King of the Sea

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

"I won't beat about all seven seas," he added as he returned. "Tell me what you think of her." And he unfurled a large roll of blue paper - so large, indeed, that Frank had to hold it at arm's length to make out its contents. It was a drawing in white ink of a steamship - but what a ship! He counted five decks above the waterline. His eye sought among the details in the box in the lower-right corner: 7,500 tons!

And ... yes, it said there, right enough: Shaw & Eggar

Steamship Line. Steamship Line?

His head shot up. He found Sir Hector was staring

at him intently.

"Yes," the Old Man said quietly. "It had to come."

"But our largest steamship is the Ariadne and she's only just over two and a half thousand tons." Sir Hector nodded. "And yet I believe the day is not

far off when even that leviathan will seem very small

beer."

"Well, sir." Frank waved a dismissive hand over the plan. "Thank the Lord, canvas and sheet will see me out!"

"I want you for her master."

Frank was so astonished he could think of nothing to say except what had been on his mind just before the Old Man dropped his bombshell: "Why is it drawn in white ink on coloured paper?"

Sir Hector crossed to the window and, after a moment's contained silence, burst out laughing. "Eggar and I took bets on what you'd say to the proposal. Now we've both lost. I don't know, Troy. You're a law unto yourself. What the hell does the

colour of the drawing matter?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I was taken aback."

"Let's hope you've not forgotten how to come

about!" "What did you bet my reply would be, sir - if I may make so bold?"

"I said you'd say no, of course." "Ah. And Mr Eggar?"

"He said you'd say absolutely not." Frank pondered the subtle difference between the two, knowing well that the wily Old Man had deliberately found some way of introducing the bet which he was almost sure had never taken place at all. But Sir Hector would be equally sure that his partner's "absolutely not" would annoy Frank and make the response that much less likely. And now the next port of call- a plain "no" - was also tainted, with Sir Hector's prediction nailed to its flagstaff. The old bastard knew how he'd hate it to be thought he was so predictable. Very well, he'd show them! "Why is it in white ink?" he asked.

"Ship me green!" Sir Hector roared. "It's some newfangled thing they have in the office. It's not a drawing, it's a copy, a print. Is there anything else you'd like to know?" He waved his hand with largesse around the office, inviting questions on any fancy that entered Frank's head.

Slowly Frank rolled up the drawing. "I accept, sir," he said. "I needn't tell you how keenly aware I am of the offer you've ..."

"Aye aye!" Sir Hector interrupted. "You've earned it. You'd already earned it before this last voyage, but the way you managed to save Phoenix, for the loss of only two hands ..."

"Two of the best, sir."

The other conceded the point with a dip of his head. "And saved every last passenger. You've proved yourself the best man by far."

They did not discuss the financial side of the new arrangement until they met for dinner the following evening. The salary alone, at £1100, was a hundred more than he earned in total at present, including his share of the profits on each voyage. His share of the profits on the new vessel would easily top six hundred and might even double his salary. And, as if that were not enough, he was also to receive shares in Shaw & Eggar when they were publicly floated in the autumn. "I can't put an exact figure on it until the percent of underwriters have had their say," Sir Hector told him. "But we intend to give you three and a half the new company."

Frank made a hopeless sort of gesture. "I'm speechless, sir. I honestly don't know what to say" "Say nothing then. One day you may own a much

greater share than that and one of the things you'll learn is that a shipping line, great or small, lives or dies by the quality of its captains. And a line that has good ones and does nothing to acknowledge it deserves to sink without trace. It's n***d self-interest, that's all."

In a rare gesture of intimacy he took his pipe from his mouth and dug Frank in the ribs with its stem. "It's not just that you're a damn fine seaman, Troy, you're also a damn fine man. Straight as the Greenwich meridian. You'll never let the old firm down. That's the beam end of the matter."

N EIL RETURNED FROM Genoa aboard the Swallow with a cargo of wine, olive oil, and raw cork. It was the second Saturday in June. They tied up at the Surrey Commercial Dock shortly after noon and he was clear to go ashore by four. Land had never felt so good beneath him; London had never looked better. He was lucky with the trams and his train so it was no more than twenty to five when he stepped into Highbury New Park and began counting the paces to their front door. He walked with self conscious stiffness, determined not to show the rolling gait of the sailor.

He'd only been gone three months yet the trees seemed taller - and the houses, paradoxically, smaller. Perhaps it was the bushing out of everything, all the new green leaves, obscuring the façades and pushing them more into the background. He thought of Lawrence, walking up and down this street twice each day on his way to Furnival's ... lucky young tyke! Then he tried not to think of Lawrence, to accept that his own destiny was the sea.

Lawrence knew from Lloyd's List that Swallow was due in that day, so the fatted calf was well killed and roasted by the time he docked; indeed, it had taken all Lawrence's powers of persuasion to stop his mother from going down to Rotherhithe and standing on the quayside to welcome her son in. Every five minutes throughout the afternoon she went to the window and peered anxiously down the street. Twice she caught Lawrence trying to slope off (to Emma, of course, though she did not know that) and gaffed him back with an angry cry.

"You're not to ramble off," she told him when he was safely back indoors for the second time. "Mooning around the shop windows in Upper Street when your brother's due home at any minute!" She picked imaginary lint off his lapels and smoothed creases that weren't there.

"He's only been gone since March," Lawrence objected. "Anyone would imagine he's been away years."

She gave him an impulsive but rather perfunctory kiss. "You're just jealous." Then she thought about it and added, "Actually, we haven't heard the Song of the Sea from you for quite a few weeks, have we. Are you learning to accept it more now?"

He shrugged. "I suppose I must be." Through a slant opening of the drawing room door he saw his sister smile. She was leafing through Aunt Daphne's photograph album, which she had borrowed last week; was she smiling at one of the photographs - at what he had just said? There had been a spate of knowing smiles from her lately. She was altogether too sharp and bright for his comfort.

"I got some strawberries in specially," his mother said. "The first this year. Wildly extravagant but I don't see that your father could object."

"He never does," Lawrence pointed out unkindly. "I've never heard him once question any household expenditure. Why d'you say such things?"

"If he heard you taking that tone with me, you'd soon feel the rough side of his tongue. I forbid it." It wouldn't stop him from agreeing with me, though, Lawrence thought. He smiled his most charming

smile and apologized; and she felt her heart melt

against her will - and wished there were some way

of forbidding that, too. Afternoon tea was always at four sharp, so the rumblings of hunger were almost audible by the time Neil's knock went echoing through the house. He never rang the bell nowadays; he said his life already had too many bells in it for his liking.

Hilda came running downstairs as the maid walked up from the basement. The girl thought she was about to get a drubbing for not moving faster, but all the missus said was, "All right, Walker, I'll see to it."

Walker, who had replaced Emma Harding, velled; she had never known the missus answer the mar door before. As she returned to the servants' hall she heard the ecstasies of welcome from above: "Darling! You're late! How wonderful to have you home! We thought you'd be here ages ago! Let me look at you. When d'you have to sail again?"

As the maid continued her descent she realized it wasn't so much the money she envied posh people for, it was their love, the way they could show it. She herself hadn't seen her own mum for three months, just like those two up there; but what would they say to each other now if she went home? "Oh, it's you!" and, "Lo, Mum." It wasn't that they didn't love each other, they just couldn't show it. With a sigh she returned to The Perils of Leah and waited for the summons to carry up the tea.

"You've grown," Hilda said accusingly, trying to straighten the creases under his arms. "This jacket fitted when you left. Was it a good voyage? You know Phoenix was caught in the Great Storm?"

"I saw an item in the List. Could I just go and wash my hands, d'you think?"

Catherine tugged at his sleeve for her welcome

home kiss. "Guess what Father's been given!" "I'll tell him that if you don't mind, miss!" her mother snapped.

Neil left them to it and took the stairs to the bathroom three at a time. "Hallo Beast," he said as he passed Lawrence on the way.

"Hallo Beast."

They exchanged playful punches.

During tea Hilda told him the splendid news of his father's appointment to the "flagship" of the rapidly expanding Shaw & Eggar Steamship Line. "Seven and a half thousand tons!" she exclaimed, and then laughed as she added, "You'll never guess what dear little Walker said when I told the servants about it. She said, 'Seven and a half thousand tons! How ever does it stay afloat, ma'am!' Isn't that sweet?"

"What's she called?" Neil asked.

"Walker. I said."

"No! The ship!"

"Oh... they haven't decided. Your father wanted her named Hilda, bless him, but they insist on something classical." "Hilda of Troy?" Catherine's suggestion was greeted

with withering stares. "Sorry, I'm sure," she muttered

and returned to her strawberries. Neil picked up an earlier thread. "Did you say Walker? What happened to little Harding?"

"We don't mention her any more," his mother told

him.

"Really?" he asked with interest.

"Most decidedly not!" She closed the subject

firmly.

Catherine was careful to look at both of them before

she casually let her gaze settle on Lawrence. He was just as casually picking his nails - in a way that he knew infuriated his mother.

"Don't do that, dear," she said in a jaded tone.

As soon as tea was over Lawrence said he was

going to pop out for a minute. "Where?" Catherine asked, a fraction of a second ahead of her mother.

"What's it to you?" he replied. Then, thinking better of it,"To Aunt Daphne, actually. I'll return that album if you wish." She said she might do it herself later.