'No dramatic changes, Bo'sun. The two Argos crewmen in the recovery room are much of a muchness — as well as can be expected when one has a fractured pelvis and the other massive burns. The condition of Commander Warrington and his navigating officer is unchanged — Cunningham is still in deep coma and is being fed intravenously. Hudson is stabilized — the lung bleeding has stopped. Chief Officer Kennet is definitely on the mend although heaven knows how long it will be before we can take those bandages off his face. The only one that gives some cause for worry is the Captain. It's nothing critical, not even serious, just worrisome. You saw how he was when you last saw him — breathing hellfire and brimstone in all directions. He's gone strangely quiet now, almost lethargic. Or maybe he's just more calm and relaxed now that he knows the ship's position and course. That was a fine job you did there, Bo'sun.'
'No credit to me, sir. It was Lieutenant Ulbricht who did the fine job.'
'Be that as it may, Captain Bowen appears to be in at least a more philosophical mood. I suggest you come along and see him.'
When a man's face is completely obscured by bandages it is difficult to say what kind of mood he is in. He had the stem of a rather evil-smelling briar stuck between his burnt lips and again it was impossible to say whether he was enjoying it or not. When he heard McKinnon's voice he removed the pipe.
'We are still afloat, Bo'sun?' The enunciation was clearer than it had been and was costing him less effort.
'Well, sir, let's say we're no longer all gone to hell and breakfast. No more alarms and excursions either. As far as I can tell, Lieutenant Ulbricht is very much of an expert — I don't think you'd hesitate to have him as your navigating officer. He's lying down on the bunk in your cabin, sir — but you will have been told that and the reasons why.'
'Broaching my rapidly dwindling supplies, I have no doubt.'
'He did have a couple of tots, sir. He needed it. He's still a pretty sick man and very weak and the cold out there on the wing bridge was vicious, I don't think I've ever known it worse in the Arctic. Anyway, he wasn't doing any broaching when I left him. He was sound asleep.'
'As long as he keeps on acting in this fashion he can do as much broaching as he likes. Give him my sincere thanks.'
'I'll do that. Have you any instructions, sir?'
'Instructions, Bo'sun? Instructions? How can I give any instructions?'
'I wouldn't know, sir. I've never been a captain.'
'You bloody well are now. I'm in no position to give anyone instructions. Just do what you think best — and from what I've heard to date your best seems to be very good indeed. Not,' Bowen added deprecatingly, 'that I would have expected anything else of Archie McKinnon.'
'Thank you, sir. I'll try.' McKinnon turned to leave the ward but was stopped by Sister Morrison. For once, she was looking at him as if he might even belong to the human race.
'How is he, Mr McKinnon?'
'The Lieutenant? Resting. He's a lot weaker than he says he is but he'd never admit it. A very brave man. And a fine navigator. And a gentleman. When he says he didn't know the San Andreas was a hospital ship I believe him absolutely. I don't believe many people absolutely.'
'I'm quite sure you don't.' The return to the old asperity proved to be momentary. 'I don't think I believe he knew it either. In fact, I don't believe it.'
'That's nice.' McKinnon smiled at her, the first time, he reflected with some astonishment, that he'd ever smiled at her. 'Janet — Nurse Magnusson — tells me you come from the east coast. Would it be impertinent to ask where exactly?'
'Of course not.' She smiled and McKinnon realized with an even greater sense of shock that this was the first time she'd ever smiled at him. 'Aberdeen. Why?'
'Odd. Lieutenant Ulbricht seems to know Aberdeen rather well. He certainly seems to know about Peterhead' prison and isn't all that keen on ending up there.'
A brief flicker of what could have been concern registered on her face. 'Will he?'
'Not a chance. If he brings this ship back to Aberdeen they'll probably give him a medal. Both your parents from Aberdeen, Sister?'
'My father is. My mother's from Kiel.'
'Kiel?'
'Yes. Germany. Didn't you know?'
'Of course not. How should I have known? Now that I do know, is that supposed to make a difference?'
'I'm half German.' She smiled again. 'Aren't you surprised, Mr McKinnon? Shocked, perhaps?'
'No, I'm not shocked.' McKinnon looked gloomy. 'I have troubles of my own in that direction. My sister Jean is married to an Italian. I have a niece and a nephew, two bambinos who can't — or couldn't before the war — speak a word of English to their old uncle.'
'It must make — must have made — communication a bit difficult.'
'Luckily, no. I speak Italian.'
She removed her glasses as if to examine them more closely. 'You speak Italian, Mr McKinnon?'
'Yes. And Spanish. And German. You must be able to speak German — you can try me any time. Surprised, Sister? Shocked?'
'No.' She shook her head slowly and smiled a third time. It was borne in upon McKinnon that a smiling Margaret Morrison, with her warm, friendly brown eyes was a totally different creature from the Sister Morrison he thought he had come to know. 'No, I'm not. Really.'
'You come from seafaring people, Sister?'
'Yes.' This time she was surprised. 'How did you know?'
'I didn't. But it was a fair guess. It's the Kiel connection. Many British sailors know Kiel well — I do myself — and it has, or did have, the finest regatta in Europe. Your father's from Aberdeen. A fisherman? A seaman of some sort?'
'A seaman of some sort.'
'What sort?'
'Well…' She hesitated.
'Well what?'
'He's a captain in the Royal Navy.'
'Good Lord!' McKinnon looked at her in mild astonishment, then rubbed an unshaven chin. 'I shall have to treat you with more respect in future, Sister Morrison.'
'I hardly think that will be necessary, Mr McKinnon.' The voice was formal but the smile that followed was not. 'Not now.'
'You sound almost as if you were ashamed of being the daughter of a Royal Navy captain.'
'I am not. I'm very proud of my father. But it can be difficult. Do you understand?'
'Yes. I think I do.'
'Well, now, Mr McKinnon.' The glasses were back in position and Sister Morrison was back in business. 'You'll be seeing Lieutenant Ulbricht up top?' McKinnon nodded.. 'Tell him I'll be up to see him in an hour, maybe two.'
McKinnon blinked, which was about as far as he ever permitted himself to go in the way of emotional expression. 'You?'
'Yes. Me.' If bridling hadn't gone out of fashion she would have bridled.
'But Dr Sinclair said he would come — '
'Dr Sinclair is a doctor, not a nurse.' Sister Morrison made it sound as if there was something faintly discreditable in being a doctor. 'I'm the Lieutenant's sister-in-charge. He'll probably require to have his bandages changed.'
'When exactly will you be coming?'
'Does it matter? I can find my own way.'
'No, Sister, you won't. You don't know what it's like up top. There's a full gale blowing, it's forty below, black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat and the deck's like a skating rink. No one goes up top without my permission and most certainly not nurses. You will phone and I will come for you.'
