Deep Water by Tim Jeal

go near those ships again.’
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘Promise to them, Justin, not me.’
    ‘Okay, Mrs Pauling.’
    ‘Okay, Andrea .’
    Her spirits plunged as she became aware of the great effort Justin was making to seem unafraid. She said gently, ‘You don’t have to pretend to be so gutsy, you know.’
    He seemed puzzled. ‘You think I should make out I’m scared when they ask their questions?’
    ‘Showing respect will do fine. What I meant was you can share your feelings with me if it helps you.’
    Justin did not reply but gazed intently into the woods on his side of the car. Suddenly he cried, ‘Stop here. Now!’
    Andrea did as commanded and watched in astonishment as he disappeared between the trees. Just as she was beginning to think he had run away, he reappeared, pushing the bicycle she had lent him. Together they slid its muddy wheels into the car’s trunk. As he sat beside her again, she was dismayed to see tears spilling down his cheeks.
    ‘Hey, don’t do that,’ she soothed. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’ He pointed to his grey trousers where the bicycle’s chain had left an oily mark. His earlier calmness made this sudden breakdown over a minormisfortune seem more shocking to her. Of course today of all days he would have wanted to look his best, and now he couldn’t. She gave him a handkerchief from her bag and he dabbed at his eyes before handing it back. ‘No, keep it,’ she insisted, ‘for luck.’
    He surprised her with a wobbly smile. ‘Thanks,’ and after a brief pause, ‘Andrea.’
    The Polwherne Hotel already looked a little down at heel, with the paint peeling from the drainpipes and window-frames and grass growing on the tennis courts. When Andrea had given her name to the sentry at the gate, he picked up a primitive looking telephone and rang through to the house.
    Permission granted, they drove in, parked beside some Nissen huts and then walked round to the front. On a tall flagstaff with a crosstrees, a white ensign was flapping loudly, casting a moving shadow on the lawn beside the river. A long way out on the shimmering water – or so it seemed to Andrea – were some grey ships and a couple of others painted in patches of greys, browns and blues.
    ‘Did you swim to one of those?’ gasped Andrea.
    ‘To that one.’ He indicated a small ship, further away than the rest.
    ‘That’s amazing, Justin,’ she murmured, meaning it.
    ‘Thanks.’ To her relief he grinned at her but almost immediately his face resumed its strained expression.
    It was a sunny morning and seagulls were wheeling and screeching overhead, their breast feathers looking improbably white. A naval motor boat, mannedby two Wrens in bell-bottom trousers, tied up at a small pontoon and landed a red-faced officer. Let’s hope he won’t be seeing us, she thought, on entering the house.
    Although painted signs bore witness to the house’s former use – Reception, Tudor Bar, Reynolds Room, whatever that might have been – all vestiges of comfort had gone with the long vanished carpets and furniture. To protect the panelling, whole walls had been covered in brown hardboard, an ideal surface for the notices which proliferated.
    ‘Ugh! Just like school,’ muttered Justin.
    A sailor wearing white gaiters and a matching belt ushered them along a corridor to a room facing the front lawn. A photograph of the King in naval uniform hung on an otherwise empty wall behind a table. A blackboard, with rows of chairs facing it, reinforced Justin’s earlier comparison.
    The sailor said briskly, ‘Wait here, please,’ and went out.
    As Andrea sat down she wished she had worn a different suit. Her cream-coloured wool which she had chosen for its youthfulness now seemed too young with its knee-length skirt and short jacket. She placed her handbag over her knees, thinking, as she did, that she would have been less likely to be patronised if she had worn a more matronly outfit. The man who had brought Justin home had said