use at the moment, more's the pity.' He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, not sure if she appreciated his little joke. ‘Tell me, you said this happened yesterday evening. Why didn't you let us know about it before now?'

‘There's no telephone at Craigmore. I cycled over this morning, as soon as it was daylight. The phone at Port Ellen was out of order so I came on here as fast as I could.'

‘Very commendable.'

She wondered what he would say if she told him that her behaviour had been anything but commendable. Far from commendable, it had been treasonable. Supposing she told him that the commander of the U-boat had come up to the house and that she had gone to bed with him – or, to be strictly accurate, he had taken her there. Picked her up and carried her upstairs. In her defence, there hadn't been a lot of choice in the matter.

But the worst of it was that she was neither ashamed nor sorry. Not a bit. On the contrary, she was glad. Insanely glad. Insanely happy. Insanely in love with the enemy. That she had, in fact, been in love with him since she was twelve years old. What would he have to say to that?

And what would the squadron leader have to say if she'd told him that, furthermore, if it hadn't been for her sacred, sworn duty to her country she would never have breathed a word to anyone about this particular U-boat? That, in her heart, she wanted it to get away.

In her distress, she started to weep. The squadron leader leaned forward and patted her arm kindly.

‘There, there, my dear. There's nothing to be upset about. If your U-boat's out there, our chaps'll clobber it, all right.'

He stood up, chair legs screeching. ‘Would you like a cup of tea before you leave, Miss Mackay? I'm sure we can manage that.'

She found a handkerchief in her pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘No, thank you.'

He saw her to the door, pumped her hand vigorously. ‘I'll let you know, of course, if there's any news.'

Back at Craigmore, she went upstairs to her room, sat down on the bed where she had been with him.

When she'd woken up at dawn, Reinhard had gone. She'd run down to the cove but it had been empty, the surface glassy smooth, no dark shadow lurking beneath, no movement.