Jeffrey Archer - Only Time Will Tell

While Harry waited, he looked around the dining room, which was full of chattering people, none of whom looked as if they were anticipating a food shortage, or thinking of enlisting in the armed forces should the country go to war. Food was being whisked in and out of the swing doors on heavily laden silver trays, while a man in a chef’s outfit was wheeling a trolley from table to table, slicing off slivers of beef, while another followed in his wake carrying a gravy boat.

Harry could see no sign of his mother. He was even beginning to wonder if Giles had only told him what he wanted to hear, when suddenly she burst through the swing doors, three plates balanced on her arms. She placed them in front of her customers so deftly they hardly noticed she was there, then returned to the kitchen. She was back a moment later, carrying three vegetable dishes. By the time Harry had reached the front of the queue he’d been reminded of who had given him his boundless energy, uncritical enthusiasm and a spirit that didn’t contemplate defeat. How would he ever be able to repay this remarkable woman for all the sacrifices she had made-

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,’ said the maître d’, interrupting his thoughts, ‘but I don’t have a table available at the moment. If you’d care to come back in about twenty minutes?’

Harry didn’t tell him he didn’t actually want a table, and not just because his mother was one of the waitresses, but because he wouldn’t have been able to afford anything on the menu other than perhaps the gravy.

‘I’ll come back later,’ he said, trying to sound disappointed. About ten years later, he thought, by which time he suspected his mother would probably be the maître d’. He left the hotel with a smile on his face and took a bus back to the docks.

He was ushered straight through to Sir Walter’s office by his secretary and found the chairman leaning on his desk, peering down at the port schedules, timetables and ocean charts that covered every inch of its surface.

‘Have a seat, dear boy,’ said Sir Walter, before fixing his monocle in his right eye and looking sternly at Harry. ‘I’ve had a little time to think about our conversation this morning,’ he continued, sounding very serious, ‘and before we go any further, I need to be convinced that you’re making the right decision.’

‘I’m absolutely certain,’ said Harry without hesitation.

‘That may be, but I’m equally certain that Jack would have advised you to return to Oxford and wait until you were called up.’

‘He may well have done so, sir, but he wouldn’t have taken his own advice.’

‘How well you knew him,’ said Sir Walter. ‘Indeed, that’s exactly what I expected you to say. Let me tell you what I’ve come up with so far,’ he continued, returning his attention to the papers that covered his desk. ‘The good news is that the Royal Navy battleship HMS Resolution is due to dock at Bristol in about a month’s time, when it will refuel before awaiting further orders.’

‘A month?’ said Harry, making no attempt to hide his frustration.

‘Patience, boy,’ said Sir Walter. ‘The reason I chose the Resolution is because the captain is an old friend, and I’m confident I can get you on board as a deckhand, as long as the other part of my plan works out.’

‘But would the captain of the Resolution consider taking on someone with no seafaring experience?’

‘Probably not, but if everything else falls into place, by the time you board the Resolution you will be an old sea dog.’

Recalling one of Old Jack’s favourite homilies, I find I don’t learn a lot while I’m talking , Harry decided to stop interrupting and start listening.

‘Now,’ Sir Walter continued, ‘I’ve identified three ships that are due to leave Bristol in the next twenty-four hours and are expected to return within three to four weeks, which will give you more than enough time to sign up as a deckhand on the Resolution .’

Harry wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.

‘Let’s begin with my first choice. The Devonian is bound for Cuba, with a manifest of cotton dresses, potatoes and Raleigh Lenton bicycles, and is due to return to Bristol in four weeks’ time with a cargo of tobacco, sugar and bananas.

‘The second ship on my shortlist is the SS Kansas Star , a passenger vessel that will be sailing to New York on the first tide tomorrow. It has been requisitioned by the United States government to transport American nationals back home before Britain finds itself at war with Germany.

‘The third is an empty oil tanker, the SS Princess Beatrice , which is on its way back to Amsterdam to refuel and will return to Bristol with a full load before the end of the month. All three skippers are painfully aware that they need to be safely back in port as quickly as possible, because if war is declared, the two merchant vessels will be considered fair game by the Germans, while only the Kansas Star will be safe from the German U-boats skulking around the Atlantic just waiting for the order to sink anything flying a red or blue ensign.’

‘What crew are these ships in need of?’ asked Harry. ‘I’m not exactly over-qualified.’

Sir Walter searched around his desk again, before extracting another sheet of paper. ‘The Princess Beatrice is short of a deckhand, the Kansas Star is looking for someone to work in the kitchens, which usually means as a washer-upper or a waiter, while the Devonian needs a fourth officer.’

‘So that one can be removed from the shortlist.’

‘Funnily enough,’ said Sir Walter, ‘that’s the position I consider you best qualified for. The Devonian has a crew of thirty-seven, and rarely goes to sea with a trainee officer, so no one would expect you to be anything other than a novice.’

‘But why would the captain consider me?’

‘Because I told him you were my grandson.’

HARRY WALKED ALONG the dock towards the Devonian . The small suitcase he was carrying made him feel like a schoolboy on his first day of term. What would the headmaster be like? Would he sleep in a bed next to a Giles or a Deakins? Would he come across an Old Jack? Would there be a Fisher on board?

Although Sir Walter had offered to accompany him and introduce him to the captain, Harry had felt that would not be the best way to endear himself to his new shipmates.

He stopped for a moment and looked closely at the ancient vessel on which he would be spending the next month. Sir Walter had told him that the Devonian had been built in 1913, when the oceans were still dominated by sail and a motorized cargo vessel would have been thought the latest thing. But now, twenty-six years later, it wouldn’t be too long before she was decommissioned and taken to that area of the docks where old ships are broken up and their parts sold for scrap.

Sir Walter had also hinted that as Captain Havens only had one more year to serve before he retired, the owners might decide to scrap him at the same time as his ship.

The Devonian ’s Articles of Agreement showed a crew of thirty-seven, but as on so many cargo ships, that number wasn’t quite accurate: a cook and a washer-up picked up in Hong Kong didn’t appear on the payroll, nor did the occasional deckhand or two who was fleeing the law and had no desire to return to his homeland.

Harry made his way slowly up the gangway. Once he’d stepped on deck, he didn’t move until he’d received permission to board. After all his years of hanging around the docks, he was well aware of ship’s protocol. He looked up at the bridge and assumed the man he saw giving orders must be Captain Havens. Sir Walter had told him the senior officer on a cargo vessel was in fact a master mariner but should always be addressed on board as captain. Captain Havens was a shade under six foot, and looked nearer fifty than sixty. He was stockily built, with a weathered, tanned face and a dark neatly trimmed beard that, as he was going bald, made him look like George V.