Jeffrey Archer - Only Time Will Tell

Harry placed his feet tentatively on the floor and, with Kristin’s help, pulled himself slowly up. Once he’d put on a dressing gown, he took her by the arm and made his way unsteadily towards the door, up a flight of steps and out on to the deck.

‘How long is it since you’ve been home?’ asked Kristin as they began their slow progress around the deck.

Harry always tried to stick to the little he actually knew about Bradshaw, adding a few snippets from the life of his fictitious family. ‘Just over three years,’ he said. ‘My family never complain, because they knew I wanted to go to sea from an early age.’

‘But how did you come to be serving on a British ship?’

Damn good question, thought Harry. He only wished he knew the answer. He stumbled, to give himself a little more time to come up with a convincing reply. Kristin bent down to assist him.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, once he’d taken Kristin’s arm again. Then he began to sneeze repeatedly.

‘Perhaps it’s time to take you back to the ward,’ suggested Kristin. ‘We can’t afford to have you catching a cold. We can always try again tomorrow.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Harry, relieved she didn’t ask any more questions.

After she’d tucked him up like a mother putting a young child to bed, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Harry managed eleven laps of the deck the day before the Kansas Star sailed into New York Harbour. Although he couldn’t admit it to anyone, he was quite excited about the prospect of seeing America for the first time.

‘Will you be going straight back to Bridgeport once we’ve docked?’ asked Kristin during his final lap. ‘Or are you planning to stay in New York?’

‘Haven’t given it a lot of thought,’ said Harry, who had in fact given it a great deal of thought. ‘I suppose it will depend on what time we dock,’ he added, as he tried to anticipate her next question.

‘It’s just that, if you’d like to spend the night at Richard’s apartment on the East-side, that would be swell.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to put him to any trouble.’

Kristin laughed. ‘You know, Tom, there are times when you sound more like an Englishman than an American.’

‘I guess after all those years serving on British ships you’re bound to eventually get corrupted by the limeys.’

‘Is that also the reason you felt unable to share your problem with us?’ Harry came to a sudden halt: a stumble or a sneeze wasn’t going to rescue him this time. ‘If you’d been just a little more frank in the first place, we’d have been happy to sort out the problem. But, given the circumstances, we had no choice but to inform Captain Parker and leave him to decide what should be done.’

Harry collapsed into the nearest deckchair, but as Kristin made no attempt to come to his rescue, he knew he was beaten. ‘It’s far more complicated than you realize,’ he began. ‘But I can explain why I didn’t want to involve anyone else.’

‘No need to,’ said Kristin. ‘The captain’s already come to our rescue. But he did want to ask how you intended to deal with the bigger problem.’

Harry bowed his head. ‘I’m willing to answer any questions the captain might have,’ he said, feeling almost a sense of relief that he’d been found out.

‘Like the rest of us, he wanted to know how you’re going to get off the ship when you don’t have any clothes, or a dime to your name?’

Harry smiled. ‘I figured New Yorkers might consider a Kansas Star dressing gown to be pretty nifty.’

‘Frankly, not too many New Yorkers would notice even if you did walk down Fifth Avenue in a robe,’ said Kristin. ‘And the ones that did would probably think it was the latest fashion. But just in case they don’t, Richard’s come up with a couple of white shirts and a sports jacket. Pity he’s so much taller than you, otherwise he’d have been able to supply a pair of pants as well. Dr Wallace can spare a pair of brown wingtips, a pair of socks and a tie. That still leaves us with the problem of the pants, but the captain has a pair of Bermuda shorts that no longer fit him.’ Harry burst out laughing. ‘We hope you won’t be offended, Tom, but we also held a little collection among the crew,’ she added, passing him a thick envelope. ‘I think you’ll find there’s more than enough to get you to Connecticut.’

‘How do I begin to thank you?’ said Harry.

‘No need to, Tom. We’re all so pleased you survived. I only wish we could have saved your friend Harry Clifton as well. Still, you’ll be glad to hear that Captain Parker has instructed Dr Wallace to deliver your letter to his mother personally.’

HARRY WAS AMONG the first on deck that morning, some two hours before the Kansas Star was due to sail into New York Harbour. It was another forty minutes before the sun joined him, by which time he’d worked out exactly how he was going to spend his first day in America.

He had already said farewell to Dr Wallace, after trying, inadequately, to thank him for all he’d done. Wallace assured him that he would post his letter to Mrs Clifton just as soon as he arrived in Bristol, and had reluctantly accepted that it might not be wise to visit her, after Harry had hinted that she was of a nervous disposition.

Harry was touched when Captain Parker called into the sick bay to deliver a pair of Bermuda shorts and wish him luck. After he had returned to the bridge, Kristin said firmly, ‘It’s time for you to go to bed, Tom. You’ll need all your strength if you’re going to travel to Connecticut tomorrow.’ Tom Bradshaw would have liked to spend a day or two with Richard and Kristin in Manhattan, but Harry Clifton couldn’t afford to waste any time now that Britain had declared war on Germany.

‘When you wake up in the morning,’ continued Kristin, ‘try to get up on to the passenger deck before first light, then you can watch the sun rising as we sail into New York. I know you’ll have seen it many times before, Tom, but it never fails to excite me.’

‘Me too,’ said Harry.

‘And once we’ve docked,’ continued Kristin, ‘why don’t you wait for Richard and me to come off duty and then we can disembark together?’

Dressed in Richard’s sports jacket and shirt, a little too large, the captain’s Bermuda shorts, a little too long, and the doctor’s shoes and socks, a little too tight, Harry couldn’t wait to go ashore.

The ship’s purser had telegraphed ahead to advise the New York Immigration Department that they had an extra passenger on board, an American citizen called Tom Bradshaw. The NYID had telegraphed back to say that Mr Bradshaw should make himself known to one of the immigration officials and they would take it from there.

Once Richard had dropped him off at Grand Central, Harry planned to hang around in the station for a little while before heading back to the docks, where he intended to report straight to the union office and find out which ships were due to sail for England. It didn’t matter which port they were heading for, as long as it wasn’t Bristol.

Once he had identified a suitable vessel, he would sign up for any job on offer. He didn’t care if he worked on the bridge or in the boiler room, scrubbed the decks or peeled potatoes, just as long as he got back to England. If there turned out to be no jobs available, he would book the cheapest passage home. He’d already checked the contents of the bulky white envelope Kristin had given him and there was more than enough to pay for a berth that couldn’t be smaller than the broom cupboard he’d slept in on the Devonian.