Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [78]
Heer looked at him. “Thank you for letting me have your opinion, Major,” he said. He turned away. “Full ahead both,” he ordered.
The sound of the twin diesels rose to a roar, and the U-boat began to pick up speed.
Part Four
19
WHEN LUCY WOKE UP, THE STORM THAT HAD BROKEN the evening before was still raging. She leaned over the edge of the bed, moving cautiously so that she would not disturb David, and picked up her wristwatch from the floor. It was just after six. The wind was howling around the roof. David could sleep on; little work would be done today.
She wondered whether they had lost any slates off the roof during the night. She would need to check the loft. The job would have to wait until David was out, otherwise he would be angry that she had not asked him to do it.
She slipped out of bed. It was very cold. The warm weather of the last few days had been a phony summer, the buildup to the storm. Now it was as cold as November. She pulled the flannel nightdress off over her head and quickly got into her underwear, trousers and sweater. David stirred. She looked at him; he turned over, but did not wake.
She crossed the tiny landing and looked into Jo’s room. The three-year-old had graduated from a cot to a bed, and he often fell out during the night without waking. This morning he was on his bed, lying asleep on his back with his mouth wide open. Lucy smiled. He looked truly adorable when he was asleep.
She went quietly downstairs, wondering briefly why she had awakened so early. Perhaps Jo had made a noise, or maybe it was the storm.
She knelt in front of the fireplace, pushing back the sleeves of her sweater, and began to make the fire. As she swept out the grate she whistled a tune she had heard on the radio, “Is You Is Or Is You Ain’t My Baby?” She raked the cold ashes, using the biggest lumps to form the base for today’s fire. Dried bracken provided the tinder, and wood and then coal went on top. Sometimes she just used wood, but coal was better in this weather. She held a page of newspaper across the fireplace for a few minutes to create an updraft in the chimney. When she removed it the wood was burning and the coal glowing red. She folded the paper and placed it under the coal scuttle for use tomorrow.
The blaze would soon warm the little house, but a hot cup of tea would help meanwhile. Lucy went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the electric cooker. She put two cups on a tray, then found David’s cigarettes and an ashtray. She made the tea, filled the cups, and carried the tray through the hall to the stairs.
She had one foot on the lowest stair when she heard the tapping sound. She stopped, frowned, decided it was the wind rattling something and took another step. The sound came again. It was like someone knocking on the front door.
That was ridiculous, of course. There was no one to knock on the front door—only Tom, and he always came to the kitchen door and never knocked.
The tapping again.
She came down the stairs and, balancing the tea tray on one hand, opened the front door.
She dropped the tray in shock. The man fell into the hall, knocking her over. Lucy screamed.
SHE WAS FRIGHTENED only for a moment. The stranger lay prone beside her on the hall floor, plainly incapable of attacking anyone. His clothes were soaking wet, and his hands and face were stone-white with cold.
Lucy got to her feet. David slid down the stairs on his bottom, saying, “What is it? What is it?”
“Him,” Lucy said, and pointed.
David arrived at the foot of the stairs, clad in pajamas, and hauled himself into his wheelchair. “I don’t see what there is to scream about,” he said. He wheeled himself closer and peered at the man on the floor.
“I’m sorry. He startled me.” She bent over and, taking the man by his upper arms, dragged him into the living room. David followed. Lucy laid the man in front of the fire.
David stared at the unconscious body. “Where the devil did he come from?”
“He must have been shipwrecked…the storm…”
But he was wearing the clothes of a workman,