“Would you? After their failure to prevent the enemy from using one of their vessels. ” He shook his head. “No. The next move must be ours, as I see it.” He walked towards the door. “See you later. I believe there’s some sort of press conference being arranged for this evening. Have dinner with me afterwards.”
Beaumont nodded. “At the Savoy, sir?”
“Where else?” Brooks walked briskly out of the bunker, adding, “Don’t expect too much. Things are not what they were.”
Beaumont looked at Drummond for several long seconds. He was rubbing his palms down his sides and saying, “By God, eh? By God, how about that then?” He seemed unable to accept what Brooks had said.
Drummond replied, “Probably nothing will come of it.” He pictured Warlock and the rest of the Scrapyard Flotilla shooting their way into one of those deep fjords, but the more he imagined it, the less impossible it seemed. Brooks was right about one thing. The effect on morale, especially the Norwegians’, would be considerable. Their country occupied, resources drained dry to feed the German war machine, their families living in constant fear of punishment or reprisal, it might show they had not after all been forgotten.
They walked out of the bunker, their passes ready for more checking and inspections.
Drummond asked, “This press conference, sir. Bit unusual, isn’t it?”
Beaumont flicked something from one sleeve. “Oh, I don’t know much about that sort of stuff.” He sounded very vague. “Still, if it keeps the home fires burning, it can’t do much harm, what?”
They reached the lift to the surface, and Drummond wondered if the sun would still be shining. It was all like another existence. The bunker, Admiral Brooks. He smiled inwardly. The Savoy, too.
Beaumont certainly seemed at home with it. Within minutes of escaping from the complex of Admiralty corridors and sandbagged doorways they were both in another staff car and speeding amongst the jostling traffic in a manner born.
As he watched the hurrying figures on the pavements, the shabby clothes of the civilians, the varying uniforms from a dozen nations, he was reminded again of the war he would soon have to rejoin.
Beaumont said abruptly, “We’ll have a drink before we meet the press boys. I expect you know your way around here, eh?”
Drummond glanced at the hotel’s shining facade as the car roared past towards their next destination. The one where they would be dining with Nick Brooks.
“Mostly second-hand, I’m afraid. I live on my pay.”
Beaumont’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah well,” was all he said.
The press conference turned out to be quite different from what Drummond had expected. It was held in a room at the rear of yet another ministry building, and the gathering of rather tired-looking journalists bore no relation to their counterparts in the films.
It was obviously for Beaumont’s personal benefit. Several flash-pictures were taken, and Drummond saw Miles Salter, as untidy as ever, clearing up points as they arose with his colleagues.
He heard him say, “You know the idea. The hero of the Conqueror returns. The smile on the face of the tiger. That sort of thing.”
More bulbs popped, and someone passed around a tray of glasses. They had not apparently noticed Drummond at the end of the room.
“Are you waiting for anyone?”
Drummond turned in his chair and saw a girl looking down at him. She was wearing a green suit, and there was a smudge of ink on one of the cuffs.
“I’m with him.”
He made to stand but she waved one hand.
“It’s all right. I’m not used to formal behaviour.”
She sat down wearily and stretched her arms. She had short chestnut hair, dark eyes, and from what he could see through the suit, a very good figure.
“God.” She turned and studied him gravely. “How do you stand it?”
“It’s just a job …”
She showed her teeth. “Not the Navy, I mean him, the rest of that lot!”
Drummond looked again at the gathering, the way Beaumont seemed to glow amongst the rumpled suits and jackets.
She added, “They’re so pleased with themselves, it’s obscene!”
He replied, “I’ve not been to this sort of thing before.”
Her mouth turned down. “Obviously.”
He turned to face her. “Look; I don’t know what’s eating you, but I didn’t ask to be here. I don’t even know what it’s all about.”
She rested her chin on her hand, studying him.
“You’re the Warlock’s captain. ” She added slowly, “Younger than I’d expected. Are you on the Atlantic run?” She smiled again, but her eyes remained impassive. “It’s all right. I’m of the ministry, too. One of the image-makers around here. I expect I know more about the war than you do.”
He said, “Well, I’m not on the Atlantic run, as it happens.” She made him angry, out of his depth.
“No matter. But if you were … ” She raised one knee. “I thought you could get me some proper stockings from the Yanks. My ladders are getting ladders now.”
He watched her while she had her eyes lowered. She was very attractive, despite her irritating way of getting under his guard. About twenty-five.
He asked, “Can you tell me what all this is for?”
The eyes lifted to his face again. “Your boss, Captain Beaumont, has influence. Read the newspapers tomorrow.” One hand moved through the air as if feeling the words. “Conqueror’s only officer-survivor returns to even the score! U-boat dies at his command, etc., etc.” She gestured to the crowd, which was getting noisier. “With a picture of him like that, you can’t miss.”
“I gather you don’t approve?”
She ignored the question. “It was an accident really, wasn’t it?” When he stayed silent she added, “I thought so. Beaumont seems to have a knack with accidents. ” She stood up. Quickly, angrily. “I may see you around.”
Drummond was still staring after her when Miles Salter touched his arm and said cheerfully, “All for now. Let’s go and share some civilised company. ” He followed Drummond’s gaze. “That was our Sarah. Quite a girl. Don’t be put off by her attitude, she’s very good at this sort of thing.”
“She doesn’t seem to like Beaumont.”
It just slipped out, and he saw the guard drop in Salter’s eyes like a shutter.
He snapped, “Her brother was in the Conqueror. She probably feels bitter. None of our concern right now.”
“What is exactly?”
Salter gripped his arm. “Look. I know you’re a good destroyer captain, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, believe me. You probably think that the only way to win wars is to go out and kill somebody, or blow up a few ships. Well, my friend, there’s a helluva lot more to it than that. ” He glanced at Beaumont. “But it all adds up.”
Drummond thought of the girl’s quiet hostility. One of the image-makers.
Beaumont strode across the room, his face shining, eyes questioning. “Went well, I thought.”
“Yes.” Salter looked at Drummond guardedly.
Beaumont nodded. “Nick Brooks seemed pleased with things, too. All helps.” He smiled warmly at Drummond. “You’re in luck, you know. It needn’t have been your ship. I can see big things for you. ” He seemed to recognise something in Salter’s glance and added hastily, “Still, early days, eh?”
Salter said dourly, “He was speaking with our Sarah.”
“I see.” Beaumont waved cheerfully to a departing journalist. “Well, I’d not waste your time there, Keith. Good at her work, but … ” “Anyway, she’s married.” Salter was showing impatience.
“Though, God knows, you’d not think it, the way she carries on. I ought to see about getting her moved to another section.”
Beaumont clapped him on the shoulder. “Rubbish. Just because you haven’t made any progress in her direction! Anyway, I like a bit of opposition in a girl. So take it off your back, Miles, for God’s sake!”