â¦â And then he started in on a cross-examination that seemed to go on and on.
Finally he got up and stood for a long time staring out of the porthole at the sunlight dancing on the waves made by the shipâs passage through the water, whilst David sat there, numbed and hopeless. âWell, I believe you,â Griffiths said, still staring out at the sea. âYou could never have made all that up.â There was a long silence. âYou got Grant to help youâand how you did that I donât know, considering heâd never met your father. He was risking his reputation, everything. Youâve no passport, of course? That means you canât land in the normal way. And youâve never had word from your father, which means he doesnât care to acknowledge your existenceâright?â
And when David didnât say anything, Griffiths swung round from the porthole, his beard thrust aggressively forward. âAnd you stow away on my ship, expecting me to get you into Arabia. How the devil do you think Iâm going to do that, eh?â
âI donât know, sir.â
âPerhaps Grant suggested something?â But David shook his head unhappily and Griffiths snapped: âA lawyerâhe should have had more sense.â And he stumped across the cabin and stood peering down at Davidâs face. âIs your father going to acknowledge you now, do you think? How old are you?â
âNineteen.â
âAnd do you think Colonel Whitakerâs going to be pleased to have a bastard he sired nineteen, twenty years ago, suddenly turn up with no passport, nothingâand a jailbird at that?â
David got to his feet then. âIâm sorry, Captain Griffiths,â he said stiffly. âI didnât realize â¦â The words didnât come easily, and his mouth felt dry and caked. âIâve always dreamed of this, you seeâof getting out to Arabia. I suppose itâs in myâbastard blood.â He said it with bitterness, for he was convinced now that the world was against him, as it always had beenâas it always would be. âIâll work my passage,â he added wearily, âand when we get to Aden you can hand me over to the authorities.â
Griffiths nodded. âThatâs the first sensible suggestion youâve made. And itâs exactly what I ought to do.â He turned away and stood for a moment lost in thought. âYour father did me a good turn once. I owe him something for that, but the question is would I be doing him a good turn â¦â He gave a quick shrug and subsided into his chair, chuckling to himself. âIt has its humorous side, you know.â And David watched, fascinated and with a sudden feeling of intense excitement, as Griffithsâs hand reached out to the bridge communicator. âMr. Evans. Come down to my cabin for a moment, will you?â And then, looking at David: âWell, now, for the sake of Mr. Grant, whom I wouldnât have suspected of such lawlessness, and for the sake of your father, whoâs going to get the shock of his life, Iâm going to sign you on as a deck hand. But understand this,â he added, âany trouble at Aden and I hand you over to the authorities.â
David was too relieved, too dazed to speak. The Mate came in and Griffiths said: âStowaway for you, Mr. Evans. Have the galley give him some food and then put him to work. Iâm signing him on. And see the passengers, at any rate, donât know how he came aboard. His name isâWhitaker.â David caught the glint of humour in the blue eyes.
âThank you, sir,â he mumbled, but as he turned away all he could think about was that name, spoken aloud for the first time. Whitaker. Somehow it seemed to fit, as though it had always belonged to him; it was a symbol, too, a declaration that the past was gone, the future ahead.
All down the Mediterranean and through
Jade Lee
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Colin Evans