miles ahead. He went to the AC radar, selected the twelve-mile range, and read off the ranges and bearings of the ships in sight. Though there was no risk of collision, he placed relative motion markers on the echoes of the two ships coming up the coast. He did this because he enjoyed using the technique and it helped pass the time. He left the radar and went out to the port wing. Shortly afterwards Gomez came out to tell him the Captain was in the wheelhouse.
Coming back from the starlit sky to the dark of the wheel-house, he saw nothing at first but the subdued light of neon dials and displays along the console. Soon he made out the dim shape of the Captain standing at the radar sets. He joined him. ‘Good morning, sir.’
There was a longish pause before the Captain answered. ‘Much traffic about, Mr Foley?’
One of the Old Man’s ploys, thought Foley. He’s looked at thedisplays and wants to see if I know what’s going on. ‘Three ships to port, sir. Bound down the coast. Two astern, overtaking but well clear. One fine on the bow which overtook in the first watch. There are two ships northbound, both out on the starboard bow and well inshore.’ Anxious to show that he had the situation under control he added, ‘I put relative motion markers on them. I’ll check again.’ He bent over the hood of the AC radar and checked the display. The echoes had as he’d expected moved away from the collision courses indicated by the markers. ‘They’re on parallel courses, sir. They’ll pass several miles inshore of us.’
Captain Crutchley said, ‘Good.’ He moved along the console until he reached the midships gyro-repeater. Foley checked the time – 0053. The Captain usually stayed for twenty minutes. It was his custom to do this before going to sleep. As a rule he came up between half past twelve and one o’clock. Foley’s thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a telephone on the console where a light glowed red. He lifted the handset. ‘Two-Oh here.’
A hoarse voice he did not recognize answered. ‘Your wife needs you urgently in your cabin, sir.’ Before he could ask any questions he heard the click of the caller’s phone being put down. He wondered what on earth could have happened. She wouldn’t have sent for him unless it was really important. But why hadn’t she phoned herself? God, he thought, she must have had an accident. He turned in the darkness towards the Captain. ‘That was my wife, sir. There’s been some trouble. She wants me urgently. I think she may have had an accident.’
‘Then go to her at once, Mr Foley. I’ll look after the bridge with Gomez. I trust it is nothing serious.’
‘Thank you, sir. I won’t be long.’
Foley raced through the chartroom, down the stairs to Deck One and along the passageway to the door of his cabin. Stuck to it with sellotape was a crudely pencilled note: Your wife is in the chief officer’s cabin.
Chapter 11
Foley was sure the unidentified voice on the bridge phone and the writer of the note were the same person. Who he was and his motive, he could not imagine. Perhaps a hoax aimed at hurting him and Sandy? Foley knew that Jarrett’s weakness for her was no secret. Was that it? An attempt to make trouble? To show her up? These jumbled thoughts were in his mind as he tore off the scrap of paper, stuck it in his pocket and opened the door.
The lights were on but she was not in the dayroom. He went through to the bedroom. That, too, was empty. Next he tried the bathroom, but drew a blank there. The wrap she’d been wearing when he left was on the bed together with a small hand towel. The sheets had not been turned back, the bed had not been slept in, and the room reeked of Madame Rochas.
By now he knew that the phone call and the note on the door were no hoax. His anxiety changed abruptly to suspicion and anger. So she was with the chief officer.
He went down the passageway to Jarrett’s office, opened the door and went in as quietly
Coming back from the starlit sky to the dark of the wheel-house, he saw nothing at first but the subdued light of neon dials and displays along the console. Soon he made out the dim shape of the Captain standing at the radar sets. He joined him. ‘Good morning, sir.’
There was a longish pause before the Captain answered. ‘Much traffic about, Mr Foley?’
One of the Old Man’s ploys, thought Foley. He’s looked at thedisplays and wants to see if I know what’s going on. ‘Three ships to port, sir. Bound down the coast. Two astern, overtaking but well clear. One fine on the bow which overtook in the first watch. There are two ships northbound, both out on the starboard bow and well inshore.’ Anxious to show that he had the situation under control he added, ‘I put relative motion markers on them. I’ll check again.’ He bent over the hood of the AC radar and checked the display. The echoes had as he’d expected moved away from the collision courses indicated by the markers. ‘They’re on parallel courses, sir. They’ll pass several miles inshore of us.’
Captain Crutchley said, ‘Good.’ He moved along the console until he reached the midships gyro-repeater. Foley checked the time – 0053. The Captain usually stayed for twenty minutes. It was his custom to do this before going to sleep. As a rule he came up between half past twelve and one o’clock. Foley’s thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a telephone on the console where a light glowed red. He lifted the handset. ‘Two-Oh here.’
A hoarse voice he did not recognize answered. ‘Your wife needs you urgently in your cabin, sir.’ Before he could ask any questions he heard the click of the caller’s phone being put down. He wondered what on earth could have happened. She wouldn’t have sent for him unless it was really important. But why hadn’t she phoned herself? God, he thought, she must have had an accident. He turned in the darkness towards the Captain. ‘That was my wife, sir. There’s been some trouble. She wants me urgently. I think she may have had an accident.’
‘Then go to her at once, Mr Foley. I’ll look after the bridge with Gomez. I trust it is nothing serious.’
‘Thank you, sir. I won’t be long.’
Foley raced through the chartroom, down the stairs to Deck One and along the passageway to the door of his cabin. Stuck to it with sellotape was a crudely pencilled note: Your wife is in the chief officer’s cabin.
Chapter 11
Foley was sure the unidentified voice on the bridge phone and the writer of the note were the same person. Who he was and his motive, he could not imagine. Perhaps a hoax aimed at hurting him and Sandy? Foley knew that Jarrett’s weakness for her was no secret. Was that it? An attempt to make trouble? To show her up? These jumbled thoughts were in his mind as he tore off the scrap of paper, stuck it in his pocket and opened the door.
The lights were on but she was not in the dayroom. He went through to the bedroom. That, too, was empty. Next he tried the bathroom, but drew a blank there. The wrap she’d been wearing when he left was on the bed together with a small hand towel. The sheets had not been turned back, the bed had not been slept in, and the room reeked of Madame Rochas.
By now he knew that the phone call and the note on the door were no hoax. His anxiety changed abruptly to suspicion and anger. So she was with the chief officer.
He went down the passageway to Jarrett’s office, opened the door and went in as quietly
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