Submarine

Lorna Prynne tried to suppress her excitement: since her mother had seen her off at Taunton and throughout the long journey and its wartime frustrations the tension inside her had mounted. And she had just seen him: tall, lean, cap slightly askew, standing apart on the bridge as he conned his submarine.

Kyle of Lockalsh, the bustling little port facing Kyleakin, grew larger with every second and then the ramp of the ferry was grinding across the concrete hard. Lorna had plenty of time, so waited for the cars to roll ashore. She strolled towards the road and found a corner in the sun by the wall where she could see up the loch: Orcus had turned and was pointing towards her. She watched the anchor splashing into the dark water, saw the Union Jack fluttering from the staff at her bows. Minutes later men were emerging from her hull and mustering on deck.

Lorna recognized the emotion of belonging to this mysterious, lone submarine. Those men, from the youngest to the captain, lived and worked inside that black hull: they all had their fears, their loves, their hates; many must have families to care for, wives and children; perhaps there were some like Julian and her, cherishing a secret love; most still had parents, while some, she feared, would be enduring their own private despairs. But each one of them shared the common denominator: Orcus, their submarine. And any one of them, through carelessness, idleness, cussedness or fear could, in a brief moment, put at risk the lives of all the others. Submariners, like flyers, were different: each man depended entirely on his neighbour — one day, perhaps, she would understand them better, their independent, forceful decisiveness.

A black-hulled boat with yellow upper-works, a blue ensign at her mast, was nosing alongside the submarine's port side. Ropes were flung across and then ant-like figures were swarming into the liberty boat. But why didn't the tender leave the submarine? Why did she stick there, rolling gently alongside Orcus? Lorna took off the blue suede jacket she had thrown across her shoulders on leaving the hotel. It was hot here, out of the wind in the setting sunlight, even at six o'clock on this beautiful May evening.

'Oh — come on…' she whispered impatiently — and then she saw an officer saluting on the deck as the last, tall figure jumped across the gap. She caught her breath as she recognized Julian. He entered the boat's wheelhouse and she lost sight of him. The bows of the tender were slowly separating from the submarine; the gap widened; and then the liberty boat was forging towards her, its bow-wave frothing white on the placid surface of the loch.

It was ten minutes past six when Julian, the first to leave the tender, clambered up the ladder to the quay. She watched him as he casually surveyed the scene while two officers and the libertymen swarmed ashore. All were in uniform, neat and tidy, an animated, jolly lot. How young they looked! An older man with frizzled hair, a chief petty officer, stopped to chat with his captain. Julian returned the salute and then the Chief was off with several of his friends, striding towards the little town.

Gulls screamed about the quays; a fishing-boat was chugging in through the kyle, rusty red gear and a glistening, emerald hull. Fishermen were laying out their nets to dry on the quay; the Kyleakin ferry was tooting, announcing its imminent departure. Julian straightened his tie, picked up his grip and hurried along the quay for the ferry.

She had to run to catch up with him. They were closing the ferry gates as she jumped on to the ramp, already scraping from the hard. She could see him threading his way through the cars to reach the far end of the double-ended ferry. He had plonked down his grip; he was leaning on the rail and gazing towards the village on the opposite side of the kyle. She was still out of breath when she crept up behind him. People were glancing at her, amused, but she did not care. She edged to the rail, close to his side.

'Looking for someone?'

He did not speak as a slow grin creased his pale face. The hard lines vanished as he greeted her formally with the traditional salute of the sailor, but his eyes were telling her all she wanted to know.

'I was afraid you couldn't make it,' he said quietly, glancing over her head at the interested onlookers. 'Have a good trip?'

She nodded, pulling at her jacket when the breeze slapped the ferry's prow. She moved closer to him, her heart still racing, as in silence they watched the Kyleakin shore approaching fast. He gave a final glance up the loch towards his submarine and then they were hurrying up the hard while the cars groaned past them.

She pointed to the white-washed hotel sprawling across the neck of the little peninsular. 'They've got our rooms,' she said shyly. 'They're nice people.'

She ran up the few steps and he pushed open the door for her. He dumped his bag on the plum-coloured carpet.