The Ship of Brides(91)
Author: Jojo Moyes

She stood in the doorway when the rating announced her and stayed there after he had left, clutching a small bag. He had seen her at close quarters twice now and she was physically striking. Only her demeanour stopped her being a compelling figure. She had seemingly developed the trick of receding into the background; now that he had briefed himself through her notes, he understood why.

Captain Highfield gestured to her to sit down. He stared at the floor for some minutes, trying to work out how to address the issue, wishing that, just this once, he could have handed over the captaincy to someone else. Disciplinary matters with his men were straightforward: one followed procedure, gave them a bawling-out if necessary. But women were different, he thought, exasperated, conscious of the woman opposite, of the women who had been in before her. They brought all their problems on board along with their tons of baggage, created new ones for good measure – and then made you feel guilty, wrong, for simply following the rules.

Outside the stand-easy was being sounded over the Tannoy, signalling the men’s canteen break. He waited until there was silence. ‘Do you know why I have summoned you to see me?’ he asked.

She did not reply. She blinked slowly at him, as if the onus was on him to explain himself.

Come on, man, he told himself. Get it over and done with. Then you can pour yourself a stiff drink.

‘It has come to my attention that several days ago you were involved in something of an incident downstairs. In the course of looking into the matter, I’ve heard things that . . . have left me a little concerned.’

It was Rennick who had told him, the previous evening. One of the stokers had approached him, muttered that there was all sorts of trouble being stirred up, and then what was being said about the girl. Rennick had not hesitated to tell Highfield: no one would have mentioned something like that to the Captain’s steward without believing it would go straight to the head man.

‘It’s about your – your life before you came aboard. I’m afraid I have to bring this up, uncomfortable as it may be for you. For the welfare of my men and for the good conduct of everyone on board, I have to know whether these – these rumours are true.’

She said nothing.

‘Can I assume from your silence that they are not . . . untrue?’

When she failed to answer him a third time, he felt ill-at-ease. This, allied with his physical discomfort, caused him to become impatient. He stood, perhaps better to impress her with his authority, and moved round the desk.

‘I’m not trying to deliberately persecute you, Miss—’

‘Mrs,’ she said. ‘Mrs Mackenzie.’

‘But rules are rules, and as it stands I cannot allow women of – your sort to travel on a ship full of men.’

‘My sort.’

‘You know what I’m saying. It’s difficult enough carrying so many women at close quarters. I’ve looked into your – your circumstances, and I can’t allow your presence to destabilise my ship.’ God only knew what the governor of Gibraltar would say if he knew of the presence of this particular passenger. Let alone his wife. They had only just stopped shuddering at the thought of those gambolling German prisoners.

She stared at her shoes for some time. Then she raised her head. ‘Captain Highfield, are you putting me off the ship?’ Her voice was low and calm.

He was half relieved that she had said it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I feel I have no choice.’

She appeared to be considering something. Her demeanour suggested that there was almost nothing surprising in what he had said to her. But in the faintest narrowing of her eyes there was contempt for it too.

This was not what he had expected. Anger, perhaps. Histrionics, like the other two unfortunates. He had posted the rating outside in anticipation.

‘You are free to say something,’ he said, when the silence became oppressive. ‘In your defence, I mean.’

There was a lengthy pause. Then she placed her hands in her lap. ‘In my defence . . . I am a nurse. A nursing sister, to be more precise. I have been a nurse for four and a half years. In that time I’ve treated several thousand men, some of whose lives I saved.’

‘It’s a very good thing – that you managed to—’

‘Become a worthwhile human being?’ Her tone was sharp.

‘That’s not what—’

‘But I can’t, can I? Because I am never to be allowed to forget my so-called past. Not even several thousand miles distant from it.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting that—’

She looked at him directly. He thought she might have squared her shoulders.

‘I know quite well what you were suggesting, Captain. That my service record is the least important thing about me. Like most of the occupants of this ship, you choose to determine my character by the first thing you heard. And then act upon it.’

She smoothed her dress over her knees and took a deep breath, as if she were having some trouble containing herself. ‘What I was going to say, Captain Highfield, before you interrupted me, is that I have treated in my career probably several thousand men, some of whom had been terrorised and physically brutalised. Some of whom were my enemies. Many of whom were only half alive. And not one,’ she paused for breath. ‘Not one of them treated me with the lack of consideration you have just shown.’

He had not expected her to be so composed. So articulate.

He had not expected to find himself the accused.

‘Look,’ his tone was conciliatory, ‘I can’t pretend I don’t know about you.’

‘No, and neither can I, apparently. I can only try to lead a useful life. And not think too hard about things that may have been out of my control.’

They remained in an uneasy silence. His mind raced as he tried to work out how to deal with this extraordinary situation. Outside, he could hear muffled conversation and lowered his voice, sensing a way to salvage their dignity. ‘Look – are you saying that what happened wasn’t your doing? That you might have been . . . more sinned against than sinning?’

If she would plead for herself, make a promise about her future conduct, then perhaps . . .

‘I’m saying that it’s none of your concern either way.’ Her knuckles were white with some contained emotion. ‘The only things that are your business, Captain, are my profession, which, as you’ll know from your passenger lists and my service record, should you have cared to look at it, is nurse, my marital status and my behaviour on board your ship, which, I think you’ll find, has met all your requirements for decorum.’