Torpedo Run (1981) Read Online Free PDF

me at all. But I felt sick. Fed up with all the solemn smiles, the evasiveness about Don.’
    Devane tensed. ‘It’s hard to know what to say at times like this.’
    ‘I expect it is.’ She turned up her collar and paused momentarily to peer down at the swirling river.
    She continued in the same controlled tone, ‘There is a woman at the hotel. She’s here to collect her late husband’s gong from the King or somebody. I gather he got burned to death in a bomber when he stayed with his plane to avoid crashing it on a village. That’s what they told her anyway. He might have died seconds after the last of his men bailed out.’ She was looking at him now, her eyes hidden in the gloom. ‘That’s not the point. She said that, if he had to die, it was how he would have wished!’ She shook her head very slowly. ‘Can you imagine being glad about burning to death?’
    He felt her move off again and fell in step beside her. He could even smell her perfume, as he had when they had almost touched by the taxi.
    ‘That’s why I wanted to speak to you, John. Someone who knows what it’s like. To reassure myself that I’m not going out of my mind.’
    ‘I can’t tell you anything about Don’s death. Really.’
    A searchlight sprang across the sky like something solid, an unending blue lance. Devane saw her face, pale in the glare, the moistness of her mouth.
    She said, ‘I should like a drink. Very much.’ She looked across the road. ‘There’s a place there somewhere. I don’t think I could stand a drink in the hotel. I would probably be branded as unpatriotic, or have my head shaved.’
    It was then Devane realized. It was a carefully delivered act. She was frightened of being alone, even more afraid of sympathy.
    The pub was exactly right. Small, packed and full of noise and cheerful voices. There were several servicemen and their girls, the former mostly Americans, the latter mainly from the profession. Victorian mirrors, some photographs of a prize fighter, cap badges from a score of regiments, a cartoon of Churchill making a V sign at Hitler. A typical London pub.
    The landlord peered through the smoke haze, his glance taking in Devane’s rank and the girl’s dress and appearance.
    ‘Up this end, sir. Officers only.’ He winked, and anyone who was listening laughed at his joke.
    There was one vacant bar stool, wedged in a corner.Devane smiled and took her arm to help her on to the high stool, while he jammed his hip against the wet bar.
    The landlord, whose face was battered into a shapeless ruin, said cheerfully, ‘Two gins, right, sir?’
    She whispered, ‘He must be the boxer in the photos. Or what’s left of him!’
    More people pressed through the blackout curtains, and Devane had to shout to make himself heard. He was pressed against her knees but she made no obvious effort to move. It was as if she were trying to lose herself here and could not face the brooding stillness of that hotel.
    She said, ‘I suppose you’re taking Don’s job?’ She watched him steadily. ‘Don’t answer, not that you would anyway. But it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Your sort don’t grow on trees. Don always said you were the best.’ She touched her lip with her tongue. ‘Next to him, of course.’ She pushed her empty glass towards him and Devane signalled to the landlord.
    Devane said, ‘When you go back to Devon. . . .’ He got no further.
    ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Her voice softened slightly. ‘Sorry. Gin talking. I’m bad company. Especially for you.’
    She swallowed the gin in almost one gulp and Devane saw her grimace at the taste.
    She said directly, ‘You’ve not married, I hear.’ She nodded as if in agreement. ‘Don said you’d wait. He talked a lot about you, did you know that?’
    Devane shook his head, afraid of breaking the spell. She was speaking freely now and one stupid remark could smash it. Down the bar two men were arguing tipsily and the