The White Guns (1989) (44 page)

The sky was criss-crossed with searchlights, and the clouds suddenly lit up with exploding fireworks and what Marriott knew to be Very lights and distress rockets. And all the while the bells were ringing. People stared up at the display, for once without fear, the dread of the first stick of bombs.

Marriott saw her turn towards him, saw her eyes dancing in the sparkling lights, felt the tension drain out of her, as if she knew, as if she had always dared to hope, as he had.

Her lips were slightly parted as he kissed her once, and then again; they were cold, but as he held her the warmth returned. With one hand he brushed the snowflakes from her face and hair and said, 'I want to
marry
you, Ursula. If you'll have me, I'll make you happy.' He touched her mouth very gently. 'I don't know how, but I shall find a way. I've never loved anybody, but now I know what it's like.'

She stared at him for several seconds, the snow melting on her face like tears.

But there were no tears. 'I knew when you first spoke to me. I was afraid then.' Her chin rose slightly. 'We
shall
find a way.' She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. 'If we have to be parted, we will still be together.
This I know.
It is all I want.'

Heinz came out of the darkness as the fireworks began to flicker and die.

'Car is here, Herr Leutnant!'

Marriott stood back from her, but his hands were still on her shoulders. To Heinz he said, 'Drive this lady home. You will find her brother on the other side. Take them all back to Eutin.'

Heinz nodded, uncertain of what to do. 'What about you, Herr Leutnant?'

Marriott helped her into the back seat, their faces touching as he withdrew. He said. 'You must go now. But you were right. We
are
together.'

'I know why you are doing this.' She held on to his hand. 'I have a gift for you. Please come soon.'

Marriott watched the car glide over the churned-up snow until it was lost amongst the other vehicles.

He began to walk along the road but a naval car stopped within ten minutes. The marine driver asked, 'Goin' to Plön, sir?'

Marriott got in and saw two naval lieutenants slumped fast asleep in the back. The driver grinned.

'Some bloody Christmas, eh, sir?'

Marriott dug his hands deeper into his greatcoat pockets and watched the snow-covered bushes which lined the road.

'The best yet, as far as I'm concerned.'

Later he would have to start asking questions, filling in forms; there
had
to be a way.

But for the moment, as the wheels purred over the tightly packed snow, he was not going to share it with anybody.

We shall find a way.
He could almost hear her saying it.
It is all I want.

She had bought him a gift. He smiled. Her words were the greatest gift in the world.

The woman lounged against the pillows and tried to cover her bare shoulders with a woollen shawl. It was not out of modesty, for although the room was well heated by a wood fire, the windows were crusted with ice-rime, the field beyond white with snow.

She watched as Cuff struggled into his trousers and tugged them up under his belly.

She said, 'You were very quick that time, Cuff.'

He paused and looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. 'On and off like a fly, that's me!'

He stared at her full breasts and felt another thrill run through him. Just to touch her had been enough, even though on this visit it had been unintentional.

He started to knot his tie, his body still heaving with exertion. He blamed a lot of his condition on the Christmas celebrations, or what he could remember of them. That was all of three weeks ago and yet his head was still muzzy, and he knew it would take a few drinks to pull him together again when he got back to the barracks.

'They took the officer away.' She was watching his face in the mirror, her legs sprawled carelessly apart. 'But they said nothing to me, Cuff.'

Cuff paused, his fingers around his tie. 'I know. I heard all about it.'

He almost laughed aloud. The poor stores officer who had been so much in debt had not even realised how they had been using him. A court martial, and probably prison in England. Cuff felt neither pity nor remorse. The man had been an amateur and a fool to boot.

He said, 'You're in the clear, just as I told you. You'll remember me when I'm back in Blighty, eh, Hertha?'

She reached out and fondled some of the silk underwear Cuff had bought for her.

'You have been good to me, Cuff. I knew you would have to go one day.' She shrugged. 'We have had some exciting times, yes?'

He breathed out noisily. 'Not half!' He turned and looked at her. 'You'd better clear the little dump when I've gone. Keep that idiot's share for yourself. He'll not be needing it in prison!'

She bit her lip, and then reached into a drawer of the bedside table.

Cuff asked, 'What have you got there?'

She hesitated. 'When Herr Hemmings – died – downstairs, I told you a lie.' She handed him the envelope. 'I did not destroy this other letter, the one about you.' She watched his expression, more curious than afraid of his reaction. She added, 'I did not
know
you then, you see?'

Cuff gasped and then gave a huge grin of admiration. 'Why, you saucy bitch!' He flipped open the letter and glanced quickly through it. 'Yes, it would certainly have made things hot for me!' He pushed it into the fire. 'Just in case I get pissed and someone finds it on me!'

They both laughed but Cuff turned away in case she should see the sudden gleam in his eyes.

So many near-misses.
It was a bloody good thing he was getting out tomorrow. Like that interfering S.I.B. bastard on the dock-side. Cuff still could not recall exactly what had happened. The man had begun to question him about the woman who now lay naked on the disordered bed. Through his fuddled brain Cuff had misunderstood, had not realised until afterwards that the soldier had been making nothing more than a routine enquiry. They had been about to arrest the stores officer anyway, but Cuff had not waited. He had stuck out his foot and thrust the soldier backwards. There had been no sound.
Nothing.
Once or twice he had seen Fairfax looking at him. Did he know? Had he seen what happened?

He gave a slow grin. One worry at a time. Fairfax had enough on his plate by all accounts. Anyway, he had left it too late to stick his oar in now.

He reached for his heavy greatcoat and then bent over the bed. 'I'll miss you.' He kissed her roughly on the mouth, his hand exploring her thighs, until he knew he must stop. He forced her back on the pillows and looked at her demanding body.

'So long, girl. May see you one of these days.'

For a long time she stared at the closed door, even after the sound of his car had melted into the snow.

Then she touched herself and grimaced. She was a real mess.

She picked up the lovely underwear and thought about her next strategy.

Two hours later Lieutenant Cuff Glazebrook strode into Meikle's office and was surprised at the unusual disorder. There were files everywhere, metal boxes, and more files in neat lines, numbered and ready for transportation.

The commander was the most unusual of all. He wore no jacket, and sat at his desk in his shirt and tie, a telephone to his ear.

'Wait a moment, Glazebrook.'

Cuff shrugged and went to the window. It was a strange feeling to be leaving here. But it was time. He had seen the commodore privately; he had been unusually agitated about the mention of the yacht, but had agreed to Cuff being sent home. His service and seniority, plus the fact that his father had been taken ill, were sufficient reasons. Cuff suspected that he was relieved that he was leaving anyway.
Not as much as me.

His father had had a slight stroke during the Christmas festivities. Now he would need Cuff on his board. If he had
his
way he would soon be running it.

Meikle put the telephone down and said, 'So you are going?'

'If
you've
no objection, sir?' It was as close to insolence as he dared go.

'Actually I'm very glad you are leaving, here, and the navy. I think you're a disgrace to both!' He waved down any interruption. 'I believe they were supposed to teach you O.L.Q.s when you were accepted for a commission? Officer-like qualities, right? They obviously failed badly!'

'Now look, sir –'

'No, Glazebrook,
you
look! One more interruption and you will be under arrest!' He made an effort to calm his voice. 'Are you still certain that you have nothing to add to your statements about the fuel depot, and the missing S.I.B. officer who was found dead in the dockyard?'

'Well, hardly, sir –'

'That woman, Frau Hertha Ritter, the one you tried to
help
– remember?'

Cuff looked solemn. 'I thought she needed a break, sir.'

Meikle stared at him coldly. 'She was arrested an hour ago, and charged with possessing stolen goods, government property, and with being one of several involved in selling fuel on the so-called black market.'

Cuff shifted his feet. It gave him time to control himself, although he was almost bursting. It had been so damned easy, and had reminded him of one of those awful films. While he had telephoned the police in a disguised voice to tell them about Hertha's private dump of loot, he had wanted to laugh. The police had been trying to stall him so stupidly, while they had frantically attempted to trace the call.

They had acted a lot faster than he had expected, but she would not involve him, even if she suspected his betrayal. He had burned the evidence, and she knew he carried the secret of Hemmings's murder.

'Well, I never, sir! It just goes to show, doesn't it?'

'Be off with you. But remember, Glazebrook – one day you will make the fatal mistake. Please go now.' He looked down at his desk again.

Cuff paused by the door. 'What will happen to her?'

Meikle did not trust himself to raise his head. 'It depends which way she looks at it. If she's lucky, fifteen years in prison. If not –' He waited for the door to close, and then he did look up.

In his heart he knew Glazebrook was a part of it. But there was no proof. Captain Whitcombe had told him that CPO Hemmings's body had been taken back to England and cremated. But even if it hadn't been, there would have been no point in exhuming it. They would already have thought of that.

There was a knock at the door and Lieutenant Commander Durham, his glasses on the top of his bald pate as usual, entered with the inevitable newspaper.

'Yes – what
is
it, Arthur?'

Durham glanced at the upheaval. Many would be pleased that Meikle was being moved. Personally, he would miss him and his abrasive efficiency, which marched side-by-side with a genuine desire to sustain the people who were his responsibility.

'Thought I saw Cuff Glazebrook just now, sir.'

Meikle nodded wearily. 'Why does he always make me so
angry,
I wonder?' He rang a bell. 'Tea for two, please,' he said to a head in the doorway. 'He's being released. His father had a heart attack or something. I would have liked him to stay for a bit longer, to look into a few things, although I admit I detest him and all his sort.' He recovered his normal composure. 'Anyway, what did you want to see me about?'

Durham held out the newspaper. 'I don't suppose he's seen this, sir. I only just got it myself. But now I can understand why his old man had a stroke.'

Meikle read the headline.
Newly Knighted Business Man Charged With Bribery Of A Government Official and Tax Evasion.
He looked up and gave his first smile in a long, long day.

'I think we'll leave it as a surprise for him, eh?'

As he stirred his tea the owl-like staff officer said, 'Sorry you're going, sir.'

'You'll just have to get someone else to worry about what colour the regulating office is to be painted, or what proportion of potatoes is to be issued to German workers.' But he stared at the piles of packages and carefully wrapped presents. All were gifts from the people he had driven so hard from the beginning. Germans, or
prisoners,
as he had once described them to Marriott. It seemed like years ago instead of eight months.

He said, 'I suppose I will miss it. There's such a lot to do here.'

Durham put down his cup. 'You've got them through the winter, sir.' He stood up and beamed. 'I can say what I like. I'm too old to care!'

Meikle smiled. 'We'll talk later, Arthur.' He called after him, 'And stay away from the Glazebrook Enterprises shares! They'll be as worthless as his knighthood after this!'

He turned over his diary. Marriott would be coming soon. He thought about him and the girl, their hopes of marriage when everything seemed loaded against them. He thought of his words to Durham.
There's such a lot to do here.
If there was one project he would like to complete before he left it was to dispel their anxiety.

Meikle never thought like a naval officer. He thought like a lawyer. Prosecution or defence, there was always a way out. How changed she was. She was still the same in her work as interpreter, but there was a kind of magic about her, in her eyes and in her manner, which even Meikle could not explain. Marriott must have done it for her.

The object of his interest was leaving the wardroom block deep in thought, something he had just been told hanging over him like a cloud. At the end of the corridor he saw Cuff directing two messmen to his cabin to pick up his gear. So he really was leaving.

Cuff strode towards him. 'I'm just off. Not a moment too soon, everyone's thinking!' He roared with laughter, and the smell of gin was overpowering.

Marriott said quietly, 'I just heard. Spruce Macnair has died. His heart gave out. I still can't believe it.'

Cuff frowned as his mind grappled with the news. Then he said airily, 'Well, everybody dies! Who cares anyway?' He thrust out his hand and said, 'I'll be seeing you!'

Marriott ignored the hand and said, 'They were right about you. You really are a bastard.' Then he turned and walked out into the bitter air.

Cuff yelled after him,
'Suit yourself!'
But the laugh would not return. He stumbled out to a waiting car and muttered thickly, 'I'll bloody well show the lot of you!'