‘We were so hungry,’ he went on. ‘And so cold. We didn’t know if we would survive . . . but then, one night, while we were sleeping, a fabulous feast appeared. And the next night and the next . . . The men thought it was spirit food, thought they would be enchanted if they ate it. But I didn’t care.’
Marina’s eyelids drooped, her limbs became heavy; she couldn’t move them even if she wanted to. Perhaps she, too, had eaten enchanted food. Perhaps Miss Smith was a spirit who could enchant anyone she chose. Marina hoped she would be the one to be chosen . . .
In that sparse hut, in the middle of a barren island, Marina felt that her future life might, with the aid of Miss Smith, be rich and wonderful and full of great achievements. Her father might not believe in this possibility, but once he was rested, Marina would convince him. He had behaved rudely, and not been at all grateful to Miss Smith for saving him, but that was just fatigue after his arduous journey. In the morning, all would be different: her father would help Miss Smith with her important work. And – somehow – Marina would convince him to let his only daughter work for the beguiling secretary of the First Sea Lord.
Marina hugged her knees to her chest in excitement as she imagined how Miss Smith would come to rely on her. How they would travel together. How their work would save lives.
How could her father refuse her such a life?
29
The door rattled and then swung open. Cold wind barged in. Marina, sleepy, looked about her. Why did she have to wake up?
‘What’s happening?’ she muttered.
A young man with plump pink cheeks, dressed in a smart grey uniform, stood holding a tray with two tin mugs and two large pieces of black bread. He took one look at Marina, placed the tray on the other bed and quickly left the room.
‘Father?’ Marina called out.
The door opened again but it was Miss Smith. She looked as if she’d been disturbed while she was getting dressed. She was wearing a white military-style jacket, on which she had pinned a scarlet silk rose, but she was still doing up the buttons at her wrist; her hair was only half pinned up.
‘Marina. Where’s your father?’ Her voice was quick and urgent, but she smiled a bright, fleeting smile.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did he say where he was going? I’ve asked the man who was posted outside your door but he seems to know nothing.’
Marina shook her head. ‘Should my father not have left the hut?’
Miss Smith slumped down on the empty bed and put her head in her hands. ‘This is bad. I had hoped that once we’d found him and he was reunited with you, he would see there was no need to continue with his mission.’
‘What do you mean?’ Marina whispered, unnerved.
‘Oh, Marina.’ Miss Smith looked up. She blinked as if she had tears in her eyes, and pushed a coil of auburn hair from her forehead. ‘I can’t keep it from you any longer.’
‘Keep what from me?’
Miss Smith looked suddenly careworn. ‘I’m sorry to tell you . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘No child should ever hear such things about their father. But—’
‘But what?’ There was a second when all that Marina could hear was the groaning of the thousands of miles of ice around her.
‘I have something I must confess, Marina. I lied to you. I told you that I was the Secretary to the First Sea Lord. But I am more than that: I, too, am a signals expert and I have been given the responsibility for running this station. It is a great honour and a sign of the trust placed in me. Even though my role is secret, others have found out. And they are jealous that I have been given such an important role in the defence of the nation. Your father is one of those men.’ She sighed. ‘Unable to accept that a woman could be as competent as any man, he came here secretly to try and ruin me and my work. He came here to sabotage the equipment I have here: my sonar transmitter.’
Of course. Miss Smith had not been a mere secretary, typing memoranda and sending messages. She was also responsible for running this station. Her father might not support such an important role being given to a woman, but he had not said that he had come to destroy the transmitter. Miss Smith must be mistaken. ‘My father came here to mend the equipment. . .’ Marina whispered.
Miss Smith shook her head vehemently. ‘Remember I told you that there was an enemy agent on the island? That man is your father.’
The words were so shocking that Marina couldn’t speak.
Miss Smith looked stricken. ‘I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. The sonar will be vital in the coming war. It will save the lives of thousands of sailors. But your father does not want me to have it.’
Marina tried to untangle her thoughts. ‘But my father came here to mend the sonar transmitter,’ she said again.
‘That’s what he told you. But, no. It is quite clear: he wants to sink the sonar transmitter to the bottom of the sea!’ She shook her head. ‘I thought that when he saw you yesterday, he would care enough about you to come to his senses and give himself up. But I was wrong. If a man doesn’t care about his country or the crew he commands, why should he care about a child he scarcely sees?’
‘You’re wrong,’ Marina managed to say. ‘My father is no traitor.’ Miss Smith’s grave expression would surely break into a dazzling smile at any moment. Marina would have to tell her that the joke was not very funny, but they would soon
