He hesitated for a moment. 'That's the day that John Osborne thinks they'll be running the Grand Prix.'
She nodded. 'So I thought. Would you rather see that?'
He shook his head. 'Would you?'
'No. I don't want to see any more people get killed. We're going to see enough of that in a week or two.'
'I feel that way about it, too. I don't want to see that race, and maybe see John get killed. I'd rather go fishing.' He glanced at her and met her eyes. 'There's just one thing, honey. I wouldn't want to go if it was going to mean that you'd get hurt.'
'I shan't get hurt,' she said. 'Not in the way you mean.'
He stared across the crowded restaurant. 'I'm going home quite soon,' he said. 'I've been away a long time, but it's nearly over now. You know the way it is. I've got a wife at home I love, and I've played straight with her the two years that I've been away. I wouldn't want to spoil that now, these last few days.'
'I know,' she said. 'I've known that all the time.' She was silent for a minute, and then she said, 'You've been very good for me, Dwight. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along. I suppose half a loaf is better than no bread, when you're starving.'
He wrinkled his brows. 'I didn't get that, honey.'
'It doesn't matter. I wouldn't want to start a smutty love affair when I'm dying in a week or ten days' time. I've got some standards, too-now, anyway.'
He smiled at her. 'We could try out Junior's rod…'
'That's what I thought you'd want to do. I've got a little fly rod I could bring, but I'm no good.'
'Got any flies and leaders?'
'We call them casts. I'm not quite sure. I'll have to look around and see what I can find at home.'
'We'd go by car, would we? How far is it?'
'I think we'd want petrol for about five hundred miles. But you don't have to worry about that. I asked Daddy if I might borrow the Customline. He's got it out and running, and he's got nearly a hundred gallons of petrol tucked away in the hay shed behind the hay.'
He smiled again. 'You think of everything. Say, where would we stay?'
'I think at the hotel,' she said. 'It's only a small country place, but I think it's the best bet. I could borrow a cottage, but it wouldn't have been slept in for two years, and we'd spend all our time in housekeeping. I'll ring up and make a booking at the hotel. For two rooms,' she said.
'Okay. Til have to chase that Leading Seaman Edgar and see if I can use my car without taking him along. I'm not just sure if I'm allowed to drive myself.'
'That's not terribly important now, is it? I mean, you could just take it and drive it.'
He shook his head. 'I wouldn't want to do that.'
'But, Dwight, why not? I mean, it doesn't matter -we can go in the Customline. But if that car's been put at your disposal, you can use it, surely. We're all going to be dead in a fortnight's time. Then nobody will be using it.'
'I know…' he said. 'It's just that I'd like to do things right, up till the end. If there's an order I'll obey it. That's the way I was trained, honey, and I'm not changing now. If it's against the rules for an officer to take a service car and drive it up into the mountains for a week-end with a girl, then I'll not do it. There'll be no alcoholic liquor on board Scorpion, not even in the last five minutes.' He smiled. 'That's the way it is, so let me buy you another drink.'
'I can see that it will have to be the Customline. You're a very difficult man-I'm glad I'm not a sailor serving under you. No, I won't have a drink, thanks, Dwight. I've got my first test this afternoon.'
'Your first test?'
She nodded. 'I've got to try and take dictation at fifty words a minute. You've got to be able to do that and type it out without more than three mistakes in shorthand and three in typing. It's very difficult.'
'I'd say it might be. You're getting to be quite a shorthand typist.'
She smiled faintly. 'Not at fifty words a minute. You have to be able to do a hundred and twenty if you're ever going to be any good.' She raised her head. 'I'd like to come and see you in America one day,' she said. 'I want to meet Sharon-if she'd want to meet me.'
'She'll want to meet you,' he said. 'I'd say she's kind of grateful to you now, already.'
She smiled faintly. 'I don't know. Women are funny about men… If I came to Mystic, would there be a shorthand typing school where I could finish off my course?'
He thought for a minute. 'Not in Mystic itself,' he said. 'There's plenty of good business colleges in New London. That's only about fifteen miles away.'
'I'll just come for an afternoon,' she said thoughtfully. 'I want to see Helen jumping round upon that Pogo stick. But after that, I think I'd better come back here.'
'Sharon would be very disappointed if you did that, honey. She'd want you to stay.'
'That's what you think. I shall want a bit of convincing on that point.'
He said, 'I think things may be kind of different by that time.'
She nodded slowly. 'Possibly. I'd like to think they would be. Anyway, we'll find out pretty soon.' She glanced at her wrist watch. 'I must go, Dwight, or I'll be late for my test.' She gathered up her gloves and her bag. 'Look, I'll tell Daddy that we'd like to take the Customline and about thirty gallons of petrol.'
He hesitated. 'I'll find out about my car. I don't like taking your father's car away for all that time, with all that gas.'
'He won't be using it,' she said. 'He's had it on the road for a fortnight, but I think he's only used it twice. There's so much that he wants to see done on the farm while there's still time.'
'What's he working on now?'
'The fence along the wood-the one in the forty acre. He's digging postholes to put up a new one. It's about twenty chains long. That's going to mean digging nearly a hundred holes.'
'There's not so much to do at Williamstown. I could come out and lend a hand, if he'd like that.'
She nodded. 'I'll tell him. Give you a ring tonight, about eight o'clock?'
'Fine,' he said. He escorted her to the door. 'Good luck with the test.'
He had no engagement for that afternoon. He stood in the street outside the restaurant after she had left him, completely at a loose end. Inactivity was unusual for him, and irksome. At Williamstown there was absolutely nothing for him to do; the aircraft carrier was dead and his ship all but dead. Although he had received no orders, he knew that now she would never cruise again; for one thing, with South America and South Africa out, there was now nowhere much for them to cruise to, unless it were New Zealand. He had given half of his ship's company leave, each half alternating a week at a time; of the other half he kept only about ten men on duty for maintenance and cleaning in the submarine, permitting the rest daily leave on shore. No signals now arrived for him to deal with; once a week he signed a few stores requisitions as a matter of form, though the stores they needed were supplied from dockyard sources with a disregard of paper work. He would not admit it, but he knew that his ship's working life was over, as his own was. He had nothing to replace it.
He thought of going to the Pastoral club, and abandoned the idea; there would be no occupation for him there. He turned and walked towards the motor district of the town where he would find John Osborne working on his car; there might be work there of the sort that interested him. He must be back at Williamstown in time to receive Moira's call at about eight o'clock; that was his next appointment. He would go out next day and help her father with that fence, and he looked forward to the labour and the occupation.
On his way downtown he stopped at a sports shop and asked for flies and casts. 'I'm sorry, sir,' the man said. 'Not a cast in the place, and not a fly. I've got a few hooks left, if you can tie your own. Sold clean out of everything the last few days, on account of the season opening, and there won't be any more coming in now, either. Well, as I said to the wife, it's kind of satisfactory. Get the stock down to a minimum before the end. It's how the accountants would like to see it, though I don't suppose they'll take much interest in it now. It's a queer turnout.'
He walked on through the city. In the motor district there were still cars in the windows, still motor mowers, but the windows were dirty and the stores closed, the stock inside covered in dust and dirt. The streets were dirty now and littered with paper and spoilt vegetables; it was evidently some days since the street cleaners had operated. The trams still ran, but the whole city was becoming foul and beginning to smell; it reminded the
