Free Death of a Supertanker by Antony Trew Page A

paperbacks and transistors.
    Sandy lay on her back, a straw hat over her eyes, a cassette recorder at her side purring Abba music. She was almost asleep when Jarrett, who’d been inspecting mooring lines and winches in the stern, arrived silently. He put his hard hat and R/T set on the bench, took out a handkerchief, mopped his face and considered the almost nude figure at his feet.
    ‘Hi,’ he said.
    She started, pushed the sun-hat away from her eyes and saw him. ‘Hi, Freeman. Come to swim?’ She turned down the volume on the recorder.
    ‘Not bloody likely. Too busy, love. Heard the buzz about sailing?’
    ‘Yes. It was broadcast. Five-thirty tomorrow morning.’
    He looked towards where Doris Benson lay at the far end. ‘She may be asleep‚’ he said, ‘but turn up that volume again in case she isn’t.’
    The volume went up and Abba delivered their message of love more loudly. ‘That’s better‚’ he said. ‘Now I can tell you what’s on my mind.’
    ‘What is it?’
    He dropped his voice. ‘A very important message. You’ve got a beautiful body. It’s a challenge. It does things to me.’
    She laughed happily. ‘Thank you, sir. You do things to me.’
    He leant closer. ‘How about doing them now?’
    ‘Freeman! How can you suggest such a thing to a respectable married woman.’ She folded her hands on her breasts in a gesture of modesty. He looked at her with half-closed eyes, speculating, trying to read her thoughts. ‘Has George any clue about our lunches?’
    She shook her head. ‘Definitely not. And let’s keep it like that.’
    ‘A room with a view‚’ he said. ‘Remember?’
    ‘Can I ever forget? Fabulous view over the sea.’
    ‘I didn’t see much of that. There was a lot else to look at.’
    ‘Don’t be so basic, Freeman. Anyway, stop it. You’re turning me on.’ She sat up, put on her sun-hat, clasped her hands round her knees. ‘What are you going to do when we get back to the UK?’
    ‘I’m not worrying. You know I’m fed up with this life. I’ve wanted to make the break for a long time. Now the decision’s made for me. On balance I like that.’
    She looked at him with concerned, affectionate eyes. ‘It’s a terribly bad time to be looking for a job.’
    He stood up, stretched and yawned. ‘I’ll be okay, Sandy. Something worthwhile will turn up. It always does. I was born under a lucky star.’
    ‘I hope it does, Freeman. I hope you were.’
    The R/T set on the bench came alive. It was the Captain requesting the chief officer to report at once to his office.
    ‘Bloody hell‚’ said Jarrett. ‘Man can’t even chat up a girl friend.’ He put on the hard hat, picked up the R/T, put the leather strap round his neck.
    ‘’Bye now, Sandy. Look after the body beautiful.’
    ‘Don’t you ever think of anything else?’
    ‘Not often where you’re concerned.’ He smiled, blew her a discreet kiss and made for the accommodation housing.
     
    The atmosphere in Ocean Mammoth ’s bar-lounge that evening was a mixture of gloom and gaiety. There was relief that the long stay in Durban was about to end, that uncertainty about the ship’s destination and the crew’s employment had gone, and some comfort that they were homeward bound. But those thoughts were overshadowed by the realities of their situation, the knowledge that at the journey’s end the ship would be laid up and they would have to face the problem of unemployment.
    Kostadis and Lars Hammarsen, only too well aware of these feelings among the ship’s officers, did their best to instil some sort of optimism as they made their farewells.
    ‘Look,’ said Kostadis, facing those nearest him at the bar. ‘Tanker markets recover as quickly as they collapse. We’ve seen it before and we’ll see it again.’
    ‘Not much comfort when you’re out of a job,’ said Foley.
    ‘You’ll have your redundancy hand-out,’ Kostadis reminded him. ‘That should see you through the worst of it.’
    ‘Three