The Ship of Brides(63)
Author: Jojo Moyes

‘Is everything all right?’

She looked so alarmed that he realised his sudden unannounced presence might have suggested a feared telegram and cursed himself for his insensitivity. ‘Nothing wrong. Please.’ He motioned again for her to remain seated. ‘I just wanted to tell you . . . to warn you . . . that you won’t be alone for long.’

Something even more strange happened then. She looked almost appalled. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Captain’s orders. It’s too hot in the liftwells – your cabins, I mean. He’s ordered that everyone should sleep out here tonight. Well, you brides, anyway.’

Her shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Sleep out here? On deck? Are you sure?’

He found himself smiling. It sounded pretty daft even to him. When the OX had told him he had made it clear from his careful use of words that he thought the captain had finally gone mad. ‘We can’t have you all boiling down there. It’s about as hot as it gets. We’ve had one of our engineers pass out in the starboard engine room this evening, so Captain Highfield has decided all brides are to bring their bedrolls up here. You can sleep in your swimwear. You’ll be a lot more comfortable.’

She looked away from him then, out at the dark ocean. ‘I suppose this means I’ll have to stay away from here now,’ she said wistfully.

He could not take his eyes off her profile. Her skin, in the milky blue moonlight, was opalescent. When he spoke, his voice cracked and he coughed to disguise it, to pull himself together. ‘Not on my account,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to need a few minutes alone with the sea.’

Alone with the sea? Where had that come from? He didn’t talk like that. She probably thought him a fanciful fool. There was something about her self-containment that had made him stumble like that, like an idiot.

But she didn’t seem to have noticed. When she turned to him, he saw that her eyes glistened with tears. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said dully. ‘It wasn’t working tonight anyway.’

What wasn’t? he wanted to ask. But instead, he said quietly, ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. And as she stood abruptly, brushing her skirt for non-existent dust, the clouds drew back across the moon and her expression was once more hidden from his gaze.

Highfield couldn’t help but laugh privately at Dobson’s face when the first girl emerged on to the deck, her bedroll under her arm, dressed in a frilled bright pink two-piece swimsuit, the kind of thing that would previously have had him spluttering into his collar. She stopped at the main hatch, glanced warily at the captain, then as he nodded, stepped out and motioned behind her to her friends. She tiptoed across the deck to where a marine was pointing.

She was followed quickly by two more, giggling and bumping into each other under the spotlights, steered into designated spaces, as the aircraft had been on previous voyages. Soon they were pouring out of the open hatches, the larger ones modest in oversized cotton shirts, some a little embarrassed to be seen so publicly in such intimate apparel. He had said that those who felt uncomfortable were welcome to sleep in their dormitories, but he was certain that, the heat being as oppressive as it was, most would prefer the sweet breezes of a deck moving through air to the stuffiness below. And so it proved: they kept on coming, some chattering, some exclaiming as they tried to pitch their bedroll and found there was already not enough room, in their shapes and sizes and hairstyles and manner an endless example of the infinite variety of womanhood.

The marines would watch over them. Oddly enough, it had been one of the few occasions on which the men had not groaned at news of an unexpected night watch. Highfield looked at the marines’ faces as they moved around the flight deck; even they, normally poker-faced, could not help laughing and joking with the women at this improbable turn of events. ‘What the hell?’ Highfield muttered to himself periodically, the rare expression making his own mouth turn up at the corners. What the hell?

One of the WSOs appeared at his shoulder, accompanied by Dobson. ‘Nearly all up, are they?’ Highfield asked.

‘I think so, Captain. But we were wondering if we could place a few closer to the aircraft. There’s not much space for so many. If the men are meant to have room to move round the edges, and if they all want room to stretch out—’

‘No,’ said Highfield, abruptly. ‘I want them well apart.’

Dobson waited several seconds, as if for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he bad-temperedly sent off the women’s officer to sort out two girls who were arguing over ownership of a sheet. He would tell his colleagues that it was probably something to do with Hart, Highfield knew, that the Indomitable business had left the captain peculiar about risk. Let him think what he wants, Highfield thought dismissively.

It was nearly ten o’clock when the last bride had trickled out, and the cabins had been checked to ensure there would be no more arrivals. Highfield stood before the women and motioned for silence. Gradually the chatter of the dimly lit crowd faded until only the distant rumble of the engines and the low hiss of the waves could be heard below.

‘I was going to outline a couple of rules,’ he said, shifting on his leg. He faced the marines, in a neat, silent row to his left. ‘To make a few things clear about this evening. But I’ve decided it’s too hot. And if you don’t have enough common sense not to fall off the side there’s not a lot of hope for you, whatever I say. So I’ll ask you, as ever, not to distract the men from their work. And I hope this helps you get a better night’s sleep.’

His words were met with a cheerful swell of chatter from the women and a round of applause. He could see the gratitude on some faces, and felt an unfamiliar swelling of something in him. His mouth twitched into a smile.

‘Just make sure it’s only marines who are allowed up here,’ he said to Dobson. And then, while his good mood stalled the pain in his leg, he made his way stiffly towards his rooms.

That night, Frances thought afterwards, had been the high point of the voyage. Not just for her but for most of them. Perhaps it was something about them all being together, about the freedom and sweet release of the open sea and the sky after the days of encroaching heat and deepening ill-temper, that lifted their spirits. The openness of the deck made them all, briefly, equal, prevented the cliques that made being among large numbers of women such a trial.