On The Beach

He left them hurriedly, and the door closed behind him. The captain and the liaison officer had stood up at his sudden departure; they remained standing, and glanced at each other. "This is it," said the American.

Peter said in a low tone, "Do you suppose that's what's happened to the secretary?"

"I'd think so."

They stood in silence for a minute or two, staring out of the window. "Victualling," Peter said at last. "There's nothing much in Scorpion. Is the exec getting out a list of what you'll need, sir?"

Dwight shook his head. "We shan't need anything," he said. "I'm only taking her down the bay and just outside the territorial limit."

The liaison officer asked the question that he had wanted to ask before. "Shall I lay on a tug to sail with you and bring the crew back?"

Dwight said, "That won't be necessary."

They stood in silence for another ten minutes. Finally the admiral reappeared, grey faced. "Very good of you to wait," he said. "I've been a bit unwell…" He did not resume his seat, but remained standing by the desk. "This is the end of a long association, Captain," he said. "We British have always enjoyed working with Americans, especially upon the sea. We've had cause to be grateful to you very many times, and in return I think we've taught you something out of our experience. This is the end of it." He stood in thought for a minute, and then he held out his hand, smiling. "All I can do now is to say good-bye."

Dwight took his hand. "It certainly has been good, working under you, sir," he said. "I'm speaking for the whole ship's company when I say that, as well as for myself."

They left the office and walked down through the desolate, empty building to the courtyard. Peter said, "Well, what happens now, sir? Would you like me to come down to the dockyard?"

The captain shook his head. "I'd say that you can consider yourself to be relieved of duty," he said. "I won't need you any more down there."

"If there's anything that I can do, I'll come very gladly."

"No. If I should find I need anything from you, I'll ring your home. But that's where your place is now, fella."

This, then, was the end of their fellowship. "When will you be sailing?" Peter asked.

"I wouldn't know exactly," the American said. "I've got seven cases in the crew, as of this morning. I guess we'll stick around a day or two, and sail maybe on Saturday."

"Are many going with you?"

"Ten. Eleven, with myself."

Peter glanced at him. "Are you all right, so far?"

Dwight smiled. "I thought I was, but now I don't just know. I won't be taking any lunch today." He paused. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. So is Mary-I think."

Dwight turned towards the cars. "You get back to her, right now. There's nothing now for you to stay here for."

"Will I see you again, sir?"

"I don't think you will," said the captain. "I'm going home now, home to Mystic in Connecticut, and glad to go."

There was nothing more for them to say or do. They shook hands, got into their cars, and drove off on their separate ways.

In the old-fashioned, two-storey brick house in Malvern, John Osborne stood by his mother's bed. He was not unwell, but the old lady had fallen sick upon the Sunday morning, the day after he had won the Grand Prix. He had managed to get a doctor for her on Monday but there was nothing he could do, and he had not come again. The daily maid had not turned up, and the scientist was now doing everything for his sick mother.

She opened her eyes for the first time in a quarter of an hour. "John," she said. "This is what they said would happen, isn't it?"

"I think so, Mum," he said gently. "It's going to happen to me, too."

"Did Dr. Hamilton say that was what it was? I can't remember."

"That's what he told me, Mum. I don't think he'll be coming here again. He said he was getting it himself."

There was a long silence. "How long will it take me to die, John?"

"I don't know," he said. "It might be a week."

"How absurd," said the old lady. "Much too long."

She closed her eyes again. He took a basin to the bathroom, washed it out, and brought it back into the bedroom. She opened her eyes again. "Where is Ming?" she asked.

"I put him out in the garden," he said. "He seemed to want to go."

"I am so terribly sorry about him," she muttered. "He'll be so dreadfully lonely, without any of us here."

"He'll be all right, Mum," her son said, though without much confidence. "There'll be all the other dogs for him to play with."

She did not pursue the subject, but she said, "I'll be quite all right now, dear. You go on and do whatever you have to do."

He hesitated. "I think I ought to look in at the office," he said. "I'll be back before lunch. What would you like for lunch?"

She closed her eyes again. "Is there any milk?"

"There's a pint in the frig," he said. '”I’ll see if I can get some more. It's not too easy, though. There wasn't any yesterday."