The Ship of Brides(89)
Author: Jojo Moyes

He was not a letter-writer. Many years ago, when he had tried, he had found that his pen stumbled over the words, that the sentiments on the page rarely mirrored what he felt inside. Now, however, the words came easily. He was letting her go. ‘There is a passenger on board,’ he wrote, ‘a girl with a bad past. Seeing what she has suffered has made me realise that everyone deserves a second chance, especially if someone out there is willing to give them one, in spite of what they carry with them.’

Here he lit a cigarette, his gaze fixed ahead on nothing. He stayed like that for some time, oblivious to the men arguing down the corridor, the sound of the trumpet practice going on in the bathroom, the men who were now climbing into their hammocks around him.

Finally he put the nib of his pen back onto the paper. He would take it ashore tomorrow and wire it. No matter the cost. ‘I suppose what I am trying to say is that I’m sorry. And that I’m glad you’ve found someone to love you, despite everything. I hope he will be good to you, Fay. That you have the chance of the happiness you deserve.’

He reread it twice before he saw that he had written Frances’s name.

18

Now you understand why British soldiers respect the women in uniform. They have won the right to the utmost respect. When you see a girl in khaki or air-force blue with a bit of ribbon on her tunic – remember she didn’t get it for knitting more socks than anyone else in Ipswich.

A Short Guide to Great Britain, War and Navy

Departments, Washington, DC

Thirty-three days

The governor of Gibraltar was known not only throughout the Navy but the British civil service as an unusually intelligent man. He had built a reputation as a major strategist during the First World War, and his diplomatic career had seen him rewarded for his hawk-like tactical and observational skills. But even he had stared at the forward liftwell for several moments before he could acknowledge what he was seeing.

Captain Highfield, in the process of taking him up on to the flight deck ready for the welcoming performance by the Royal Marines Band, cursed himself for not checking the route beforehand. A liftwell was a liftwell. He had never thought they’d be bold enough to string their underwear along it. White, flesh-coloured, grey with overuse or cobweb-delicate and edged with French lace; the brassières and foundation garments waved merrily all the way up the cavernous space, mimicking the pennant that had welcomed the great man aboard. And now, here he was, the cream of the British diplomatic service, on Highfield’s great warship, surrounded by an orderly parade of immaculately dressed seamen, transfixed by lines of bloomers.

Dobson. The man would have known about this, yet had chosen not to warn him. Captain Highfield cursed his leg for confining him to his office that morning and allowing the younger man the opportunity. He had felt unwell, had decided to rest, knowing that today would be long and difficult, and had trusted Dobson to make sure that everything was A1. He might have known he’d find a way to undermine him.

‘I . . . You’ll find this is something of an unconventional crossing,’ Captain Highfield ventured, when he had composed himself enough to speak. ‘I’m afraid we’ve had to be a little . . . pragmatic about procedure.’

The governor’s mouth had dropped open, his cheeks betraying the faintest flush of colour. Dobson’s face, serene under his cap, gave away nothing.

‘I would add, Your Excellency, that this is by no means any indication of the level of our respect.’ He tried to inject a note of humour into his voice, but it fell flat.

The governor’s wife, handbag held in front of her, nudged her husband surreptitiously. She inclined her head. ‘Nothing we haven’t seen before, Captain,’ she said graciously, her mouth twitching with what might have been amusement. ‘I think the war has exposed us all to far more frightening scenes than this one.’

‘Quite,’ said the governor. ‘Quite.’ The tenor of his voice suggested that this was unlikely.

‘In fact, it’s admirable that you’re going to such lengths to keep your passengers comfortable.’ She laid a hand on his sleeve, a glimmer of understanding in her face. ‘Shall we move on?’

Things improved on the flight deck. Having embarked the governor and the other passengers at Aden, the Victoria had begun to make her slowly north along the Suez Canal, a silver vein of water, lined by sand dunes, that shimmered so brightly in the intense heat that those gazing from the sides of the ship felt obliged to shade themselves. Despite the heat, the brides were g*y under parasols and sunhats, the band gamely keeping up despite the discomfort of even tropical rig in such temperatures.

The men having resumed their duties, the governor and his wife had agreed to judge the Tap Dancing competition, the latest in the series of the Queen of the Victoria contests devised to keep the women occupied. Shielded by a large umbrella from the worst of the sun, armed with iced gin and tonic and faced with a line of giggling girls, even the governor had warmed. His wife, who had taken the time to chat to each contestant, eventually awarded the prize to a pretty blonde girl, a popular choice given the hearty congratulations of the other brides. She had confided to Highfield afterwards that she thought the Australians were ‘rather a nice lot. Terribly brave to leave their loved ones and come all this way.’ Infected with a little of the merriment of the afternoon, he had found it hard to disagree.

And then it had all gone wrong again.

Captain Highfield had been about to announce that the event was over, and suggest that he and his new passengers depart below decks to where the cook had prepared a late lunch, when he had noticed a flurry of activity on the starboard side. The Victoria was moving sedately past a military camp and the brides, spotting large numbers of Caucasian men, had flocked to the edge of the flight deck. Their brightly coloured dresses fluttering in the breeze, they waved gaily at the bronzed young men who had stopped work to watch them pass, calling down greetings. As he leant over to see, he could hear the women’s squeals, could just make out the enthusiastic waving from the bare-chested men below, now jammed up against the wire perimeter fence, squinting into the sun.

Highfield stared at the scene, making sure his suspicions were correct. Then it was with a heavy heart that he reached for the Tannoy. ‘I am gratified that you have given our guests, the governor and his wife, such a rousing welcome,’ he had said, watching the governor’s back stiffen in his tropical whites as he too took in the scene below. ‘There will be extra refreshments in the forward hangar for those who would like tea. In the meantime, you might be interested to know that the young men you are waving to are German prisoners.’