Sea Fury (1971) Read Online Free PDF Page B

The sole result was a loud banging in the pipes, a momentary trickle of water, then nothing. Moira Lycett stood with the soap gradually drying on her body and swore at the inanimate shower. It was like everything else in the damned ship; good for nothing, overdue for the scrap-heap. She felt a sudden burning resentment against a fate that had condemned her to a tenth-rate style of living, of which this old rattle-trap of a ship was only the latest and most disgusting example. It was not the kind of life she should have been living; if anyone had been born with a taste for luxury it was undoubtedly she; and the biggest mistake she had ever made had been in believing that Morton Lycett could provide it for her.
    Morton! What a swindle he had turned out to be. With his smooth tongue and his polished manner, he had promised so much; and she had been taken in; she had fallen for it all. God, if she could have her time over again things would be different; you bet they would.
    She began to wrestle furiously with the obdurate shower. “Damn you! Work, damn you!”
    The wrestling was in vain; there was not even a hammeringin the pipes now, not the least trickle of water. Moira Lycett gave up the struggle; she would have to sponge herself down with water from the tap on the wash-basin; there was nothing else for it.
    She stepped out from the cubicle and walked across to the basin, the floor of the bathroom feeling gritty under her bare feet. The taps on the wash-basin were of the spring-up type, so that no one could waste fresh water by leaving them turned on. She pressed both of them. There was a gurgling sound like a man being throttled, and that was all. No water.
    She tried the taps on the bath. She was no longer expecting any success and she was not surprised. No water there either.
    Moira Lycett was furious. She wanted to throw things. There was only the soap. She threw it at the mirror above the wash-basin. It missed and hit the iron bulkhead with a dull thud, then fell to the floor, one corner slightly flattened.
    The drying lather gave a sensation of stiffness to Moira Lycett’s skin. She picked up a towel and began to rub the soap off, but the operation was not highly successful. When she had finished she felt hotter and dirtier than she had been when she had entered the bathroom. She put on a nylon dressing-gown and slippers, opened the door and stepped out into the alleyway.
    As she did so a small, wiry man with ears much too large for his head and dark, greasy hair almost cannoned into her. He was wearing white overalls with black smears of oil on them, and there was a wad of cotton-waste in his right hand, with which he wiped the sweat from his neck as he regarded her with a smirk that she found intensely irritating. It was as though he had some secret, inward joke, known only to himself . His entire expression and manner were sly and insinuating .
    “Why, Mrs. Lycett. I beg your pardon, I’m sure. Wasn’t expecting anyone to pop out of there. Not just at that moment. Least of all you.
    She recognised him as one of the engineers, a man named Perkins. She had never cared much for the look of him, and now here he was standing squarely in her way, leaving no room to pass in the narrow alleyway.
    She answered curtly, “There is no need to apologise. If you will be good enough to allow me to pass.”
    He did not move. He continued to rub his stringy neck with the cotton-waste and to stare at her with that infuriating smirk. He had little beady eyes under practically naked brows, and these eyes flickered upward, as though attracted by something at the top of her head, something amusing, perhaps even ludicrous.
    She realised suddenly that she was still wearing the polythene cap, and with a gesture of annoyance she raised her left hand and pulled it off. The dressing-gown was only loosely fastened and the action of removing the bath-cap caused it to fall half open, revealing one richly curved breast and puckered