Not Thinking of Death Read online

  ‘And I’ve only been here a fortnight.’

  ‘Ah – you’ve met.’ Dymock, beside them. Looking smart in a suit of light-grey flannel. ‘No introduction needed, eh?’ Buchanan had turned away to beckon the maid with her tray; Chalk nodded to Dymock. ‘Evening, Toby.’

  ‘Made sense of my map, anyway. Brilliant cartography, of course.’ He drifted on. Buchanan offered, ‘Champagne? Sherry? Scotch? Dry Martini? Or something more esoteric?’

  ‘Scotch, please. With water.’ Glancing round: he’d already concluded that about seventy percent of the male guests might be town councillors or bank managers, plus a sprinkling of Elders of the Kirk. Some ferocious-looking women, mostly in small packs.

  ‘Are we treating you well at Barlows’?’

  He nodded downward at his host. ‘So far, very well.’ Buchanan was of slightly less than average height, somewhat overweight for it and probably in his middle forties. Apart from his weight he obviously took good care of himself: expensive barbering, soft hands doubtless manicured, very white teeth in a face that was lightly tanned. From the neck up, in fact, the image of the hero on a romantic novel’s dustcover, Chalk thought: not all that unDymock-like… He told him, ‘As it happens there was one rather knotty-looking problem last week, I mentioned it to the Ship Manager only on Friday and by first thing on Monday I was told steps had been taken to put it right. That’s not bad going.’

  ‘Good. Good… They tell me your captain’s arriving in a few days’ time, but if you or he ever have any less easily solved problems and it’s anything I can help with—’

  ‘You’re not talking shop, are you?’

  A salver with a tumbler of whisky on it was being proffered from the left, and this was obviously his hostess on the right. And she was – using Dymock’s description of her – a stunner. Almost literally stunning – so suddenly and at such close range, in a waft of musky scent. Small, shapely: and quite a bit younger than her husband. Chalk told her – taking the whisky without looking at it – ‘Definitely not, Mrs Buchanan. Not a word of shop.’

  ‘Amazing. Andrew does tend to drone on about ships and things.’

  ‘Well, that’s true.’ Buchanan nodded to her. ‘But I don’t to you, sweetheart, you’ll admit that much.’ He told Chalk, ‘I honestly don’t think she knows how I make our living… Have a chat later, shall we?’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  He left them, one hand held up in farewell and his wife murmuring, ‘Bye, darling…’ Then: ‘They have given you a drink, have they?’ He showed it to her, and noticed as she glanced down at it how thick and long her eyelashes were. Eyes – as she looked up, smiling – rather narrow, greenish – perhaps hazel – in a pale face with prominent cheekbones and a wide, brightly painted mouth. ‘I’d better warn you, I already know a lot about you. For instance, that your first name is Rufus, that you are twenty-seven years old and engaged to be married to a girl who flies aeroplanes, and that you and Toby have been friends since God was in nappies. One question he’s never answered though, not at any rate to my satisfaction – so perhaps you’ll try – is what kind of lunacy is it that induces otherwise apparently normal men to go in for submarines?’

  ‘You did say apparently normal.’

  ‘Is the answer that you’re all peculiar, then?’

  ‘We may be. Wouldn’t know it, would we?’ He sipped his drink. ‘But – no kind of lunacy, as I see it. We – enjoy it, derive a great deal of satisfaction from it. Perhaps largely because we believe it’s important for the Navy’s future. But as I’m forbidden to talk shop I won’t pursue that any further.’ He put a hand to her elbow, as someone tried to squeeze behind her. ‘Unless you want me to, Mrs Buchanan?’

  ‘Definitely not. But shall we cut the formalities down to their very roots?’ The greenish eyes held his as she pointed at herself. ‘Me Zoe, you Rufus?’

  ‘Fine – Zoe…’ He thought he’d managed not to show his surprise: but first names, after only about three minutes’ conversation, was – well, somewhat avant garde… He told her – with an instinct to match it, not to seem staid or disapproving – ‘I must say, I like that name.’

  ‘Rufus is rather fun, too.’ She’d stopped the maid, who’d been passing with a silver shaker, and was having her glass refilled. It was on the large side, for a Martini glass. She sipped at it, and grimaced. ‘Disgusting. Really – foul. But it seems to like me… Now where were we… Oh, I know – I was about to ask you where you come from, and do you have family still there, a Mummy and a Daddy?’

  ‘“Mummy” is in a nursing home – permanently – and “Daddy” was killed in the war.’

  ‘Oh, God, that damn war… I’m sorry – Rufus… Stupid of me, should know better than to ask that sort of question – of our own generation. So many… And this one that’s coming is going to be far worse, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘A lot of people say so.’

  ‘We’ll have their bombers over us on the first day, won’t we? Isn’t that what they’re practising for in Spain?’

  ‘Partly. Or so one supposes. But there are two things you can set against that. One, we won’t be their only target, I mean we’ll have allies – like France, Belgium – and the Germans can’t be everywhere at once. And two, by the time it starts we’ll have built a lot more bombers and fighters of our own, please God. Same as we’re building ships. Which I mustn’t mention.’

  ‘Absolutely not. But what about poison gas? What can anyone do about that? I think it’s going to be total bloody hell.’ She drained her glass. ‘We must live for today, Rufus. Enjoy life while we have it. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Well – up to a point, but—’

  ‘Are you always so cautious?’

  ‘On this particular subject—’

  ‘There’s no “up to a point” about it!’ She was slightly plastered, he’d already realized. As well as – all right, sticking to that word – stunningly attractive. Tiny age-lines at the corners of her eyes emphasized it rather than detracted from it, and her figure in the low-cut, skimpy black dress – well, it took a lot of self-control to look anywhere else. He imagined himself glancing up and finding Diana’s coolly critical gaze on him – that way she had of doing it, as if she were reading one’s mind. Which God forbid… Mrs Buchanan – Zoe – was beckoning to a man in striped trousers who’d taken over the maid’s duties: ‘Rufus, do finish that whisky, you’ve been nursing it for ages…’

  * * *

  ‘So – as we were saying – your captain’s arriving this weekend, Chalk.’

  He nodded to Andrew Buchanan. ‘His name’s Ozzard. He’d have been here before me, but he was bringing a submarine home from the China Station and they’ve been delayed in the Med somewhere.’

  ‘In connection with Italian naval activity, by any chance?’

  ‘Could well be.’

  Buchanan was on the ball, all right. It would no doubt be crucial to his business activities, Chalk supposed, to keep himself well informed. Then another question came in from his right, from one of the dark-grey suits. A fair number of these men were shipbuilders, directors of other Clyde yards – not town councillors. The answer he gave to this one’s question gave rise to reminiscences about earlier types of submarine that had been built up here. Thinking how Zoe would have loved to be listening to it, he glanced round – over grey, bald, or balding heads – and saw that Dymock and Jacko Pargeter were with her. The latter had arrived late, with his wife Helen, and Chalk had guessed, seeing a table in the adjoining room set for eight, that they might well be among those staying for supper.

  Buchanan drew him away from the group of men who were now discussing technical details of the old E-class – of which there were none in commission now, fortunately, although they’d played a noble part in the war. In the Dardanelles, for instance, earning VCs for men like Holbrook, Nasmith, Boyle and Saxton White. Buchanan asked him, ‘What are your thoughts – strictly between ourselves – of this
new T-class? Will you be happy to go to war in them?’

  ‘Yes, I will. Or would… Advantages being – well, as you’ll know, they have a stronger pressure-hull than earlier classes – should therefore withstand depthcharging better – and they have a wider range. And theoretically at least we’ll get under faster.’

  ‘You mean dive more quickly?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s a fairly vital aspect of a submarine’s performance.’

  ‘Crash-dive—’

  ‘That’s a popular term for it. I’ve never heard it used among submariners.’

  A shrug. ‘I suppose we laymen pick up our terminology from the newspapers. Or it’s American, perhaps. What else, though?’

  ‘Surfaced speed’s disappointing. They’re trying various types of diesel in different T’s, I know. But I’d say the answer’s much bigger, more powerful ones. Whether that’s a possibility with the current limit on displacement, I don't know.’

  ‘London Treaty terms, you mean.’

  ‘Exactly. I suppose once seconds are ordered out of the ring there could be some changes made. But it ought to be thought out in advance, oughtn’t it? What better diesels might be available, what re-tooling’s needed, and so forth.’

  ‘And other design changes around the installation of heavier machinery, I’d imagine. Not that I’m technically equipped to make any judgement there. Less so than you, obviously. But what you’ve told me’s very interesting. Anything else you can think of, straight off the bat?’

  ‘Well – one comparatively small item. The operating gear for bowcaps. Meaning the front caps on torpedo-tubes, the doors that—’

  ‘I know what bowcaps are.’

  ‘There’s one aspect of the system which I personally dislike. I’m not alone in it, either, not by any means. Trouble is, it’s an Admiralty-approved system, so there’s not much we can do about it.’

  ‘Rather a small point of detail anyway?’

  ‘Yes. But design’s made up of detail, isn’t it. Operational efficiency – and safety – depend on it too.’

  ‘Are you saying this system’s unsafe?’

  ‘It could be if it was used without proper care and training.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that apply to just about every piece of machinery, in a submarine?’

  ‘To an extent, yes. But a lot more so in areas where – well, where there’s potential ingress of water – in large quantities, under pressure…’

  ‘Yes. I can imagine—’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll – come to terms with it. But tell me, have you ever been to sea in a submarine?’

  ‘D’you know, I haven’t.’ Buchanan seemed embarrassed to admit it. ‘I’m new in this particular business. A company – amalgam of companies, actually – I work for them, in fact I’m a junior director – has a major financial interest in Barlows’, and they put me in here about – oh, less than a year ago. I’ve retained other responsibilities, elsewhere, but this is exclusively my domain as far as finances go. Which is the key to the whole thing, of course. And with a war coming – which’ll put submarine construction into high gear very quickly—’ He paused, looking around at his guests and their glasses: then finished ‘– you see why I wanted to pick your brains.’

  ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be. You aren’t the first I’ve asked.’ A shrug. ‘At my end – well, the shipyard business is comparatively simple – and potentially very profitable, with the introduction of new systems aimed at saving time and money.’ He dropped his voice, added after a glance round, ‘Innovations which are not popular with some of these stalwarts here, of course.’

  He paused again, as the woman with the drinks tray approached. ‘A Scotch and water here, please, and one with soda.’ Turning back to Chalk… ‘I’d better be careful what I say, in present company.’

  ‘I dare say.’ Chalk glanced at their immediate neighbours. ‘And changing the subject, if that’s a good thing to do – and re your telling me you’ve never been to sea in a submarine – I was thinking – you may have thought of it already – Trumpeter’ll be going out for her final acceptance trials next month, won’t she? If you want to see how a submarine works, why not include yourself in the Barlows’ team for that?’

  ‘Would they have room for a mere observer?’

  ‘For a Barlows’ director?’

  ‘But – on principle, I’d have thought—’

  ‘There are always a few extra hands on board. I’ll be one of them myself, if I can swing it. A chance to see how one of this new class behaves – well, not to be missed.’ He explained. ‘She’ll be commissioned by then, flying the White Ensign and her own crew handling her, but until her skipper signs for her she’s still technically yours. What’s more, the builders provide lunch for all hands, and by tradition it’s a damn good one.’

  ‘So I’m footing the bill anyway?’

  ‘You are indeed. Spending some of those vast profits…’

  * * *

  He heard, while making his way across the room a few minutes later, a booming and slightly blurred Scots voice intoning, ‘It’s been inevitable I tell ye, since ’34. August ’34 – when the German army took the oath of allegiance to Adolf Hitler. Make no mistake, they pay close heed to such oaths, those square-heads!’

  ‘Why, hello, Rufus!’

  She was still on her feet, anyway. She’d put her glass down on the chimney-piece beside her, he noticed. Giving it a rest: not a bad idea either. He nodded to Pargeter. ‘Evening, sir. Basin dives went well, I gather.’

  ‘Found some small leaks.’

  Dymock put in, ‘None a few bits of chewing-gum wouldn’t fix.’

  His captain added, ‘Got the ballast about right, that’s the main thing.’ After a wary glance at his hostess, he changed the subject. ‘Found your way here all right, Chalk.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Even with this chap’s notion of a map.’

  Pargeter’s sad eyes smiled. Then: ‘If you’d excuse me, Zoe – mustn’t monopolize you, not at this stage of the evening anyway. Better see who Helen’s stuck with, meanwhile.’ He winked at Chalk as he moved away through the throng, jaw jutting.

  Chalk said, ‘I suppose it’s about time I got back to Mrs Blair.’

  ‘Mrs Blair?’

  Dymock informed her, ‘His landlady. A rare beauty. Weighs in at – what is it, Rufus, seventeen stone?’

  ‘Something like that. Heart of gold, though, and a dab hand with the mashed potatoes.’

  ‘Sounds like a treasure. But—’ Zoe poked at him with a scarlet-tipped finger – ‘don’t you dare leave us yet! We’ve hardly spoken, you and I!’

  ‘Don’t you want us out of the way? You’re having a supper party, aren’t you?’

  ‘Have you been snooping, Rufus?’

  ‘Doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes, with that door standing open.’

  ‘It’s going to be sheer purgatory, anyway. Except for the Pargeters. Shop, shop, shop… I really can’t think why I bother… Oh, I was going to ask you, Rufus – do you ever get to London?’

  ‘On occasion.’ He failed to hear whatever Dymock had muttered to her. ‘Not often. Usually only passing through.’ A nod towards Dymock. ‘Not like this character here, for instance.’

  ‘Toby?’ She showed surprise. ‘Toby’s never in London, nowadays.’ Her stare was accusing. ‘If he has a weekend to spare, he rushes up to the bloody Highlands. I think he’s got a girl up there, some wee Highland lassie… You don’t happen to know anything about her, do you, Rufus?’

  ‘Zoe—’ Dymock was shaking his head – ‘you do talk the most awful tripe, at times!’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t blame him. I was in London this last weekend, and bored absolutely to distraction. People tend to let one down, you know. I hate that. But there I was, spitting blood with boredom. Oh, I can see that given that choice – London on spec or a roll or two in the heather – well, obviously… Surely you know something about this secret love of his, Rufus?’

  ‘Zoe
– please—’

  ‘Do tell, Toby. At least, admit it. I’m agog – so’s Rufus, look. Can’t you see your old friend’s agog?’

  ‘I’m sure he is. But—’ He made a show of checking the time. ‘Heavens – must say goodbye… Zoe – thank you very much…’

  He’d put his hand out uncertainly, she’d ignored it, and he’d gone. She reached for her glass. ‘Shame. Upset him, somehow. Do you think it was my allusion to rolling in the heather?’

  Chalk agreed, ‘Might well have been.’

  ‘Anyway—’ she’d drained the glass – ‘so much for him.’ Glancing round, then. ‘What a boring party this is. Aren’t you bored, Rufus?’

  ‘Not really.’ It was the truth, he hadn’t been. He told her sincerely, ‘No. As a matter of fact, not at all.’

  ‘Well.’ The greenish eyes smiled. ‘If you’re telling me what I hope you are—’

  ‘Mrs Buchanan – sorry tae break in.’ The woman had purple hair and a small husband practically in an arm-lock. ‘Only a wee moment, tae thank ye for the grandest party—’

  ‘So glad you could come, Mrs – er—’

  Chalk left her to it. Feeling it definitely was time for him to be on his way too, but seeing Dymock in conversation with Buchanan – so there’d be a hold-up there… Then a man he’d never seen before in his life waved to him, beaming; he nodded, forced a smile. Meanwhile that couple had left, and Zoe was saying with her hand on his arm, ‘It’s much too big for us. Except Andrew does like to entertain, on the rare occasions when he’s there. Which is hardly ever, I may say. Most of the time he’s in Timbuctu or up here or – God knows… So if you do happen to be – as you put it, “passing through” – well, we’re in the book—’

  ‘You don’t spend much time up here, then?’

  ‘As little as I can help. I loathe the place.’ She was silent for a moment, frowning at him. ‘Are you just a tiny bit proper, Rufus?’

  ‘I hope not. But—’

  ‘I hope not, too… Anyway, tell me about your flying fiancée. Where does she fly to?’ Eyes wide, and the edge of the Martini glass pressed against her lower lip… ‘Not round and round in ever-decreasing circles like that bird – you know, the one that finally vanishes up its own—’