The Cruel Sea (1951) Read Online Free Page B
both of you away nearly all the time, the house is going to seem lonely.’
‘He’ll get his leave, the same as I do, dear.’
‘That may be a long time coming, and in the meantime I’ll be all alone.’
‘Well . . .’ The Captain shifted in his chair, to cover a faint embarrassment. He had a picture of Grace knitting, alone in an empty house, for weeks on end, and it did not worry him as much as it should have done. To make up for this lack of feeling, he added with special warmth: ‘You really ought to get someone to live with you. Some sort of companion.’
‘There’s mother,’ said Grace thoughtfully.
The Captain paused. There certainly was mother, and mother was a different matter altogether: a grim quarrelsome old lady who, on her infrequent visits to the little house on the outskirts of Birkenhead, had done nothing but complain the whole time and had spoilt her only grandson outrageously into the bargain. The nearest he had ever come to a clash with Grace was when her mother had taken it on herself to rearrange all the furniture in their sitting room, and he had called it ‘Damned cheek’ and put it all back again. That had been a wonderful scene. But he did not want it repeated. And certainly he did not want Grace’s mother as a permanent part of the household when he came home on leave.
He temporised. ‘It’s an idea,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know whether it would really suit you. Two women living together all the time . . . It’s your house, you know,’ he concluded rather lamely, feeling her eye on him. ‘You don’t want to forget that.’
‘Why should I forget it?’
‘Your mother likes her own way a bit, doesn’t she?’
‘She’s the same as most of us,’ said Grace equably. ‘She’d be company for me, I do know, own way or not. But of course if you don’t want me to have her, I’ll say no more about it.’
‘You must please yourself,’ he said, without enthusiasm. He realised that, compared with her, it would affect him very little – perhaps for a week or so every three or four months: he still could not bring himself to welcome the idea. ‘It’s likely to be a long time till I see Birkenhead again, and John the same, I shouldn’t wonder. You know I don’t want you to be alone all that time.’
‘I’ll see about it,’ she answered vaguely. She was gathering up her knitting preparatory to going to bed: it was a serious business – patterns, spare needles, wool, spectacles, and the square of silk in which she wrapped the current piece of work. ‘We don’t want to decide in a hurry. You’ve plenty to think about already, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said the Captain.
‘Are you pleased with the ship, George?’ she asked as they rose.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The ship’ll be all right.’
6
They were a fortnight camping out in the crowded dockside hut before they moved into the ship, and another three weeks before she was ready to sail; altogether, five weeks of concentrated work and preparation. It sometimes seemed to Ericson that there would never be any end to the new problems and questions which cropped up every day. He had to handle them all himself, or at least to decide how they were to be handled: the two subs were willing enough, but green as grass, and Bennett, he found, had less experience than his manner led one to expect, as well as a great deal less energy . . . Everything connected with the ship seemed to be the Captain’s province: ordering stores and ammunition, interviewing dockyard and Admiralty officials, settling the last of the alterations and additions with the contractors, mastering technical details about the hull and the machinery, arranging the accommodation on board, answering signals, checking lists, reporting the progress and state of the ship. He had to make two or three trips to the Naval Headquarters in Glasgow before he found that Ferraby, quiet and conscientious, could be counted on to relay any message accurately and
‘He’ll get his leave, the same as I do, dear.’
‘That may be a long time coming, and in the meantime I’ll be all alone.’
‘Well . . .’ The Captain shifted in his chair, to cover a faint embarrassment. He had a picture of Grace knitting, alone in an empty house, for weeks on end, and it did not worry him as much as it should have done. To make up for this lack of feeling, he added with special warmth: ‘You really ought to get someone to live with you. Some sort of companion.’
‘There’s mother,’ said Grace thoughtfully.
The Captain paused. There certainly was mother, and mother was a different matter altogether: a grim quarrelsome old lady who, on her infrequent visits to the little house on the outskirts of Birkenhead, had done nothing but complain the whole time and had spoilt her only grandson outrageously into the bargain. The nearest he had ever come to a clash with Grace was when her mother had taken it on herself to rearrange all the furniture in their sitting room, and he had called it ‘Damned cheek’ and put it all back again. That had been a wonderful scene. But he did not want it repeated. And certainly he did not want Grace’s mother as a permanent part of the household when he came home on leave.
He temporised. ‘It’s an idea,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know whether it would really suit you. Two women living together all the time . . . It’s your house, you know,’ he concluded rather lamely, feeling her eye on him. ‘You don’t want to forget that.’
‘Why should I forget it?’
‘Your mother likes her own way a bit, doesn’t she?’
‘She’s the same as most of us,’ said Grace equably. ‘She’d be company for me, I do know, own way or not. But of course if you don’t want me to have her, I’ll say no more about it.’
‘You must please yourself,’ he said, without enthusiasm. He realised that, compared with her, it would affect him very little – perhaps for a week or so every three or four months: he still could not bring himself to welcome the idea. ‘It’s likely to be a long time till I see Birkenhead again, and John the same, I shouldn’t wonder. You know I don’t want you to be alone all that time.’
‘I’ll see about it,’ she answered vaguely. She was gathering up her knitting preparatory to going to bed: it was a serious business – patterns, spare needles, wool, spectacles, and the square of silk in which she wrapped the current piece of work. ‘We don’t want to decide in a hurry. You’ve plenty to think about already, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said the Captain.
‘Are you pleased with the ship, George?’ she asked as they rose.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The ship’ll be all right.’
6
They were a fortnight camping out in the crowded dockside hut before they moved into the ship, and another three weeks before she was ready to sail; altogether, five weeks of concentrated work and preparation. It sometimes seemed to Ericson that there would never be any end to the new problems and questions which cropped up every day. He had to handle them all himself, or at least to decide how they were to be handled: the two subs were willing enough, but green as grass, and Bennett, he found, had less experience than his manner led one to expect, as well as a great deal less energy . . . Everything connected with the ship seemed to be the Captain’s province: ordering stores and ammunition, interviewing dockyard and Admiralty officials, settling the last of the alterations and additions with the contractors, mastering technical details about the hull and the machinery, arranging the accommodation on board, answering signals, checking lists, reporting the progress and state of the ship. He had to make two or three trips to the Naval Headquarters in Glasgow before he found that Ferraby, quiet and conscientious, could be counted on to relay any message accurately and