Dust On the Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

there? A bloody tiger?’
    He had heard the woman giggle, and then her companion had thumped the wall himself and shouted back, ‘Don’t make so much noise!’
    But at least they had been quiet after that. For a while, anyway.
    He walked towards the building now, his mind suddenly quite cold, contained. Almost as if he had known.
    â€˜That you, Mike? Good show! You can’t get rid of me that easy.’ Even on the phone, it was the same hard laugh. ‘Just had the word. It’s a go.’ He had given the address, this address, and had added, ‘Don’t bother about getting back to that dump. You can pitch down here if you like.’
    Blackwood glanced at the clouds and saw a searchlightmake a wide practice swing beyond the river. Preparing for the real thing.
    Suppose he had been wrong about Gaillard? Everything had been in a state of chaos, stampeding natives, upended vehicles and hurrying soldiers, wild-eyed in full retreat. There had been pockets of resistance and raw courage, too; there always were. But there hadbeen too many mixed units, and often no overall command to minimise confusion. And the Japs had known it. They had even infiltrated past the last defenders, and their sniper fire had inflicted a terrible toll.
    And, throughout, the marines with their ramshackle flotilla of local boats and launches had ferried exhausted soldiers and wounded civilians to the next place of safety, fighting a rearguard action all the way.
    Several marines had been cut off while they were endeavouring to blow up a fuel dump in a sudden tropical downpour. Gaillard had ordered them to fall back, had even gone himself to speed up their return. An army sapper had been with them, but had been wounded by a single shot from a clump of trees; he had fallen into the river even as one of the launches had been backing away.
    Paget had been there, too. Afterwards, he had said, ‘The poor bloody sapper was calling out, pleading for someone to help an’ not leave him alive for the Japs to get hold of.’ They all knew what that would have meant. ‘I heard a shot. The pongo either done for himself, or someone else did it for him.’
    Shortly afterwards Blackwood saw Gaillard fall, holding his side, a revolver gripped in his hand. That was the last time he had seen him.
    He found himself facing a door, and after the smallest hesitation he pressed the bell.
    Gaillard had been reported missing, believed killed, although things had been and still were vague as to whether men were prisoners of war, dead, or truly missing. To the Japanese, the dissemination of information was not a priority.
    But suppose I was wrong?
    With a start, he realised that the door had opened. But it was a woman, and in the poor light she appeared to be wearing dark blue battledress, of the kind worn by air raid wardens or voluntary rescue workers. She was quite obviously neither.
    She said, ‘Well? Are you coming in, Captain Blackwood?’
    He stepped into a hallway and she switched on the light. She did not offer her hand. ‘I’ll take your coat.’
    She had a soft, educated voice, with an undernote of tension. As she turned to take his greatcoat he glanced at her quickly. Dark hair, quite short, shining in the light, hands small, well-shaped, and, he guessed, strong. About his own age, he thought, but with a maturity which defied him.
    Most of his experience with women had been youthful, silly affairs, usually as the result of some big naval event, a fleet review or regatta. In the Mediterranean, under the spread awnings, to the music of the ship’s bandsmen: light, simple and empty flirtations. Bare, tanned shoulders and roving eyes. But that was then.
    She said, ‘You will know me if we meet again, Captain.’
    â€˜Sorry. I was staring.’
    â€˜Yes. You were.’ She did not respond to his smile. ‘I’ll take you in.’
    Who was she, he wondered. Gaillard’s wife, ormistress