service is in a coffin or a bathchair.’
‘See, Hart,’ said Thesiger, gesturing towards the officer who had spoken, ‘even my military secretary, Major Crealock, agrees with me on this point, and that doesn’t happen often.’
George ignored Crealock’s put-down. ‘As I said before, General, it was out of my hands.’
‘So you say. I wish you luck with your ventures in Africa, whatever they may be. We soldiers have the small matter of a war to attend to.’
Before George could respond, the gong was rung for dinner.
The meal passed slowly for George, stuck as he was between a judge’s humourless wife and a Natal trader called Laband who was convinced that the solution to South Africa’s woes was to extend white rule throughout the region. ‘Mark my words,’ he said for the umpteenth time, ‘a confederation of white colonies is the only way.’
George was too distracted by the news of Thompson’s death, and the subsequent manhunt, to do anything more than nod vaguely in agreement. He was desperate to talk to Lucy, but felt he had to wait at least until the pudding course had been served before he could make his excuses. Then he hurried down the steel staircase to the deck that held the second-class cabins and, having checked he was not being observed, knocked on Lucy’s door.
‘Who is it?’
‘George.’
The door opened to reveal Lucy in a nightdress, her curly chestnut hair loose on her shoulders. ‘Thank God you’ve come. I can’t get the memory of that poor wounded man out of my head.’
George raised a finger to his lips and shooed her back into the cabin. ‘I know how you feel. But you must be careful what you say because that poor wounded man is now dead.’
‘How can you be sure?’
George repeated what Captain Wilson had told him. ‘Luckily it was still dark,’ he added, ‘so they don’t know what we look like.’
‘But they know we’re a couple and that we made for the docks,’ said a wide-eyed Lucy. ‘Thank God you gave me money to buy my own ticket. If we’d gone in to the ticket office together we’d certainly have been caught.’
‘Yes, so from now on we must avoid each other’s company as much as possible. They’re looking for a couple. We must make it seem like we’ve never met.’
‘I’m scared, George,’ said Lucy, ‘I don’t want to be alone.’
George noticed her dilated pupils. Of course, he thought, she’s also in shock: first the attempted rape, then the shooting. It would take time for both of them to recover, but now was not the moment to take risks. ‘I’d like to stay but I can’t,’ he said tenderly. ‘Imagine if I was seen leaving your cabin in the morning. I’ll call again as soon as it’s safe to do so.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Soon.’
Back in his own cabin, George spent a fitful night regretting his caution. He lay awake for hours, tormented by images of the dying man gasping like a fish on a block; and when he finally did get to sleep he dreamt of Lucy, her body naked, her hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her.
George woke with a start. It was 6.30 a.m. and time to check on Emperor. On his way down to the horsedeck, he heard raised voices. He entered an open hatchway to investigate and found himself in a dark, cavernous room, festooned with hammocks and packs. The room was deserted but for three men to the left of the hatchway. Two of them had their backs to George and were pinning the other man up against the bulkhead, their spare hands raised in fists. Their victim, fair- haired and a good six inches taller than either, looked strangely unconcerned.
‘What’s going on here?’ said George in his best parade- ground voice.
The shorter of the aggressors glanced round, decided George was not an officer, and replied, ‘It’s not your concern, so bugger off.’
George’s anger flared. ‘Well, I’m about to make it my concern. Now let him go or I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’
‘See, Hart,’ said Thesiger, gesturing towards the officer who had spoken, ‘even my military secretary, Major Crealock, agrees with me on this point, and that doesn’t happen often.’
George ignored Crealock’s put-down. ‘As I said before, General, it was out of my hands.’
‘So you say. I wish you luck with your ventures in Africa, whatever they may be. We soldiers have the small matter of a war to attend to.’
Before George could respond, the gong was rung for dinner.
The meal passed slowly for George, stuck as he was between a judge’s humourless wife and a Natal trader called Laband who was convinced that the solution to South Africa’s woes was to extend white rule throughout the region. ‘Mark my words,’ he said for the umpteenth time, ‘a confederation of white colonies is the only way.’
George was too distracted by the news of Thompson’s death, and the subsequent manhunt, to do anything more than nod vaguely in agreement. He was desperate to talk to Lucy, but felt he had to wait at least until the pudding course had been served before he could make his excuses. Then he hurried down the steel staircase to the deck that held the second-class cabins and, having checked he was not being observed, knocked on Lucy’s door.
‘Who is it?’
‘George.’
The door opened to reveal Lucy in a nightdress, her curly chestnut hair loose on her shoulders. ‘Thank God you’ve come. I can’t get the memory of that poor wounded man out of my head.’
George raised a finger to his lips and shooed her back into the cabin. ‘I know how you feel. But you must be careful what you say because that poor wounded man is now dead.’
‘How can you be sure?’
George repeated what Captain Wilson had told him. ‘Luckily it was still dark,’ he added, ‘so they don’t know what we look like.’
‘But they know we’re a couple and that we made for the docks,’ said a wide-eyed Lucy. ‘Thank God you gave me money to buy my own ticket. If we’d gone in to the ticket office together we’d certainly have been caught.’
‘Yes, so from now on we must avoid each other’s company as much as possible. They’re looking for a couple. We must make it seem like we’ve never met.’
‘I’m scared, George,’ said Lucy, ‘I don’t want to be alone.’
George noticed her dilated pupils. Of course, he thought, she’s also in shock: first the attempted rape, then the shooting. It would take time for both of them to recover, but now was not the moment to take risks. ‘I’d like to stay but I can’t,’ he said tenderly. ‘Imagine if I was seen leaving your cabin in the morning. I’ll call again as soon as it’s safe to do so.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Soon.’
Back in his own cabin, George spent a fitful night regretting his caution. He lay awake for hours, tormented by images of the dying man gasping like a fish on a block; and when he finally did get to sleep he dreamt of Lucy, her body naked, her hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her.
George woke with a start. It was 6.30 a.m. and time to check on Emperor. On his way down to the horsedeck, he heard raised voices. He entered an open hatchway to investigate and found himself in a dark, cavernous room, festooned with hammocks and packs. The room was deserted but for three men to the left of the hatchway. Two of them had their backs to George and were pinning the other man up against the bulkhead, their spare hands raised in fists. Their victim, fair- haired and a good six inches taller than either, looked strangely unconcerned.
‘What’s going on here?’ said George in his best parade- ground voice.
The shorter of the aggressors glanced round, decided George was not an officer, and replied, ‘It’s not your concern, so bugger off.’
George’s anger flared. ‘Well, I’m about to make it my concern. Now let him go or I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’
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