Only Time Will Tell

48

The thing I remember most after Emma and her mother had left the church was how calm everyone appeared to be. No hysterics, no one fainted, there weren’t even any raised voices. A visitor might have been forgiven for not realizing how many people’s lives had just been irreparably damaged, even ruined. How very British, stiff upper lip and all that; no one willing to admit that their personal life had been shattered in the space of a single hour. Well, I have to admit, mine had.

I had stood in numbed silence as the different actors played out their roles. Old Jack had done no more or less than what he considered his duty, though the pallor of his skin and the deeply etched lines on his face suggested otherwise. He could have taken the easy way out and simply declined our invitation to the wedding, but Victoria Cross winners don’t walk away.

Elizabeth Barrington was cast from that metal which, when put to the test, proved she was the equal of any man: a veritable Portia, who sadly hadn’t married a Brutus.

As I looked around the vestry waiting for the chaplain to return, I felt saddest for Sir Walter, who had walked his granddaughter down the aisle, and had not gained a grandson, but rather lost a son, who, as Old Jack had warned me so many years ago, ‘was not cut from the same cloth’ as his father.

My dear mother was fearful to respond when I tried to take her in my arms and reassure her of my love. She clearly believed she alone was to blame for everything that had taken place that day.

And Giles, he became a man when his father crept out of the vestry to hide under some slimy stone, leaving the responsibility for his actions to others. In time, many of those present would become aware that what had taken place that day was every bit as devastating for Giles as for Emma.

Finally, Lord Harvey. He was an example to us all of how to behave in a crisis. Once the chaplain had returned and explained the legal implications of consanguinity to us, we agreed among ourselves that Lord Harvey should address the waiting congregation on behalf of both families.

‘I would like Harry to stand on my right,’ he said, ‘as I wish everyone present to be left in no doubt, as my daughter Elizabeth made abundantly clear, that no blame rests on his shoulders.

‘Mrs Clifton,’ he said, turning to my mother, ‘I hope you will be kind enough to stand on my left. Your courage in adversity has been an example to us all, and to one of us in particular.

‘I hope that Captain Tarrant will stand by Harry’s side: only a fool blames the messenger. Giles should take his place beside him. Sir Walter, perhaps you would stand next to Mrs Clifton, while the rest of the family take their places behind us. Let me make it clear to you all,’ he continued, ‘that I only have one purpose in this tragic business, namely to ensure that everyone gathered in this church today will be in no doubt of our resolve in this matter, so that no one will ever say we were a divided house.’

Without another word, he led his small flock out of the vestry.

When the chattering congregation saw us filing back into the church, Lord Harvey didn’t need to call for silence. Each one of us took our allocated place on the altar steps as if we were about to pose for a family photograph that would later find its way into a wedding album.

‘Friends, if I may be so bold,’ began Lord Harvey, ‘I have been asked to let you know on behalf of our two families that sadly the marriage between my granddaughter, Emma Barrington, and Mr Harry Clifton will not be taking place today, or for that matter on any other day.’ Those last four words had a finality about them that was chilling when you were the only person present who still clung on to a vestige of hope that this might one day be resolved. ‘I must apologize to you all,’ he continued, ‘if you have been inconvenienced in any way for that was surely not our purpose. May I conclude by thanking you for your presence here today, and wish you all a safe journey home.’

I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but one or two members of the congregation rose from their places and began to make their way slowly out of the church; within moments the trickle turned into a steady stream, until finally those of us standing on the altar steps were the only ones remaining.

Lord Harvey thanked the chaplain, and warmly shook hands with me before accompanying his wife down the aisle and out of the church.

My mother turned to me and tried to speak, but was overcome by her emotions. Old Jack came to our rescue, taking her gently by the arm and leading her away, while Sir Walter took Grace and Jessica under his wing. Not a day mothers or bridesmaids would want to recall for the rest of their lives.

Giles and I were the last to leave. He had entered the church as my best man, and now he left it wondering if he was my half-brother. Some people stand by you in your darkest hour, while others walk away; only a select few march towards you and become even closer friends.

Once we had bidden farewell to the Reverend Styler, who seemed unable to find the words to express how sorry he felt, Giles and I trudged wearily across the cobbled stones of the quad and back to our college. Not a word passed between us as we climbed the wooden staircase to my rooms and sank into old leather chairs and young maudlin silence.

We sat alone as day turned slowly into night. Sparse conversation that had no sequence, no meaning, no logic. When the first long shadows appeared, those heralds of darkness that so often loosen the tongue, Giles asked me a question I hadn’t thought about for years.

‘Do you remember the first time you and Deakins visited the Manor House?’

‘How could I forget? It was your twelfth birthday, and your father refused to shake hands with me.’

‘Have you ever wondered why?’

‘I think we found out the reason today,’ I said, trying not to sound too insensitive.

‘No, we didn’t,’ said Giles quietly. ‘What we found out today was the possibility that Emma might be your half-sister. I now realize the reason my father kept his affair with your mother secret for so many years was because he was far more worried you might find out you were his son.’

‘I don’t understand the difference,’ I said, staring at him.

‘Then it’s important for you to recall the only question my father asked on that occasion.’

‘He asked when my birthday was.’

‘That’s right, and when he discovered you were a few weeks older than me, he left the room without another word. And later, when we had to leave to go back to school, he didn’t come out of his study to say goodbye, even though it was my birthday. It wasn’t until today that I realized the significance of his actions.’

‘How can that minor incident still be of any significance after all these years?’ I asked.

‘Because that was the moment my father realized you might be his first born, and that when he dies it could be you, not me, who inherits the family title, the business, and all his worldly goods.’

‘But surely your father can leave his possessions to whomever he pleases, and that certainly wouldn’t be me.’

‘I wish it was that simple,’ said Giles, ‘but as my grandpa so regularly reminds me, his father, Sir Joshua Barrington, was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1877 for services to the shipping industry. In his will, he stated that all his titles, deeds and possessions were to be left to the first-born surviving son, in perpetuity.’

‘But I have no interest in claiming what clearly is not mine,’ I said, trying to reassure him.

‘I’m sure you don’t,’ said Giles, ‘but you may have no choice in the matter, because in the fullness of time, the law will require you to take your place as head of the Barrington family.’

Giles left me just after midnight to drive to Gloucestershire. He promised to find out if Emma was willing to see me, as we’d parted without even saying goodbye, and said he would return to Oxford the moment he had any news.

I didn’t sleep that night. So many thoughts were racing through my mind, and for a moment, just a moment, I even contemplated suicide. But I didn’t need Old Jack to remind me that that was the coward’s way out.

I didn’t leave my rooms for the next three days. I didn’t respond to gentle knocks on the door. I didn’t answer the telephone when it rang. I didn’t open the letters that were pushed under the door. It may have been inconsiderate of me not to respond to those who had only kindness in their hearts, but sometimes an abundance of sympathy can be more overwhelming than solitude.

Giles returned to Oxford on the fourth day. He didn’t need to speak for me to realize his news wasn’t going to give me succour. It turned out to be far worse than I had even anticipated. Emma and her mother had left for Mulgelrie Castle, where we had meant to be spending our honeymoon, with no relations to be allowed within ten miles. Mrs Barrington had instructed her solicitors to begin divorce proceedings, but they were unable to serve any papers on her husband as no one had seen him since he’d crept unnoticed out of the vestry. Lord Harvey and Old Jack had both resigned from the board of Barrington’s, but out of respect for Sir Walter neither had made their reasons for doing so public – not that that would stop the rumour-mongers having a field day. My mother had left Eddie’s Nightclub and taken a job as a waitress in the dining room of the Grand Hotel.

‘What about Emma?’ I said. ‘Did you ask her…’

‘I didn’t have a chance to speak to her,’ said Giles. ‘They’d left for Scotland before I arrived. But she’d left a letter for you on the hall table.’ I could feel my heart beating faster as he handed me an envelope bearing her familiar handwriting. ‘If you feel like a little supper later, I’ll be in my rooms.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, inadequately.

I sat in my chair by the window overlooking Cobb’s quad, not wanting to open a letter that I knew wouldn’t offer me a glimmer of hope. I finally tore open the envelope and extracted three pages written in Emma’s neat hand. Even then, it was some time before I could read her words.

The Manor House

Chew Valley

Gloucestershire

July 29th, 1939

My Darling Harry,

It’s the middle of the night, and I am sitting in my bedroom writing to the only man I will ever love.

Deep hatred for my father, whom I can never forgive, has been replaced by a sudden calm, so I must write these words before bitter recrimination returns to remind me of just how much that treacherous man has denied us both.

I only wish we’d been allowed to part as lovers, and not as strangers in a crowded room, the fates having decided we should never say the words ‘until death do us part’, although I am certain I will go to my grave only having loved one man.

I will never be satisfied with just the memory of your love, for while there is the slightest hope that Arthur Clifton was your father, be assured, my darling, that I will remain constant.

Mama is convinced that given enough time, the memory of you, like the evening sun, will fade, and then finally disappear, before heralding a new dawn. Does she not recall telling me on the day of my wedding that our love for each other was so pure, so simple and so rare, that it would unquestionably withstand the test of time, which Mama confessed she could only envy, as she had never experienced such happiness.

But until I can be your wife, my darling, I am resolved that we must remain apart, unless, and until such time, it can be shown that we can be legally bound. No other man can hope to take your place and, if necessary, I will remain single, rather than settle for some counterfeit.

I wonder if the day will dawn when I do not reach out, expecting to find you by my side, and if it will ever be possible to fall asleep without whispering your name.

I would happily sacrifice the rest of my life to spend another year like the one we have just shared together, and no law made by God or man can change that. I still pray that the day will come when we can be joined together in the sight of that same God and those same men, but until then, my darling, I will always be your loving wife in all but name,

Emma

49

WHEN HARRY FINALLY summoned up the strength to open the countless letters that littered the floor, he came across one from Old Jack’s secretary in London.

Soho Square

London

Wednesday, August 2nd, 1939

Dear Mr Clifton,

You may not receive this letter until you’ve returned from your honeymoon in Scotland, but I wondered if Captain Tarrant stayed on in Oxford after the wedding. He didn’t return to the office on Monday morning, and he hasn’t been seen since, so I wondered if you had any idea where I might contact him.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours sincerely,

Phyllis Watson

Old Jack had clearly forgotten to let Miss Watson know he was going down to Bristol to spend a few days with Sir Walter, to make it clear that, although he had caused the wedding to be abandoned and had resigned from the board of Barrington’s, he remained a close friend of the chairman’s. As there wasn’t a second letter from Miss Watson among his pile of unopened mail, Harry assumed that Old Jack must have returned to Soho Square and be back behind his desk.

Harry spent the morning answering every one of the letters he’d left unopened; so many kind people offering sympathy – it wasn’t their fault they reminded him of his unhappiness. Suddenly Harry decided he had to be as far away from Oxford as possible. He picked up the phone and told the operator he wanted to make a long-distance call to London. Half an hour later, she called back to tell him the number was continually engaged. Next, he tried Sir Walter at Barrington Hall, but the number just rang and rang. Frustrated by his failure to contact either of them, Harry decided to follow one of Old Jack’s maxims: Get off your backside and do something positive.

He grabbed the suitcase he had packed for his honeymoon in Scotland, walked across to the lodge and told the porter he was going up to London and wouldn’t be returning until the first day of term. ‘Should Giles Barrington ask where I am,’ he added, ‘please tell him I’ve gone to work for Old Jack.’

‘Old Jack,’ repeated the porter, writing the name down on a slip of paper.

On the train journey to Paddington, Harry read in The Times about the latest communiqués that were bouncing back and forth between the Foreign Office in London and the Reich Ministry in Berlin. He was beginning to think that Mr Chamberlain was the only person who still believed in the possibility of peace in our time. The Times was predicting that Britain would be at war within days and that the Prime Minister couldn’t hope to survive in office if the Germans defied his ultimatum and marched into Poland.

The Thunderer went on to suggest that in that eventuality, a coalition government would have to be formed, led by the Foreign Secretary, Lord Halifax (a safe pair of hands), and not Winston Churchill (unpredictable and irascible). Despite the paper’s obvious distaste for Churchill, Harry didn’t believe that Britain needed a ‘safe pair of hands’ at this particular moment in history, but someone who was not frightened to bully a bully.

When Harry stepped off the train at Paddington, he was met by a wave of different coloured uniforms coming at him from every direction. He’d already decided which service he would join the moment war was declared. A morbid thought crossed his mind as he boarded a bus for Piccadilly Circus: if he was killed while serving his country, it would solve all the Barrington family’s problems – except one.

When the bus reached Piccadilly, Harry jumped off and began to weave his way through the clowns that made up the West End circus, through theatre land and on past exclusive restaurants and overpriced nightclubs, which appeared determined to ignore any suggestion of war. The queue of displaced immigrants trooping in and out of the building in Soho Square appeared even longer and more bedraggled than on Harry’s first visit. Once again, as he climbed the stairs to the third floor, several of the refugees stood aside, assuming he must be a member of staff. He hoped he would be within the hour.

When he reached the third floor, he headed straight for Miss Watson’s office. He found her filling in forms, issuing rail warrants, arranging accommodation and handing out small amounts of cash to desperate people. Her face lit up when she saw Harry. ‘Do tell me Captain Tarrant’s with you,’ were her first words.

‘No, he isn’t,’ said Harry. ‘I assumed he’d returned to London, which is why I’m here. I was wondering if you might be able to use an extra pair of hands.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Harry,’ she said, ‘but the most useful thing you could do for me right now is to find Captain Tarrant. This place is bursting at the seams without him.’

‘The last I heard he was staying with Sir Walter Barrington at his home in Gloucester,’ said Harry, ‘but that was at least a fortnight ago.’

‘We haven’t set eyes on him since the day he went to Oxford for your wedding,’ said Miss Watson as she tried to comfort two more immigrants who couldn’t speak a word of English.

‘Has anyone phoned his flat to see if he’s there?’ asked Harry.

‘He doesn’t have a phone,’ said Miss Watson, ‘and I’ve hardly been to my own home for the past two weeks,’ she added, nodding in the direction of a queue that stretched as far as the eye could see.

‘Why don’t I start there, and report back to you?’

‘Would you?’ said Miss Watson as two little girls began sobbing. ‘Don’t cry, everything’s going to be all right,’ she reassured the children as she knelt and placed an arm round them.

‘Where does he live?’ asked Harry.

‘Number twenty-three, Prince Edward Mansions, Lambeth Walk. Take the number eleven bus to Lambeth, then you’ll have to ask for directions. And thank you, Harry.’

Harry turned and headed towards the stairs. Something wasn’t right, he thought. Old Jack would never have deserted his post without giving Miss Watson a reason.

‘I forgot to ask,’ Miss Watson shouted after him, ‘how was your honeymoon?’

Harry felt he was far enough away not to have heard her.

Back at Piccadilly Circus he boarded a double-decker bus overcrowded with soldiers. It drove down Whitehall, which was full of officers, and on through Parliament Square, where a vast crowd of onlookers was waiting for any snippets of information that might come out of the House of Commons. The bus continued its journey across Lambeth Bridge, and Harry got off when it reached Albert Embankment.

A paperboy who was shouting ‘Britain Awaits Hitler’s Response’ told Harry to take the second on the left, then the third on the right, and added for good measure, ‘I thought everyone knew where Lambeth Walk was.’

Harry began to run like a man being pursued and he didn’t stop until he came to a block of flats that was so dilapidated he could only wonder which Prince Edward it had been named after. He pushed open a door that wouldn’t survive much longer on those hinges and walked quickly up a flight of stairs, stepping nimbly between piles of rubbish that hadn’t been cleared for days.

When he reached the second floor, he stopped outside No. 23 and knocked firmly on the door, but there was no reply. He knocked again, louder, but still no one responded. He ran back down the stairs in search of someone who worked in the building, and when he reached the basement he found an old man slumped in an even older chair, smoking a roll-up and flicking through the pages of the Daily Mirror.

‘Have you seen Captain Tarrant recently?’ Harry asked sharply.

‘Not for the past couple of weeks, sir,’ said the man, leaping to his feet and almost standing to attention when he heard Harry’s accent.

‘Do you have a master key that will open his flat?’ asked Harry.

‘I do, sir, but I’m not allowed to use it except in emergencies.’

‘I can assure you this is an emergency,’ said Harry, who turned and bounded back up the stairs, not waiting for his reply.

The man followed, if not quite as quickly. Once he’d caught up, he opened the door. Harry moved quickly from room to room, but there was no sign of Old Jack. The last door he came to was closed. He knocked quietly, fearing the worst. When there was no reply, he cautiously went in, to find a neatly made bed and no sign of anyone. He must still be with Sir Walter, was Harry’s first thought.

He thanked the porter, walked back down the stairs and out on to the street as he tried to gather his thoughts. He hailed a passing taxi, not wanting to waste any more time on buses in a city that did not know him.

‘Paddington Station. I’m in a hurry.’

‘Everyone seems to be in a hurry today,’ said the cabbie as he moved off.

Twenty minutes later Harry was standing on platform 6, but it was another fifty minutes before the train would depart for Temple Meads. He used the time to grab a sandwich and a cup of tea – ‘Only got cheese, sir’ – and to phone Miss Watson to let her know that Old Jack hadn’t been back to his flat. If it was possible, she sounded even more harassed than when he had left her. ‘I’m on my way to Bristol,’ he told her. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I catch up with him.’

As the train made its way out of the capital, through the smog-filled back streets of the city and into the clean air of the countryside, Harry decided he had no choice but to go straight to Sir Walter’s office at the dockyard, even if it meant running into Hugo Barrington. Finding Old Jack surely outweighed any other consideration.

Once the train shunted into Temple Meads, Harry knew the two buses he needed to catch without having to ask the paperboy who was standing on the corner bellowing ‘Britain Awaits Hitler’s Response’ at the top of his voice. Same headline, but this time a Bristolian accent. Thirty minutes later, Harry was at the dockyard gates.

‘Can I help you?’ asked a guard who didn’t recognize him.

‘I have an appointment with Sir Walter,’ said Harry, hoping this would not be questioned.

‘Of course, sir. Do you know the way to his office?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Harry. He started walking slowly towards a building he’d never entered before. He began to think about what he would do if he came face to face with Hugo Barrington before he reached Sir Walter’s office.

He was pleased to see the chairman’s Rolls-Royce parked in its usual place, and even more relieved that there was no sign of Hugo Barrington’s Bugatti. He was just about to enter Barrington House when he glanced at the railway carriage in the distance. Was it just possible? He changed direction and walked towards the Pullman wagon lit, as Old Jack was wont to describe it after a second glass of whisky.

When Harry reached the carriage he knocked gently on the glass pane as if it were a grand home. A butler did not appear, so he opened the door and climbed in. He walked along the corridor to first class, and there he was, sitting in his usual seat.

It was the first time Harry had ever seen Old Jack wearing his Victoria Cross.

Harry took the seat opposite his friend and recalled the first time he’d sat there. He must have been about five and his feet hadn’t reached the ground. Then he thought of the time he’d run away from St Bede’s, and the shrewd old gentleman had persuaded him to be back in time for breakfast. He recalled when Old Jack had come to hear him sing a solo in the church, the time his voice had broken. Old Jack had dismissed this as a minor setback. Then there was the day he learnt he’d failed to win a scholarship to Bristol Grammar School, a major setback. Despite his failure, Old Jack had presented him with the Ingersoll watch he was still wearing today. It must have cost him every penny he possessed. In Harry’s last year at school, Old Jack had travelled down from London to see him playing Romeo, and Harry had introduced him to Emma for the first time. And he would never forget his final speech day, when Jack had sat on stage as a governor of his old school and watched Harry being awarded the English prize.

And now, Harry would never be able to thank him for so many acts of friendship over the years that couldn’t be repaid. He stared at a man he’d loved and had assumed would never die. As they sat there together in first class, the sun went down on his young life.

50

HARRY WATCHED AS the stretcher was placed in the ambulance. A heart attack, the doctor had said, before the ambulance drove away.

Harry didn’t need to go and tell Sir Walter that Old Jack was dead, because when he woke the following morning, the chairman of Barrington’s was sitting by his side.

‘He told me he no longer had any reason to live,’ were Sir Walter’s first words. ‘We have both lost a close and dear friend.’

Harry’s response took Sir Walter by surprise. ‘What will you do with this carriage, now that Old Jack is no longer around?’

‘No one will be allowed anywhere near it, as long as I’m chairman,’ said Sir Walter. ‘It harbours too many personal memories for me.’

‘Me too,’ said Harry. ‘I spent more time here when I was a boy than I did in my own home.’

‘Or in the classroom for that matter,’ said Sir Walter with a wry smile. ‘I used to watch you from my office window. I thought what an impressive child you must be if Old Jack was willing to spend so much time with you.’

Harry smiled when he remembered how Old Jack had come up with a reason why he should go back to school and learn to read and write.

‘What will you do now, Harry? Return to Oxford and continue with your studies?’

‘No, sir. I fear that we’ll be at war by…’

‘By the end of the month would be my guess,’ said Sir Walter.

‘Then I’ll leave Oxford immediately and join the navy. I’ve already told my college supervisor, Mr Bainbridge, that that’s what I plan to do. He assured me I can return and continue with my studies as soon as the war is over.’

‘Typical of Oxford,’ said Sir Walter, ‘they always take the long view. So will you go to Dartmouth and train as a naval officer?’

‘No, sir, I’ve been around ships all my life. In any case, Old Jack started out as a private soldier and managed to work his way up through the ranks, so why shouldn’t I?’

‘Why not indeed?’ said Sir Walter. ‘In fact, that was one of the reasons he was always considered to be a class above the rest of us who served with him.’

‘I had no idea you’d served together.’

‘Oh yes, I served with Captain Tarrant in South Africa,’ said Sir Walter. ‘I was one of the twenty-four men whose lives he saved on the day he was awarded the Victoria Cross.’

‘That explains so much that I’ve never really understood,’ said Harry. He then surprised Sir Walter a second time. ‘Do I know any of the others, sir?’

‘The Frob,’ said Sir Walter. ‘But in those days he was Lieutenant Frobisher. Corporal Holcombe, Mr Holcombe’s father. And young Private Deakins.’

‘Deakins’s father?’ said Harry.

‘Yes. Sprogg, as we used to call him. A fine young soldier. He never said much, but he turned out to be very brave. Lost an arm on that dreadful day.’

The two men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts of Old Jack, before Sir Walter asked, ‘So if you’re not going to Dartmouth, my boy, may I ask how you plan to win the war single-handed?’

‘I’ll serve on any ship that will take me, sir, as long as they’re willing to go in search of His Britannic Majesty’s enemies.’

‘Then it’s possible I may be able to help.’

‘That’s kind of you, sir, but I want to join a war ship, not a passenger liner or a cargo vessel.’

Sir Walter smiled again. ‘And so you will, dear boy. Don’t forget, I’m kept informed about every ship that comes in and out of these docks and I know most of their captains. Come to think of it, I knew most of their fathers when they were captains. Why don’t we go up to my office and see what ships are due in and out of the port in the next few days, and, more important, find out if any of them might be willing to take you on?’

‘That’s very decent of you, sir, but would it be all right if I visited my mother first? I might not have the chance to see her again for some time.’

‘Only right and proper, my boy,’ said Sir Walter. ‘And once you’ve been to see your mother, why don’t you drop into my office later this afternoon? That should give me enough time to check on the latest shipping lists.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll return as soon as I’ve told my mother what I plan to do.’

‘When you come back, just tell the man on the gate you’ve got an appointment with the chairman, then you shouldn’t have any trouble getting past security.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Harry, masking a smile.

‘And do pass on my kindest regards to your dear mother. A remarkable woman.’

Harry was reminded why Sir Walter was Old Jack’s closest friend.

Harry walked into the Grand Hotel, a magnificent Victorian building in the centre of the city, and asked the doorman the way to the dining room. He walked across the lobby and was surprised to find a small queue at the maître d’s desk, waiting to be allocated tables. He joined the back of the queue, recalling how his mother had always disapproved of him dropping in to see her at Tilly’s or the Royal Hotel during working hours.

While Harry waited, he looked around the dining room, which was full of chattering people, none of whom looked as if they were anticipating a food shortage, or thinking of enlisting in the armed forces should the country go to war. Food was being whisked in and out of the swing doors on heavily laden silver trays, while a man in a chef’s outfit was wheeling a trolley from table to table, slicing off slivers of beef, while another followed in his wake carrying a gravy boat.

Harry could see no sign of his mother. He was even beginning to wonder if Giles had only told him what he wanted to hear, when suddenly she burst through the swing doors, three plates balanced on her arms. She placed them in front of her customers so deftly they hardly noticed she was there, then returned to the kitchen. She was back a moment later, carrying three vegetable dishes. By the time Harry had reached the front of the queue he’d been reminded of who had given him his boundless energy, uncritical enthusiasm and a spirit that didn’t contemplate defeat. How would he ever be able to repay this remarkable woman for all the sacrifices she had made-

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,’ said the maître d’, interrupting his thoughts, ‘but I don’t have a table available at the moment. If you’d care to come back in about twenty minutes?’

Harry didn’t tell him he didn’t actually want a table, and not just because his mother was one of the waitresses, but because he wouldn’t have been able to afford anything on the menu other than perhaps the gravy.

‘I’ll come back later,’ he said, trying to sound disappointed. About ten years later, he thought, by which time he suspected his mother would probably be the maître d’. He left the hotel with a smile on his face and took a bus back to the docks.

He was ushered straight through to Sir Walter’s office by his secretary and found the chairman leaning on his desk, peering down at the port schedules, timetables and ocean charts that covered every inch of its surface.

‘Have a seat, dear boy,’ said Sir Walter, before fixing his monocle in his right eye and looking sternly at Harry. ‘I’ve had a little time to think about our conversation this morning,’ he continued, sounding very serious, ‘and before we go any further, I need to be convinced that you’re making the right decision.’

‘I’m absolutely certain,’ said Harry without hesitation.

‘That may be, but I’m equally certain that Jack would have advised you to return to Oxford and wait until you were called up.’

‘He may well have done so, sir, but he wouldn’t have taken his own advice.’

‘How well you knew him,’ said Sir Walter. ‘Indeed, that’s exactly what I expected you to say. Let me tell you what I’ve come up with so far,’ he continued, returning his attention to the papers that covered his desk. ‘The good news is that the Royal Navy battleship HMS Resolution is due to dock at Bristol in about a month’s time, when it will refuel before awaiting further orders.’

‘A month?’ said Harry, making no attempt to hide his frustration.

‘Patience, boy,’ said Sir Walter. ‘The reason I chose the Resolution is because the captain is an old friend, and I’m confident I can get you on board as a deckhand, as long as the other part of my plan works out.’

‘But would the captain of the Resolution consider taking on someone with no seafaring experience?’

‘Probably not, but if everything else falls into place, by the time you board the Resolution you will be an old sea dog.’

Recalling one of Old Jack’s favourite homilies, I find I don’t learn a lot while I’m talking, Harry decided to stop interrupting and start listening.

‘Now,’ Sir Walter continued, ‘I’ve identified three ships that are due to leave Bristol in the next twenty-four hours and are expected to return within three to four weeks, which will give you more than enough time to sign up as a deckhand on the Resolution.’

Harry wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.

‘Let’s begin with my first choice. The Devonian is bound for Cuba, with a manifest of cotton dresses, potatoes and Raleigh Lenton bicycles, and is due to return to Bristol in four weeks’ time with a cargo of tobacco, sugar and bananas.

‘The second ship on my shortlist is the SS Kansas Star, a passenger vessel that will be sailing to New York on the first tide tomorrow. It has been requisitioned by the United States government to transport American nationals back home before Britain finds itself at war with Germany.

‘The third is an empty oil tanker, the SS Princess Beatrice, which is on its way back to Amsterdam to refuel and will return to Bristol with a full load before the end of the month. All three skippers are painfully aware that they need to be safely back in port as quickly as possible, because if war is declared, the two merchant vessels will be considered fair game by the Germans, while only the Kansas Star will be safe from the German U-boats skulking around the Atlantic just waiting for the order to sink anything flying a red or blue ensign.’

‘What crew are these ships in need of?’ asked Harry. ‘I’m not exactly over-qualified.’

Sir Walter searched around his desk again, before extracting another sheet of paper. ‘The Princess Beatrice is short of a deckhand, the Kansas Star is looking for someone to work in the kitchens, which usually means as a washer-upper or a waiter, while the Devonian needs a fourth officer.’

‘So that one can be removed from the shortlist.’

‘Funnily enough,’ said Sir Walter, ‘that’s the position I consider you best qualified for. The Devonian has a crew of thirty-seven, and rarely goes to sea with a trainee officer, so no one would expect you to be anything other than a novice.’

‘But why would the captain consider me?’

‘Because I told him you were my grandson.’

51

HARRY WALKED ALONG the dock towards the Devonian. The small suitcase he was carrying made him feel like a schoolboy on his first day of term. What would the headmaster be like? Would he sleep in a bed next to a Giles or a Deakins? Would he come across an Old Jack? Would there be a Fisher on board?

Although Sir Walter had offered to accompany him and introduce him to the captain, Harry had felt that would not be the best way to endear himself to his new shipmates.

He stopped for a moment and looked closely at the ancient vessel on which he would be spending the next month. Sir Walter had told him that the Devonian had been built in 1913, when the oceans were still dominated by sail and a motorized cargo vessel would have been thought the latest thing. But now, twenty-six years later, it wouldn’t be too long before she was decommissioned and taken to that area of the docks where old ships are broken up and their parts sold for scrap.

Sir Walter had also hinted that as Captain Havens only had one more year to serve before he retired, the owners might decide to scrap him at the same time as his ship.

The Devonian’s Articles of Agreement showed a crew of thirty-seven, but as on so many cargo ships, that number wasn’t quite accurate: a cook and a washer-up picked up in Hong Kong didn’t appear on the payroll, nor did the occasional deckhand or two who was fleeing the law and had no desire to return to his homeland.

Harry made his way slowly up the gangway. Once he’d stepped on deck, he didn’t move until he’d received permission to board. After all his years of hanging around the docks, he was well aware of ship’s protocol. He looked up at the bridge and assumed the man he saw giving orders must be Captain Havens. Sir Walter had told him the senior officer on a cargo vessel was in fact a master mariner but should always be addressed on board as captain. Captain Havens was a shade under six foot, and looked nearer fifty than sixty. He was stockily built, with a weathered, tanned face and a dark neatly trimmed beard that, as he was going bald, made him look like George V.

When he spotted Harry waiting at the top of the gangway, the captain gave a crisp order to the officer standing next to him on the bridge, before making his way down on to the deck.

‘I’m Captain Havens,’ he said briskly. ‘You must be Harry Clifton.’ He shook Harry warmly by the hand. ‘Welcome aboard the Devonian. You come highly recommended.’

‘I should point out, sir,’ began Harry, ‘that this is my first-’

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Havens, lowering his voice, ‘but I’d keep it to yourself if you don’t want your time on board to be a living hell. And whatever you do, don’t mention you were at Oxford, because most of this lot,’ he said, indicating the seamen working on the deck, ‘will think it’s just the name of another ship. Follow me. I’ll show you the fourth officer’s quarters.’

Harry followed in the captain’s wake, aware that a dozen suspicious eyes were watching his every move.

‘There are two other officers on my ship,’ said the captain once Harry had caught up with him. ‘Jim Patterson, the senior engineer, spends most of his life down below in the boiler room, so you’ll only see him at mealtimes, and sometimes not even then. He’s served with me for the past fourteen years, and frankly I doubt if this old lady would still make it halfway across the Channel, let alone the Atlantic, if he wasn’t down there to coax her along. My third officer, Tom Bradshaw, is on the bridge. He’s only been with me for three years, so he’s not yet earned his ticket. He keeps himself to himself, but whoever trained him knew what they were doing, because he’s a damn fine officer.’

Havens began to disappear down a narrow stairwell that led to the deck below. ‘That’s my cabin,’ he said as he continued down the corridor, ‘and that’s Mr Patterson’s.’ He came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a broom cupboard. ‘This is your cabin.’ He pushed the door open but it only moved a few inches before it banged against a narrow wooden bed. ‘I won’t come in as there isn’t room for both of us. You’ll find some clothes on the bed. Once you’ve changed, join me on the bridge. We’ll be setting sail within the hour. Leaving the harbour will probably be the most interesting part of the voyage until we dock in Cuba.’

Harry squeezed through the half-open door and had to close it behind him to allow enough room to change his clothes. He checked the gear that had been left, neatly folded, on his bunk: two thick blue sweaters, two white shirts, two pairs of blue trousers, three pairs of blue woollen socks and a pair of canvas shoes with thick rubber soles. It really was like being back at school. Every item had one thing in common: they all looked as if they’d been worn by several other people before Harry. He quickly changed into his seaman’s gear, then unpacked his suitcase.

As there was only one drawer, Harry placed the little suitcase, full of his civilian clothes, under the bed – the only thing in the cabin that fitted perfectly. He opened the door, squeezed back into the corridor and went in search of the stairwell. Once he’d located it, he emerged back on deck. Several more pairs of suspicious eyes followed his progress.

‘Mr Clifton,’ said the captain as Harry stepped on to the bridge for the first time, ‘this is Tom Bradshaw, the third officer, who will be taking the ship out of the harbour as soon as we’ve been given clearance by the port authority. By the way, Mr Bradshaw,’ said Havens, ‘one of our tasks on this voyage will be to teach this young pup everything we know, so that when we return to Bristol in a month’s time the crew of HMS Resolution will mistake him for an old sea dog.’

If Mr Bradshaw commented, his words were drowned by two long blasts on a siren, a sound Harry had heard many times over the years, indicating that the two tug boats were in place and waiting to escort the Devonian out of the harbour. The captain pressed some tobacco into his well-worn briar pipe, while Mr Bradshaw acknowledged the signal with two blasts of the ship’s horn, to confirm that the Devonian was ready to depart.

‘Prepare to cast off, Mr Bradshaw,’ said Captain Havens, striking a match.

Mr Bradshaw removed the cover from a brass voicepipe Harry hadn’t noticed until that moment. ‘All engines slow ahead, Mr Patterson. The tug boats are in place and ready to escort us out of harbour,’ he added, revealing a slight American accent.

‘All engines slow ahead, Mr Bradshaw,’ came back a voice from the boiler room.

Harry looked down over the side of the bridge and watched as the crew carried out their allotted tasks. Four men, two at the bow and two at the stern, were unwinding thick ropes from the capstans on the dock. Another two were hauling up the gangway. ‘Keep your eye on the pilot,’ said the captain between puffs on his pipe. ‘It’s his responsibility to guide us out of the harbour and safely into the Channel. Once he’s done that, Mr Bradshaw will take over. If you turn out to be any good, Mr Clifton, you may be allowed to take his place in about a year’s time, but not until I’ve retired and Mr Bradshaw has taken over command.’ As Bradshaw didn’t give even the flicker of a smile, Harry remained silent and continued to watch everything going on around him. ‘No one is allowed to take my girl out at night,’ continued Captain Havens, ‘unless I’m sure he won’t take any liberties with her.’ Again, Bradshaw didn’t smile, but then he may have heard the comment before.

Harry found himself fascinated by how smoothly the whole operation was carried out. The Devonian eased away from the quayside and, with the help of the two tug boats, nosed her way slowly out of the docks, along the River Avon and under the suspension bridge.

‘Do you know who built that bridge, Mr Clifton?’ the captain asked, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

‘Isambard Kingdom Brunel, sir,’ said Harry.

‘And why did he never live to see it opened?’

‘Because the local council ran out of money, and he died before the bridge was completed.’

The captain scowled. ‘Next you’ll be telling me it’s named after you,’ he said, putting his pipe back in his mouth. He didn’t speak again until the tug boats had reached Barry Island, when they gave two more long blasts, released their lines and headed back to port.

The Devonian may have been an old lady, but it soon became clear to Harry that Captain Havens and his crew knew exactly how to handle her.

‘Take over, Mr Bradshaw,’ said the captain, as another pair of eyes appeared on the bridge, their owner carrying two mugs of hot tea. ‘There will be three officers on the bridge during this crossing, Lu, so be sure that Mr Clifton also gets a mug of tea.’ The Chinaman nodded and disappeared below deck.

Once the harbour lights had disappeared over the horizon, the waves became larger and larger, causing the ship to roll from side to side. Havens and Bradshaw stood, feet apart, appearing to be glued to the deck, while Harry found himself regularly having to cling on to something to make sure he didn’t fall over. When the Chinaman reappeared with a third mug of tea, Harry chose not to mention to the captain that it was cold, and that his mother usually added a lump of sugar.

Just as Harry was beginning to feel a little more confident, almost enjoying the experience, the captain said, ‘Not much more you can do tonight, Mr Clifton. Why don’t you go below and try to catch some shut-eye. Be back on the bridge by seven twenty to take over the breakfast watch.’ Harry was about to protest, when a smile appeared on Mr Bradshaw’s face for the first time.

‘Goodnight, sir,’ said Harry before making his way down the steps and on to the deck. He wobbled slowly towards the narrow stairwell, feeling with every step he took that he was being watched by even more eyes. One voice said, loud enough for him to hear, ‘He must be a passenger.’

‘No, he’s an officer,’ said a second voice.

‘What’s the difference?’ Several men laughed.

Once he was back in his cabin, he undressed and climbed on to the thin wooden bunk. He tried to find a comfortable position without falling out or rolling into the wall as the ship swayed from side to side as well as lurching up and down. He didn’t even have a wash basin to be sick in, or a porthole to be sick out of.

As he lay awake, his thoughts turned to Emma. He wondered if she was still in Scotland or had returned to the Manor House, or perhaps she’d already taken up residence at Oxford. Would Giles be wondering where he was, or had Sir Walter told him he’d gone to sea and would be joining the Resolution the moment he landed back in Bristol? And would his mother be wondering where he could be? Perhaps he should have broken her golden rule and interrupted her at work. Finally, he thought about Old Jack, and suddenly felt guilty when he realized he wouldn’t be back in time for his funeral.

What Harry couldn’t know was that his own funeral would take place before Old Jack’s.

52

HARRY WAS WOKEN BY the sound of four bells. He leapt up, hitting his head on the ceiling, threw on his clothes, squeezed into the corridor, shot up the stairwell, ran across the deck and bounded up the steps on to the bridge.

‘Sorry I’m late, sir, I must have overslept.’

‘You don’t have to call me sir when we’re on our own,’ said Bradshaw, ‘the name’s Tom. And as a matter of fact, you’re over an hour early. The skipper obviously forgot to tell you it’s seven bells for the breakfast watch, and four for the six o’clock watch. But as you’re here, why don’t you take over the wheel while I take a leak.’ The shock for Harry was to realize that Bradshaw wasn’t joking. ‘Just be sure the arrow on the compass is always pointing sou’-sou’-west, then you can’t go far wrong,’ he added, his American accent sounding more pronounced.

Harry took the wheel with both hands and stared intently at the little black arrow as he tried to keep the ship ploughing through the waves in a straight line. When he looked back at the wake, he saw that the neat straight line Bradshaw had achieved with such apparent ease had been replaced by the sort of curves more associated with Mae West. Although Bradshaw was only away for a few minutes, Harry had rarely been more pleased to see anyone when he returned.

Bradshaw took over and the uninterrupted straight line quickly reappeared, although he only had one hand on the wheel.

‘Remember, you’re handling a lady,’ said Bradshaw. ‘You don’t cling on to her, but gently caress her. If you can manage that, she’ll stay on the straight and narrow. Now try again, while I plot our seven bells position on the daily chart.’

When one bell rang twenty-five minutes later and the captain appeared on the bridge to relieve Bradshaw, Harry’s line in the ocean may not have been entirely straight, but at least it no longer appeared as if the ship was being steered by a drunken sailor.

At breakfast, Harry was introduced to a man who could only have been first engineer.

Jim Patterson’s ghostly complexion made him look as if he’d spent most of his life below decks, and his paunch suggested he spent the rest of the time eating. Unlike Bradshaw, he never stopped talking, and it quickly became clear to Harry that he and the skipper were old friends.

The Chinaman appeared, carrying three plates that could have been cleaner. Harry avoided the greasy bacon and fried tomatoes in favour of a piece of burnt toast and an apple.

‘Why don’t you spend the rest of the morning finding your way around the ship, Mr Clifton,’ suggested the captain after the plates had been cleared away. ‘You could even join Mr Patterson in the engine room and see how many minutes you survive down there.’ Patterson burst out laughing, grabbed the last two pieces of toast and said, ‘If you think these are burnt, wait until you’ve spent a few minutes with me.’

Like a cat that has been left alone in a new house, Harry began stalking around the outside of the deck as he tried to become familiar with his new kingdom.

He knew the ship was 475 feet long with a 56-foot beam and its top speed was fifteen knots, but he’d had no idea there would be so many nooks and crannies that undoubtedly served some purpose which, given time, he would learn. Harry also noticed there wasn’t any part of the deck the captain couldn’t keep a watchful eye on from the bridge, so there was no chance of escape for an idle seaman.

Harry took the stairwell down to the middle deck. The aft section consisted of the officers’ quarters, amidships was the galley, and forward was a large open area of slung hammocks. How anyone could possibly sleep in one of those was beyond him. Then he noticed half a dozen sailors, who must have come off the dog watch, swaying gently from side to side with the rhythm of the ship and sleeping contentedly.

A narrow steel stairwell led down to the lower deck, where the wooden crates that held the 144 Raleigh bicycles, a thousand cotton dresses and two tons of potatoes were all safely secured, and wouldn’t be opened until after the ship docked in Cuba.

Finally, he descended a narrow ladder that led to the boiler room, and Mr Patterson’s domain. He heaved open the heavy metal hatch and, like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, marched boldly into the fiery furnace. He stood and watched as half a dozen squat, muscle-bound men, their vests soiled with black dust, sweat pouring down their backs, shovelled coal into two gaping mouths that needed to be fed more than four meals a day.

As Captain Havens had predicted, it was only a few minutes before Harry had to stagger back into the corridor, sweating and gasping for breath. It was some time before he recovered enough to make his way back up on to the deck, where he fell on his knees and gulped in the fresh air. He could only wonder how those men could survive in such conditions and be expected to carry out three two-hour shifts a day, seven days a week.

Once Harry had recovered, he made his way back up to the bridge, armed with a hundred questions, from which star in the Plough points to the North Star, to how many nautical miles the ship could average per day, to how many tons of coal were required for… The captain happily answered them all, without once appearing exasperated by the young fourth officer’s unquenchable thirst for knowledge. In fact, Captain Havens remarked to Mr Bradshaw during Harry’s break that what impressed him most about the lad was that he never asked the same question twice.

During the next few days, Harry learnt how to check the compass against the dotted line on the chart, how to gauge wind direction by watching seagulls, and how to take the ship through the trough of a wave and still maintain a constant course. By the end of the first week, he was allowed to take over the wheel whenever an officer took a meal break. By night, the captain taught him the names of the stars, which, he pointed out, were every bit as reliable as a compass, but he confessed his knowledge was limited to the northern hemisphere as the Devonian had never crossed the equator in all her twenty-six years on the high seas.

After ten days at sea, the captain was almost hoping for a storm, not only to stop the endless questions but also to see if there was anything that could throw this young man off his stride. Jim Patterson had already warned him that Mr Clifton had survived for an hour in the boiler room that morning and was determined to complete a full shift before they docked in Cuba.

‘At least you’re spared his endless questions down there,’ remarked the captain.

‘This week,’ responded the chief engineer.

Captain Havens wondered if a time would come when he learnt something from his fourth officer. It happened on the twelfth day of the voyage, just after Harry had completed his first two-hour shift in the boiler room.

‘Did you know that Mr Patterson collects stamps, sir?’ Harry asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ replied the captain confidently.

‘And that his collection now numbers over four thousand, including an unperforated Penny Black and a South African triangular Cape of Good Hope?’

‘Yes, I did,’ repeated the captain.

‘And that the collection is now worth more than his home in Mablethorpe?’

‘It’s only a cottage, damn it,’ said the captain, trying to hold his own, and before Harry could ask his next question, he added, ‘I’d be more interested if you could find out as much about Tom Bradshaw as you seem to have wormed out of my chief engineer. Because frankly, Harry, I know more about you after twelve days than I do about my third officer after three years, and until now, I’d never thought of Americans as being a reserved race.’

The more Harry thought about the captain’s observation, the more he realized just how little he too knew about Tom, despite having spent many hours with him on the bridge. He had no idea if the man had any brothers or sisters, what his father did for a living, where his parents lived, or whether he even had a girlfriend. And only his accent gave away the fact that he was an American, because Harry didn’t know which town, or even state, he hailed from.

Seven bells rang. ‘Would you take over the wheel, Mr Clifton,’ said the captain, ‘while I join Mr Patterson and Mr Bradshaw for dinner? Don’t hesitate to let me know if you spot anything,’ he added as he left the bridge, ‘especially if it’s bigger than we are.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Harry, delighted to be left in charge, even if it was only for forty minutes, although those forty minutes were being extended each day.

It was when Harry asked him how many more days it would be before they reached Cuba that Captain Havens realized the precocious youth was already bored. He was beginning to feel some sympathy for the captain of HMS Resolution, who had no idea what he was letting himself in for.

Harry had recently been taking over the wheel after dinner so that the other officers could enjoy a few hands of gin rummy before returning to the bridge. And whenever the Chinaman took up Harry’s mug of tea now, it was always piping hot, with the requested one lump of sugar.

Mr Patterson was heard to remark to the captain one evening that should Mr Clifton decide to take over the ship before they got back to Bristol, he wasn’t sure who he’d side with.

‘Are you thinking of inciting a mutiny, Jim?’ asked Havens as he poured his chief engineer another tot of rum.

‘No, but I must warn you, skipper, that the young turk has already reorganized the shifts in the boiler room. So I know whose side my lads would be on.’

‘Then the least we can do,’ said Havens, pouring himself a glass of rum, ‘is order the flag officer to send a message to the Resolution, warning them what they’ll be up against.’

‘But we don’t have a flag officer,’ said Patterson.

‘Then we’ll have to clap the lad in irons,’ said the captain.

‘Good idea, skipper. It’s just a shame we don’t have any irons.’

‘More’s the pity. Remind me to pick some up as soon as we get back to Bristol.’

‘But you seem to have forgotten Clifton’s leaving us to join the Resolution the moment we dock,’ Patterson said.

The captain swallowed a mouthful of rum before repeating, ‘More’s the pity.’

53

HARRY REPORTED TO the bridge a few minutes before seven bells to relieve Mr Bradshaw, so he could go below and join the captain for dinner.

The length of time Tom left him in charge of the bridge was becoming longer and longer with each watch, but Harry never complained, because he enjoyed the illusion that for an hour a day the ship was under his command.

He checked the arrow on the compass and steered the course that had been set by the captain. He had even been entrusted with entering their position on the chart and writing up the daily log before he came off duty.

As Harry stood alone on the bridge, a full moon, a calm sea, and a thousand miles of ocean ahead of him, his thoughts drifted back to England. He wondered what Emma was doing at that moment.

Emma was sitting in her room at Somerville College, Oxford, tuning her radio to the Home Service so she could hear Mr Neville Chamberlain address the nation.

‘This is the BBC in London. You will now hear a statement from the Prime Minister.’

‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet room, Ten Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock, that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now, that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.’

But as the Devonian’s radio was unable to pick up the BBC, everyone on board went about their business as if it was a normal day.

Harry was still thinking about Emma when the first one shot past the bow. He wasn’t sure what he should do. He was loath to disturb the captain during dinner for fear of being reprimanded for wasting his time. Harry was wide awake when he saw the second one, and this time he had no doubt what it was. Harry watched as the long, slender, shiny object slithered below the surface towards the bow of the ship. He instinctively swung the wheel to starboard but the ship veered to port. It wasn’t quite what he’d intended, but the mistake gave him enough time to raise the alarm because the object shot past the bow, missing the ship by several yards.

This time he didn’t hesitate and jammed the palm of his hand on the klaxon, which immediately emitted a loud blast. Moments later Mr Bradshaw appeared on deck and began racing towards the bridge, closely followed by the captain, pulling on his jacket.

One by one, the rest of the crew came rushing out of the bowels of the ship and headed straight for their stations, assuming it must be an unscheduled fire drill.

‘What’s the problem, Mr Clifton?’ asked Captain Havens calmly as he stepped on to the bridge.

‘I think I saw a torpedo, sir, but as I’ve never seen one before, I can’t be sure.’

‘Could it have been a dolphin enjoying our leftovers?’ suggested the captain.

‘No, sir, it wasn’t a dolphin.’

‘I’ve never seen a torpedo either,’ Havens admitted as he took over the wheel. ‘Which direction was it coming from?’

‘Nor’-nor’-east.’

‘Mr Bradshaw,’ said the captain, ‘all crew to emergency stations and prepare to lower the lifeboats on my command.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Bradshaw, who slid down the railings on to the deck and immediately began to organize the crew.

‘Mr Clifton, keep your eyes peeled and tell me the moment you spot anything.’

Harry grabbed the binoculars and began a slow sweep of the ocean. At the same time, the captain bellowed down the voicepipe, ‘All engines reverse, Mr Patterson, all engines reverse, and stand by for further orders.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ said a startled chief engineer, who hadn’t heard that order since 1918.

‘Another one,’ said Harry. ‘Nor’-nor’-east, coming directly towards us.’

‘I see it,’ said the captain. He swung the wheel to the left and the torpedo missed them by only a few feet. He knew he was unlikely to pull off that trick again.

‘You were right, Mr Clifton. That wasn’t a dolphin,’ said Havens matter-of-factly. Under his breath he added, ‘We must be at war. The enemy has torpedoes, and all I’ve got is a hundred and forty-four Raleigh bicycles, a few sacks of potatoes and some cotton dresses.’ Harry kept his eyes peeled.

The captain remained so calm that Harry felt almost no sense of danger. ‘Number four coming directly at us, sir,’ he said. ‘Nor’-nor’-east again.’

Havens gamely tried to manoeuvre the old lady one more time, but she didn’t respond quickly enough to his unwelcome advances and the torpedo ripped into the ship’s bow. A few minutes later Mr Patterson reported that a fire had broken out below the waterline and that his men were finding it impossible to douse the flames with the ship’s primitive foam hoses. The captain didn’t need to be told that he was facing a hopeless task.

‘Mr Bradshaw, prepare to abandon ship. All crew to stand by the lifeboats and await further orders.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ shouted Bradshaw from the deck.

Havens bellowed down the voicepipe. ‘Mr Patterson, get yourself and your men out of there immediately, and I mean immediately, and report to the lifeboats.’

‘We’re on our way, skipper.’

‘Another one, sir,’ said Harry. ‘Nor’-nor’-west, heading towards the starboard side, amidships.’

The captain swung the wheel once again, but he knew this time he would not be able to ride the punch. Seconds later, the torpedo ripped into the ship, which began to list to one side.

‘Abandon ship!’ shouted Havens, reaching for the tannoy. ‘Abandon ship!’ he repeated several times, before he turned to Harry who was still scanning the sea through his binoculars.

‘Make your way to the nearest lifeboat, Mr Clifton, and sharpish. There’s no point in anyone remaining on the bridge.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Harry.

‘Captain,’ came a voice from the engine room, ‘number four hold is jammed. I’m trapped below deck along with five of my men.’

‘We’re on our way, Mr Patterson. We’ll have you out of there in no time. Change of plan, Mr Clifton. Follow me.’ The captain shot down the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps, with Harry just inches behind him.

‘Mr Bradshaw,’ shouted the captain as he dodged in and out of the oil-fed, lapping flames, which had reached the upper deck, ‘get the men into the lifeboats sharpish and abandon ship.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Bradshaw, who was clinging on to the ship’s railings.

‘I need an oar. And make sure you have one lifeboat on standby ready to take Mr Patterson and his men from the boiler room.’

Bradshaw grabbed an oar from one of the lifeboats and, with the help of another seaman, managed to pass it to the captain. Harry and the skipper took one end each and stumbled along the deck towards number four hold. Harry was puzzled what use an oar could possibly be against torpedoes, but this wasn’t the time to be asking questions.

The captain charged on, past the Chinaman, who was on his knees, head bowed, praying to his God.

‘Get yourself into the lifeboat, now, you stupid bugger!’ shouted Havens. Mr Lu rose unsteadily to his feet, but didn’t move. As Harry staggered past, he shoved the man in the direction of the third officer, causing Mr Lu to topple forwards and almost fall into Mr Bradshaw’s arms.

When the captain reached the hatch above number four hold, he wedged the thin end of the oar into an arched hook, jumped up and threw all his weight on to the blade. Harry quickly joined him and together they managed to lever up the massive iron plate until there was a gap of about a foot.

‘You pull the men out, Mr Clifton, while I try to keep the hatch open,’ said Havens, as two hands appeared through the gap.

Harry let go of the oar, fell to his knees and crawled towards the open hatch. As he grabbed the man’s shoulders, a wave of water swept over him and into the hold. He yanked the seaman out and shouted at him to report straight to the lifeboats. The second man was more agile and managed to pull himself out without Harry’s assistance, while the third was in such a blind panic that he shot through the hole and banged his head on the hatch lid before staggering off after his shipmates. The next two followed in quick succession and scrambled on their hands and knees in the direction of the last remaining lifeboat. Harry waited for the chief engineer to appear, but there was no sign of him. The ship lurched further over and Harry had to cling to the deck to stop himself falling head-first into the hold.

He peered down into the darkness and spotted an outstretched hand. He put his head through the hole and leaned down as far as he could without falling in, but couldn’t quite reach the second officer’s fingers. Mr Patterson tried several times to jump up, but with each attempt his efforts were hampered as more water poured in on top of him. Captain Havens could see what the problem was but couldn’t come to their assistance, because if he let go of the oar the hatch lid would come crashing down on Harry.

Patterson, who was now up to his knees in water, shouted, ‘For God’s sake you two, get yourselves into the lifeboats before it’s too late!’

‘Not a chance,’ said the captain. ‘Mr Clifton, get yourself down there and push the bastard up, then you can follow.’

Harry didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself backwards, feet first, into the hold, gripping on to the ledge with his fingertips. Finally he let go and dropped into the darkness. The sloshing, oily, freezing water broke his fall and once he’d regained his balance he gripped the sides, lowered himself down into the water and said, ‘Climb on to my shoulders, sir, and you should be able to reach.’

The chief engineer obeyed the fourth officer, but when he stretched up, he was still a few inches short of the deck. Harry used every ounce of strength in his body to push Patterson further up until he was able to reach the rim of the hatch and cling on by the tips of his fingers. Water was now pouring into the hold, as the ship listed further and further over. Harry placed a hand under each of Mr Patterson’s buttocks and began to press like a weightlifter until the chief engineer’s head appeared above the deck.

‘Good to see you, Jim,’ grunted the captain, as he continued to place every ounce of his weight on to the oar.

‘You too, Arnold,’ replied the chief engineer, as he pulled himself slowly out of the hold.

It was at that moment the last torpedo hit the sinking ship. The oar snapped in half and the iron hatch lid came crashing down on the chief engineer. Like the axe of a medieval executioner, with one slice it cleanly severed his head and slammed shut. Patterson’s body fell back into the hold, landing in the water next to Harry.

Harry thanked God he couldn’t see Mr Patterson in the darkness that now surrounded him. At least the water had stopped flooding in, even if it meant there was now no escape.

As the Devonian began to keel over, Harry assumed the captain must also have been killed or he surely would have been banging on the hatch trying to find some way of getting him out. As he slumped down into the water, Harry thought how ironic it was that he should go to his grave like his father, entombed in the hollow bottom of a ship. He clung to the side of the hold in one final effort to cheat death. As he waited for the water to rise inch by inch above his shoulders, his neck, his head, myriad faces flashed before him. Strange thoughts take over when you know you only have a few moments left to live.

At least his death would solve problems for so many people he loved. Emma would be released from her pledge to forsake all others for the rest of her days. Sir Walter would no longer have to worry about the implications of his father’s will. In time, Giles would inherit the family title and all his father’s worldly goods. Even Hugo Barrington might survive now that it would no longer be necessary for him to prove he wasn’t Harry’s father. Only his dear mother…

Suddenly there was an almighty explosion. The Devonian split in two and seconds later both halves reared up like a startled horse, before the broken ship unceremoniously sank to the bottom of the ocean.

The captain of the U-boat watched through his periscope until the Devonian had disappeared below the waves, leaving in its wake a thousand brightly coloured cotton dresses and countless bodies bobbing up and down in the sea, surrounded by potatoes.

54

‘CAN YOU TELL ME your name?’ Harry looked up at the nurse but couldn’t move his lips. ‘Can you hear me?’ she asked. Another American accent.

Harry managed a faint nod, and she smiled. He heard a door opening and although he couldn’t see who had entered the sick bay, the nurse left him immediately, so it had to be someone in authority. Even if he couldn’t see them, he could hear what they were saying. It made him feel like an eavesdropper.

‘Good evening, Nurse Craven,’ said an older man’s voice.

‘Good evening, Dr Wallace,’ she replied.

‘How are our two patients?’

‘One’s showing definite signs of improvement. The other’s still unconscious.’

So at least two of us survived, thought Harry. He wanted to cheer but, although his lips moved, no words came out.

‘And we still have no idea who they are?’

‘No, but Captain Parker came in earlier to see how they were, and when I showed him what was left of their uniforms, he wasn’t in much doubt they were both officers.’

Harry’s heart leapt at the thought that Captain Havens might have survived. He heard the doctor walk over to the other bed but he couldn’t turn his head to see who was lying there. A few moments later, he heard, ‘Poor devil, I’ll be surprised if he survives the night.’

Then you obviously don’t know Captain Havens, Harry wanted to tell him, because you won’t kill him off that easily.

The doctor returned to Harry’s bedside and began to examine him. Harry could just make out a middle-aged man with a serious, thoughtful face. Once Dr Wallace had finished his examination, he turned away and whispered to the nurse, ‘I feel a lot more hopeful about this one, although the odds are still no better than fifty-fifty after what he’s been through. Keep fighting, young man,’ he said, turning to face Harry, though he couldn’t be sure if the patient could hear him. ‘We’re going to do everything in our power to keep you alive.’ Harry wanted to thank him, but all he could manage was another slight nod, before the doctor walked away. ‘If either of them should die during the night,’ he heard the doctor whisper to the nurse, ‘are you familiar with the correct procedure?’

‘Yes, doctor. The captain is to be informed immediately, and the body is to be taken down to the morgue.’ Harry wanted to ask how many of his shipmates were already there.

‘And I’d also like to be kept informed,’ added Wallace, ‘even if I’ve turned in for the night.’

‘Of course, doctor. Can I ask what the captain has decided to do with those poor devils who were already dead when we pulled them out of the water?’

‘He’s given an order that as they were all sailors, they are to be buried at sea, at first light tomorrow morning.’

‘Why so early?’

‘He doesn’t want the passengers to realize just how many lives were lost last night,’ the doctor added as he walked away. Harry heard a door open. ‘Goodnight, nurse.’

‘Goodnight, doctor,’ the nurse replied, and the door closed.

Nurse Craven walked back and sat down by Harry’s bedside. ‘I don’t give a damn about the odds,’ she said. ‘You’re going to live.’

Harry looked up at a nurse who was hidden behind her starched white uniform and white cap, but even so, he couldn’t miss the burning conviction in her eyes.

When Harry next woke, the room was in darkness apart from a glimmer of light in the far corner, probably from another room. His first thought was of Captain Havens, fighting for his life in the next bed. He prayed that he would survive and they’d be able to return to England together, when the captain would retire and Harry could sign up with any Royal Navy vessel Sir Walter could get him on.

His thoughts turned to Emma once again, and how his death would have solved so many problems for the Barrington family, that would now return to haunt them.

Harry heard the door open again and someone with an unfamiliar step walked into the sick bay. Although he couldn’t see who it was, the sound of their shoes suggested two things: it was a man, and he knew where he was going. Another door opened on the far side of the room and the light became brighter.

‘Hi, Kristin,’ said a man’s voice.

‘Hello, Richard,’ came back the nurse’s reply. ‘You’re late,’ she said, teasing, not angry.

‘Sorry, honey. All the officers had to remain on the bridge until the search for survivors was finally abandoned.’

The door closed, and the light softened once more. Harry had no way of knowing how much time had passed before the door opened again – half an hour, an hour perhaps – and he heard their voices.

‘Your tie’s not straight,’ said the nurse.

‘That won’t do,’ the man replied. ‘Someone might figure out what we’ve been up to.’ She laughed as he began walking towards the door. Suddenly he stopped. ‘Who are these two?’

‘Mr A and Mr B. The only survivors from last night’s rescue operation.’

I’m Mr C, Harry wanted to tell her as they walked towards his bed. Harry closed his eyes; he didn’t want them to think he’d been listening to their conversation. She took his pulse.

‘I think Mr B is getting stronger by the hour. You know, I can’t bear the thought of not saving at least one of them.’ She left Harry and walked over to the other bed.

Harry opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see a tall young man in a smart white dress uniform with gold epaulettes. Without warning, Nurse Craven began to sob. The young man placed an arm gently around her shoulder and tried to comfort her. No, no, Harry wanted to shout, Captain Havens can’t die. We’re going back to England together.

‘What’s the procedure in these circumstances?’ asked the young officer, sounding rather formal.

‘I have to inform the captain immediately, and then wake Dr Wallace. Once all the papers have been signed and clearance has been authorized, the body will be taken down to the morgue and prepared for tomorrow’s burial service.’

No, no, no, Harry shouted, but neither of them heard him.

‘I pray to whatever God,’ continued the nurse, ‘that America doesn’t become involved in this war.’

‘That’s never going to happen, honey,’ said the young officer. ‘Roosevelt’s far too canny to get himself involved in another European war.’

‘That’s what the politicians said last time,’ Kristin reminded him.

‘Hey, what’s brought this on?’ He sounded concerned.

‘Mr A was about the same age as you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he also had a fiancee back home.’

Harry realized that it wasn’t Captain Havens in the next bed, but Tom Bradshaw. That was when he made the decision.

When Harry woke again, he could hear voices coming from the next room. Moments later, Dr Wallace and Nurse Craven walked into the sick bay.

‘It must have been heart-wrenching,’ said the nurse.

‘It wasn’t at all pleasant,’ admitted the doctor. ‘Somehow it was made worse because they all went to their graves nameless, although I had to agree with the captain, that’s the way a sailor would have wanted to be buried.’

‘Any news from the other ship?’ asked the nurse.

‘Yes, they’ve done a little better than us. Eleven dead, but three survivors: a Chinaman and two Englishmen.’

Harry wondered if it was possible that one of the Englishmen might be Captain Havens.

The doctor bent down and unbuttoned Harry’s pyjama top. He placed a cold stethoscope on several parts of his chest and listened carefully. Then the nurse placed a thermometer in Harry’s mouth.

‘His temperature is well down, doctor,’ said the nurse after she had checked the vein of mercury.

‘Excellent. You might try giving him some thin soup.’

‘Yes, of course. Will you need my help with any of the passengers?’

‘No, thank you, nurse, your most important job is to make sure this one survives. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’

Once the door had closed, the nurse returned to Harry’s bedside. She sat down and smiled. ‘Can you see me?’ she asked. Harry nodded. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Tom Bradshaw,’ he replied.

55

‘TOM,’ SAID DR WALLACE once he’d completed his examination of Harry, ‘I wonder if you can tell me the name of your fellow officer who died last night. I’d like to write to his mother, or his wife if he had one.’

‘His name was Harry Clifton,’ said Harry, his voice barely audible. ‘He wasn’t married, but I know his mother quite well. I’d planned to write to her myself.’

‘That’s good of you,’ said Wallace, ‘but I’d still like to send her a letter. Do you have her address?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Harry. ‘But it might be kinder if she heard from me first, and not from a complete stranger,’ he suggested.

‘If you think so,’ said Wallace, not sounding at all sure.

‘Yes, I do,’ said Harry, a little more firmly this time. ‘You can always post my letter when the Kansas Star returns to Bristol. That’s assuming the captain is still planning to sail back to England, now we’re at war with Germany.’

‘We are not at war with Germany,’ said Wallace.

‘No, of course we’re not,’ said Harry, quickly correcting himself. ‘And let’s hope it never comes to that.’

‘Agreed,’ said Wallace, ‘but that won’t stop the Kansas Star making the return journey. There are still hundreds of Americans stranded in England, with no other way of getting home.’

‘Isn’t that a bit of a risk?’ asked Harry. ‘Especially considering what we’ve just been through.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Wallace. ‘The last thing the Germans will want to do is sink an American passenger ship, which would be sure to drag us into the conflict. I suggest you get some sleep, Tom, because I’m hoping that tomorrow the nurse will be able to take you for a turn around the deck. Only one lap to begin with,’ he emphasized.

Harry closed his eyes but made no attempt to sleep as he began to think about the decision he’d made, and how many lives it would affect. By taking Tom Bradshaw’s identity, he had allowed himself a little breathing space to consider his future. Once they learnt that Harry Clifton had been killed at sea, Sir Walter and the rest of the Barrington family would be released from any obligations they might have felt bound by, and Emma would be free to begin a new life. A decision he felt Old Jack would have approved of, although the full implications hadn’t yet sunk in.

However, the resurrection of Tom Bradshaw would undoubtedly create its own problems, and he would have to remain constantly on his guard. It didn’t help that he knew almost nothing about Bradshaw, so that whenever Nurse Craven asked him about his past, he either had to make something up or change the subject.

Bradshaw had proved very adept at deflecting any questions he didn’t wish to answer, and had clearly been a loner. He hadn’t set foot in his own country for at least three years, possibly more, so his family would have no way of knowing of his imminent return. As soon as the Kansas Star arrived in New York, Harry planned to sail back to England on the first available ship.

His greatest dilemma was how to prevent his mother from being put through any unnecessary suffering by thinking she’d lost her only son. Dr Wallace had gone some way to solving that particular problem when he promised to post a letter to Maisie the moment he arrived back in England. But Harry still had to write that letter.

He had spent hours going over the text in his mind, so that by the time he’d recovered enough to commit his thoughts to paper, he almost knew the script by heart.

New York,

September 8th, 1939

My dearest mother,

I have done everything in my power to make sure you receive this letter before anyone can tell you I was killed at sea.

As the date on this letter shows, I did not die when the Devonian was sunk on September 4th. In fact, I was plucked out of the sea by an American ship and am very much alive. However, an opportunity arose for me to assume another man’s identity, and I did so, in the hope it would release both you and the Barrington family from the many problems I seem to have unwittingly caused over the years.

It is important that you realize my love for Emma has in no way diminished; far from it. But I do not feel I have the right to expect her to spend the rest of her life clinging on to the vain hope that at some time in the future I might be able to prove that Arthur Clifton and not Hugo Barrington was my father. This way, she can at least consider a future with someone else. I envy that man.

I plan to return to England in the near future. Should you receive any communication from a Tom Bradshaw, it will be from me.

I will be in touch with you the moment I set foot in England, but in the meantime, I must beg you to keep my secret as steadfastly as you kept your own for so many years.

Your loving son,

Harry

He read the letter several times before placing it in an envelope marked ‘Strictly private and confidential’. He addressed it to Mrs Arthur Clifton, 27 Still House Lane, Bristol.

The following morning, he handed the letter over to Dr Wallace.

‘Do you think you’re ready to try a short walk around the deck?’ asked Kristin.

‘Sure am,’ Harry replied, trying out one of the expressions he’d heard her boyfriend use, although he still found it unnatural to add the word ‘honey’.

During those long hours he’d spent in bed, Harry had listened carefully to Dr Wallace, and whenever he was alone, he tried to imitate his accent, which he’d heard Kristin describe to Richard as east coast. Harry was thankful for the hours he’d spent with Dr Paget learning voice skills that he’d assumed would only be of use on stage. He was on stage. However, he still had the problem of how to deal with Kristin’s innocent curiosity about his family background and upbringing.

He was assisted by a novel by Horatio Alger and another by Thornton Wilder, the only two books that had been left behind in the sick bay. From these he was able to conjure up a fictional family who hailed from Bridgeport, Connecticut. They consisted of a father who was a small-town bank manager with Connecticut Trust and Savings, a mother who was a dutiful home-maker and had once come second in the town’s annual beauty pageant, and an older sister, Sally, who was happily married to Jake, who ran the local hardware store. He smiled to himself when he recalled Dr Paget’s remark that, with his imagination, he was more likely to end up a writer than an actor.

Harry placed his feet tentatively on the floor and, with Kristin’s help, pulled himself slowly up. Once he’d put on a dressing gown, he took her by the arm and made his way unsteadily towards the door, up a flight of steps and out on to the deck.

‘How long is it since you’ve been home?’ asked Kristin as they began their slow progress around the deck.

Harry always tried to stick to the little he actually knew about Bradshaw, adding a few snippets from the life of his fictitious family. ‘Just over three years,’ he said. ‘My family never complain, because they knew I wanted to go to sea from an early age.’

‘But how did you come to be serving on a British ship?’

Damn good question, thought Harry. He only wished he knew the answer. He stumbled, to give himself a little more time to come up with a convincing reply. Kristin bent down to assist him.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, once he’d taken Kristin’s arm again. Then he began to sneeze repeatedly.

‘Perhaps it’s time to take you back to the ward,’ suggested Kristin. ‘We can’t afford to have you catching a cold. We can always try again tomorrow.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Harry, relieved she didn’t ask any more questions.

After she’d tucked him up like a mother putting a young child to bed, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Harry managed eleven laps of the deck the day before the Kansas Star sailed into New York Harbour. Although he couldn’t admit it to anyone, he was quite excited about the prospect of seeing America for the first time.

‘Will you be going straight back to Bridgeport once we’ve docked?’ asked Kristin during his final lap. ‘Or are you planning to stay in New York?’

‘Haven’t given it a lot of thought,’ said Harry, who had in fact given it a great deal of thought. ‘I suppose it will depend on what time we dock,’ he added, as he tried to anticipate her next question.

‘It’s just that, if you’d like to spend the night at Richard’s apartment on the East-side, that would be swell.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to put him to any trouble.’

Kristin laughed. ‘You know, Tom, there are times when you sound more like an Englishman than an American.’

‘I guess after all those years serving on British ships you’re bound to eventually get corrupted by the limeys.’

‘Is that also the reason you felt unable to share your problem with us?’ Harry came to a sudden halt: a stumble or a sneeze wasn’t going to rescue him this time. ‘If you’d been just a little more frank in the first place, we’d have been happy to sort out the problem. But, given the circumstances, we had no choice but to inform Captain Parker and leave him to decide what should be done.’

Harry collapsed into the nearest deckchair, but as Kristin made no attempt to come to his rescue, he knew he was beaten. ‘It’s far more complicated than you realize,’ he began. ‘But I can explain why I didn’t want to involve anyone else.’

‘No need to,’ said Kristin. ‘The captain’s already come to our rescue. But he did want to ask how you intended to deal with the bigger problem.’

Harry bowed his head. ‘I’m willing to answer any questions the captain might have,’ he said, feeling almost a sense of relief that he’d been found out.

‘Like the rest of us, he wanted to know how you’re going to get off the ship when you don’t have any clothes, or a dime to your name?’

Harry smiled. ‘I figured New Yorkers might consider a Kansas Star dressing gown to be pretty nifty.’

‘Frankly, not too many New Yorkers would notice even if you did walk down Fifth Avenue in a robe,’ said Kristin. ‘And the ones that did would probably think it was the latest fashion. But just in case they don’t, Richard’s come up with a couple of white shirts and a sports jacket. Pity he’s so much taller than you, otherwise he’d have been able to supply a pair of pants as well. Dr Wallace can spare a pair of brown wingtips, a pair of socks and a tie. That still leaves us with the problem of the pants, but the captain has a pair of Bermuda shorts that no longer fit him.’ Harry burst out laughing. ‘We hope you won’t be offended, Tom, but we also held a little collection among the crew,’ she added, passing him a thick envelope. ‘I think you’ll find there’s more than enough to get you to Connecticut.’

‘How do I begin to thank you?’ said Harry.

‘No need to, Tom. We’re all so pleased you survived. I only wish we could have saved your friend Harry Clifton as well. Still, you’ll be glad to hear that Captain Parker has instructed Dr Wallace to deliver your letter to his mother personally.’

56

HARRY WAS AMONG the first on deck that morning, some two hours before the Kansas Star was due to sail into New York Harbour. It was another forty minutes before the sun joined him, by which time he’d worked out exactly how he was going to spend his first day in America.

He had already said farewell to Dr Wallace, after trying, inadequately, to thank him for all he’d done. Wallace assured him that he would post his letter to Mrs Clifton just as soon as he arrived in Bristol, and had reluctantly accepted that it might not be wise to visit her, after Harry had hinted that she was of a nervous disposition.

Harry was touched when Captain Parker called into the sick bay to deliver a pair of Bermuda shorts and wish him luck. After he had returned to the bridge, Kristin said firmly, ‘It’s time for you to go to bed, Tom. You’ll need all your strength if you’re going to travel to Connecticut tomorrow.’ Tom Bradshaw would have liked to spend a day or two with Richard and Kristin in Manhattan, but Harry Clifton couldn’t afford to waste any time now that Britain had declared war on Germany.

‘When you wake up in the morning,’ continued Kristin, ‘try to get up on to the passenger deck before first light, then you can watch the sun rising as we sail into New York. I know you’ll have seen it many times before, Tom, but it never fails to excite me.’

‘Me too,’ said Harry.

‘And once we’ve docked,’ continued Kristin, ‘why don’t you wait for Richard and me to come off duty and then we can disembark together?’

Dressed in Richard’s sports jacket and shirt, a little too large, the captain’s Bermuda shorts, a little too long, and the doctor’s shoes and socks, a little too tight, Harry couldn’t wait to go ashore.

The ship’s purser had telegraphed ahead to advise the New York Immigration Department that they had an extra passenger on board, an American citizen called Tom Bradshaw. The NYID had telegraphed back to say that Mr Bradshaw should make himself known to one of the immigration officials and they would take it from there.

Once Richard had dropped him off at Grand Central, Harry planned to hang around in the station for a little while before heading back to the docks, where he intended to report straight to the union office and find out which ships were due to sail for England. It didn’t matter which port they were heading for, as long as it wasn’t Bristol.

Once he had identified a suitable vessel, he would sign up for any job on offer. He didn’t care if he worked on the bridge or in the boiler room, scrubbed the decks or peeled potatoes, just as long as he got back to England. If there turned out to be no jobs available, he would book the cheapest passage home. He’d already checked the contents of the bulky white envelope Kristin had given him and there was more than enough to pay for a berth that couldn’t be smaller than the broom cupboard he’d slept in on the Devonian.

It saddened Harry that when he returned to England he wouldn’t be able to contact any of his old friends, and he’d have to be cautious even when he got in touch with his mother. But the moment he stepped ashore, his only purpose would be to join one of His Majesty’s war ships and enlist in the fight against the King’s enemies, even though he knew that whenever that ship returned to port he would have to remain on board, like a criminal on the run.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a lady. He gazed in admiration when he first saw the Statue of Liberty looming up in front of him through the early-morning mist. He had seen photographs of the iconic landmark but they had not given a true sense of her size as she towered above the Kansas Star, welcoming visitors, immigrants and her fellow countrymen to the United States.

As the ship continued on its way towards the harbour, Harry leant over the railings and looked towards Manhattan, disappointed that the skyscrapers didn’t appear to be any taller than some of the buildings he remembered in Bristol. But then, as each minute passed, they grew and grew until they appeared to soar up into the heavens and he had to shade his eyes from the sun as he stared up at them.

A New York Port Authority tug boat came out to join them and guided the Kansas Star safely to its berth on number seven dock. When Harry saw the cheering crowds, he began to feel apprehensive for the first time, even though the young man who was sailing into New York that morning was far older than the fourth officer who’d left Bristol only three weeks earlier.

‘Smile, Tom.’

Harry turned to see Richard looking down into a Kodak Brownie Box camera. He was peering at an upside-down image of Tom, with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop.

‘You’ll be one passenger I sure won’t forget in a hurry,’ said Kristin, as she walked across to join him so that Richard could take a second photograph of them together. She had exchanged her nurse’s uniform for a smart polka-dot dress, white belt and white shoes.

‘Nor me you,’ said Harry, hoping that neither of them could sense how nervous he was.

‘Time for us to go ashore,’ said Richard, closing the shutter of his camera.

The three of them took the wide staircase down to the lower deck, where several passengers were already streaming off the ship to be reunited with relieved relatives and anxious friends. As they made their way down the gangway, Harry’s spirits were lifted by how many of the ship’s passengers and crew wanted to shake him by the hand and wish him luck.

Once they’d stepped on to the dockside, Harry, Richard and Kristin headed towards immigration, where they joined one of four long queues. Harry’s eyes darted about in every direction, and he wanted to ask so many questions, but any one of them would have revealed that this was the first time he’d set foot in America.

The first thing that struck him was the patchwork quilt of different colours that made up the American people. He’d only ever seen one black man in Bristol, and remembered stopping to stare at him. Old Jack had told him it was both rude and inconsiderate, adding, ‘How would you feel if everyone stopped to stare at you just because you were white?’ But it was the noise, the bustle and the sheer pace of everything around him that most caught Harry’s imagination and made Bristol seem as if it were languishing in a bygone age.

He was already beginning to wish that he’d accepted Richard’s offer to stay with him overnight and perhaps spend a few days in a city he was finding so exciting even before he’d left the dockside.

‘Why don’t I go through first?’ said Richard, as they reached the head of the queue. ‘Then I can pick up my car and meet you both outside the terminal.’

‘Good idea,’ said Kristin.

‘Next!’ shouted an immigration officer.

Richard walked up to the desk and handed over his passport to the official, who glanced briefly at the photo before stamping it. ‘Welcome home, Lieutenant Tibbet.’

‘Next!’

Harry stepped forward, uncomfortably aware that he had no passport, no identification and someone else’s name.

‘My name’s Tom Bradshaw,’ he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘I think the purser of the SS Kansas Star telegraphed ahead to warn that I would be coming ashore.’

The immigration officer looked closely at Harry, then picked up a sheet of paper and began to study a long list of names. Finally he put a tick by one before turning round and nodding. For the first time, Harry noticed two men standing on the other side of the barrier, wearing identical grey suits and grey hats. One of them gave him a smile.

The immigration officer stamped a piece of paper and handed it to Harry. ‘Welcome back, Mr Bradshaw. It’s been a long time.’

‘Sure has,’ said Harry.

‘Next!’

‘I’ll wait for you,’ said Harry as Kristin made her way to the desk.

‘I’ll only be a moment,’ she promised.

Harry passed through the barrier and entered the United States of America for the first time.

The two men in grey suits stepped forward. One of them said, ‘Good morning, sir. Are you Mr Thomas Bradshaw?’

‘That’s me,’ said Harry.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the other man grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back, while the first man handcuffed him. It all happened so quickly that Harry didn’t even have time to protest.

He remained outwardly calm, as he had already considered the possibility that someone might work out that he wasn’t Tom Bradshaw, but in fact an Englishman called Harry Clifton. Even so, he had assumed that the worst they could do was serve him with a deportation order and have him shipped back to Britain. And as that was exactly what he’d planned to do anyway, he didn’t put up a fight.

Harry spotted two cars waiting by the sidewalk. The first was a black police car, with its back door being held open by another unsmiling man in a grey suit. The second was a red sports car, with Richard sitting on the bonnet, smiling.

The moment Richard saw that Tom had been handcuffed and was being led away, he leapt up and began to run towards him. At the same time, one of the police officers began to read Mr Bradshaw his rights, while the other continued to grip Harry firmly by the elbow. ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.’

A moment later Richard was striding by their sides. He glared at the officers and said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you,’ continued the first policeman, while the other ignored him.

Richard was clearly amazed by how relaxed Tom appeared, almost as if he wasn’t surprised to have been arrested. But he was still determined to do anything he could to assist his friend. He leapt forward and blocked the officers’ path and said firmly, ‘What are you charging Mr Bradshaw with, officer?’

The senior detective came to a halt, looked Richard in the eye, and said, ‘First degree murder.’