There was a tap at the door and Petty Officer Ritchie stepped over the coaming, his cap beneath his arm. He too looked brighter and more relaxed than Lindsay could remember. Perhaps, like himself, he craved to be doing something, if only to keep his inner hurt at bay a while longer.
‘Good morning, Yeoman. Anything new?’
Ritchie took a pad from his pocket. ‘Not much, sir. No more U-boat reports. And there’s nothin’ about the three Jerry ships neither.’ He leafed through the pad. ‘Bad weather over the Denmark Strait, so. all air patrols is grounded.’
‘That follows.’ Lindsay gestured to Jupp for some more coffee.
Ritchie added, ‘Some more information about the convoy, sir. Ten ships and three escorts.’
‘Only three?’
Ritchie grimaced. ‘Well, sir, it’s a fast convoy apparently. Mostly tankers in ballast and two personnel ships. One of ‘em’s; got a party of Wrens aboard it seems. A complete signals course.’
Lindsay stared at him, — suddenly ice cold. It was more than a coincidence, surely. The feeling. The nagging instinct that something was wrong. Like the dream. Only this time it was real.
‘Give it to me.’ He took the pad, his eyes darting across Ritchie’s round handwriting as if to see something more than the bare details.
Ritchie watched him curiously. ‘I did ‘ear they was sendin’ some Wrens to Canada, sir. Wouldn”ave minded an instructing job out there.’
Lindsay stood up. ‘Get back to the bridge, Yeo, and tell the W/T office I want every channel open. Anything,’ he paused, holding Ritchie’s eyes with his own, ‘anything they hear I want to know about. Then pass the word for Lieutenant Stannard to report to me.’
Ritchie looked as if he were about to ask a question, but as he glanced past Lindsay he saw Jupp give an urgent shake of the head and decided against it.
Jupp watched the door close and asked, ‘More coffee, sir?’ When Lindsay remained staring at the bulkhead he added gently, ‘She’ll be safe, sir. They’ll not take chances with a ship full of women.’
Lindsay turned slowly and looked at him. Poor Jupp, what did he know of the Atlantic?
He said quietly, ‘I expect you’re right. And thank you.’
Jupp had been expecting Lindsay to fly at him for his foolish comments and had been prepared for it. But he had been determined Lindsay should not be dragged down by the sudden despair which was stamped on his face. The fact that Lindsay had spoken so quietly was in some ways much worse. Jupp’ was deeply moved by the discovery, as he was troubled by the realisation he could do nothing to help.
In his private office below the bridge Lieutenant Philip Aikman carefully locked the secret code books inside his safe and took a quick glance at himself in the bulkhead mirror. He was past thirty, and occasionally worried about a certain flabbiness around his chin and waist. He liked to take care of himself whenever possible, but with the Benbecula rolling drunkenly through trough after trough it was not easy to exercise in comfort and work up a sweat without being watched by prying eyes.
Unlike most of the other officers aboard, Aikman really enjoyed his appointment to the ship. Benbecula was not involved with complicated manoeuvres of fleet actions. She was remote from all but the rarest chances of air or U-boat attack, which suited him just fine.
He slipped into his duffel coat and arranged his cap carefully on his fair hair at what was a jaunty angle, but. not enough to draw sarcasm or a harsh reprimand from Goss.
In civilian life Aikman had been manager of a small but busy travel agency in the London suburbs. Holidays for middle class families in Brighton and Torquay. Weekends for the less fortunate in Southend and Selsey Bill. It never varied very much except when someone came to see him for advice on something more daring. France or Italy. A cruise to the Greek Islands or the ski slopes of Switzerland-Aikman knew every place, almost as if he had visited each one himself.
His education was scanty, but he made up for it by his sharp attention. to detail and manner. He watched and listened to those who came to his shop to book their holidays, and never pushed. himself further than was necessary to gain more information from them when they returned to tell him of his satisfactory, or otherwise, arrangements.
Deep inside he yearned to be part of the world he sold and traded in his shop. That unreal world of laughing girls on posters holding beach balls and calling you to sunshine and endless enjoyment. Of the white-hulled: liners anchored in glittering bays and harbours, surrounded by boats of eager wogs and, of course, more smiling girls.
When war came he volunteered for the Navy without really knowing why. He never lost a chance in seeking someone who could help him reach his new goal, a commission, and when luck came his way he seized it with both hands. In the early months, the phoney war as it was called by all those not made to fight in it, — there was much confusion, as a peacetime Navy became swollen. in size “and purpose. By chance he saw and confronted one of his old customers, a retired captain of some age who was now back in the Service, and like it had become larger than life. Aikman had always flattered him, and when the old captain asked casually if he was interested in a job on Contraband Control, Aikman jumped at it.
One advantage Aikman had over the younger officer candidates was that he had experience of life outside the Navy or some public school. Without a blush he completed his forms, adding a list of languages which he spoke fluently and more of which — he had a fair knowledge. In fact he spoke only one, his own, and even that was limited. But as he had told his customers often enough. ‘Everyone speaks English!’ His supreme confidence and smooth acceptance of his new work somehow carried him through. In the early part of the war, when maritime neutrals still outnumbered the combatants, he was required to board and search’their ships to make sure no war materials were being smuggled to the enemy. To his surprise, he found everyone did speak English, well almost, and when a rare’ ignorance spoiled his approach Aikman would soon discover another officer or a steward who could give him his necessary information. In fact, he did so well he gained a second stripe almost before the first one had become tarnished.
But when he was transferred to a troopship and later to Benbecula he felt a pang of relief. Luck could not last forever, and here he was really safe. The officers were nicely mixed, and only a few like Maxwell, the gunnery officer, and Goss, the first lieutenant, ever bothered him. He had not a ‘specified job, other than as boarding officer, until of course the captain had made him his senior decoding officer, an untouchable and unreachable position. It suited him very well indeed.
He stepped over the cabin coaming and winced as the wind smashed, him back on the wet steel. Over the weather rail the sea was sinking and then surging high against the hull, and he had to run like mad to reach the bridge ladder, without getting soaked.
He entered the chart room and shook his cap carefully on the deck. Stannard was not there, and only Midshipman Kemp and Squire, the navigator’s yeoman, were working on the two charts.
Kemp was well bred, you could see it in the fine clear skin and sensitive mouth. He had an important father too, Aikman had learned from someone, and he guessed there might be a next step for him there if he played it carefully.
He said casually, ‘I’ve just decoded that last top secret one.’ He laid the pad on the chart. ‘It states, two repeat two of the German heavy units have entered the Skagerrak, so you’d better riote it in the pilot’s log.’