Douglas Reeman - In Danger's Hour

Ransome turned and looked at the little pub, The Lugger, where he had taken her on that, sunny day. Bare-legged, her eyes sometimes so grave, at other times laughing like another voice. Too young to go inside for a drink, but now he knew that she had loved him even then.

When he had called her from Falmouth to tell her he had secured the cottage she had gasped with disbelief.

‘How did you manage it?’

He smiled now. Manage it? Old Isaac Proby who owned three of the little cottages had been more than eager to let him take it. People did not come here for their holidays any more. There were too many restricted areas, warnings of minefields, forbidden walks along the cliffs.

Old Proby had added, ‘I’ll air the place out. They gets a bit damp, y’know.’

Ransome walked up the little pavement. On one side it was a wall, to lean on and reflect, with a lower bank of cottages below, and then the water.

He paused to rest his elbows on the worn stones. It was really happening. So it must be as she wanted it. There might be pain enough later. He stared hard at the racing current, the way some moored landing-craft tugged at their cables and nearly dragged their buoys beneath the surface.

It was going to be soon. They had been briefed and briefed until they could digest no more. Ships, commanders, landing instructions, army units, the whole strategy of invasion.

Many would fall that day, whenever it was. Some, like the disfigured airmen he had seen in the abbey, would wish they had.

He must give her no hint, no suggestion of what might smash down their happiness. It was a matter of odds, luck, and fate. He had now been over two years in command of Rob Roy, with thousands of miles steamed, and countless mines swept and rendered harmless. At the beginning he had imagined he would survive six months, and no longer. Today he was on borrowed time. The most dangerous of all.

He shook himself and walked more quickly up the sloping pavement.

There were plenty of khaki and blue uniforms about and he was glad to reach the tiny passageway which led to the cottage’s entrance. Away from the salutes, the curious stares, an occasional twitch of curtains as he passed.

The rugged stones of the cottage were newly painted, and the tiny garden at the rear was a vivid confusion of rhododendrons and blue and purple lupins. The gardens of these cottages were allowed to grow much as they pleased, but Ransome knew that somebody had made an effort to tidy this one up.

The door flew open and she held out her arms to him.

He held her very tightly, his mouth brushing her long hair, neither of them speaking.

Beyond her he saw more flowers, and some fresh rhododendrons which she must have cut from the bushes and had arranged in a large copper pot.

There was a fire burning in the grate of the living-room and she twisted round in his arms as he took her through the door.

She said, ‘I had to light it, May or not. It was so damp!’ She was laughing, helping him with his cap and jacket, waiting for him to lose his nervousness. It was something she had not felt for a long while. Since the last time they had been together? Or when she had discovered the hidden photograph? It seemed like something destined. What she had wanted, always wanted. Now, with the door closed, and the sunlight reflecting on a framed print of Polperro, she wanted only for him to be happy, to feel at peace.

Ransome looked at the table, the knives and forks. ‘But they’re—’

She nodded, her eyes shining. ‘Your father sent them across from your house, and some other things too.’ A little of her courage faded and she added, ‘I didn’t bring much. It was a bit difficult.’

She waited for him to sit beside, if not in front of the fire, and watched as he filled his pipe. She looked around the room, remembering all those holidays, but picturing it as it might have been. A dog perhaps, or a cat like Jellicoe drowsing on the wall with one eye on the gulls.

She knelt by his legs and rested her head on his knees so that her hair hung down to the floor.

She said, ‘I must ask. How long do we have?’

Ransome tried not to picture the ship, the other minesweepers waiting for the final decisions to be made. Sherwood had suggested that the whole thing might be postponed indefinitely despite all the weight of preparations. The Met reports were unfavourable. But so had they been before Sicily. And all the while the great armada waited. Ships and men. Flesh and steel.

if I’m not recalled, two days.’

‘There’s no telephone here.’ It was like a cry of protest.

He ruffled her hair. It was like warm silk. ‘They always find a way.’

The coastguard knew where he would be. A message would reach him in minutes. After that —

Eve said, ‘We can have some walks?’ She looked up at him, searching his face. ‘Please?’

‘Of course. Lots.’

She lowered her chin to his knee. ‘Your father sent a message too.’ Her mouth trembled but she made another effort. ‘He wrote that he would look after me when you left. That he would drive me—’ She broke off and wrapped her arms around him. ‘Not yet, dearest Ian. Please, not yet.’

Ransome reached out to his jacket, which hung on a chair. He had intended to wait, but now she needed him: it was no longer just the other way around.

He took out a small package. ‘I meant to get a proper box. Anyway you might not like it, it was just an impulse. I—’

She pulled off the wrapping and held the ring up to the sunlight. It seemed to glow, first red then white, the tiny rubies and diamonds flowing into each other.

In a small voice she asked, ‘Where did you get it?’

Ransome took it gently from her and looked at it. Rob Roy had been in Alexandria and he had been ordered to Cairo, to meet some senior officers who had apparently been involved in supplying weapons to the partisans. Their beliefs and their politics did not matter. If they hated the Germans enough to pull a trigger they would be given arms to use for the job. God alone knew whgt would happen when the partisans and the vague resistance groups went back to being bandits again.

Without effort he could see the shop, the old jeweller watching intently while he had picked out this ring.

It was neither a wedding nor an engagement ring in the accepted sense. But it had seemed right for Eve.

When he had told her about the strange little shop she said, ‘I think it’s lovely.’ She lifted herself higher and kissed him gently on the mouth. ‘You’re always full of surprises!’ Then she looked at him, her eyes big and very steady. ‘Put it on for me.’

She offered her left hand. ‘Please.’

He held her wrist and said, ‘It may not fit.’ It was as if this very moment had also been a part of destiny.

He said, ‘I do love you, Eve. One day—’

She raised her finger very slightly. ‘Until that day—’ Then she withdrew her hand and held it to the sunlight again. ‘We’re engaged!’

They faced each other and laughed like conspirators. Like children. Then she got to her feet, and when he attempted to hold her she shook her head.

‘I was going to be sensible. To make you eat something, or at least have a drink.’

She was backing away very slowly, as if she could not bear to lose sight of him.

‘I can’t be sensible, dearest Ian. I’ve wanted you for so long. Why be sensible now?’

He stood looking at her, watching the firelight playing in her eyes. So many emotions. Determination and a sweet unsureness, even fear.

She whispered, ‘Give me five minutes.’ Then she held up her ring and exclaimed, ‘I’m so happy!’

She ran into the adjoining room and closed the door.