ages,’ Alec grinned. ‘But that may have as much to do with the company as it does the menu.’ He stretched out contentedly in front of the fire and rested his head in her lap.
‘So what was it like? Out there?’
She stroked his hair, watching the firelight dance across his face as he gazed into the flames and told her about the journey. He described the mixture of fear and excitement as they’d set off, which had soon turned into a kind of dull dread as they faced the monotony of the grey Arctic waters, day in, day out, never knowing whether they were being watched and what might be lurking below the waves.
A storm had blown up a few nights in, sending towering waves of icy green water crashing over the deck of the ship. In the bitter temperatures, the water had frozen, forming a thick shell of ice on the windward side of the ship. They’d taken it in turns to tie on a lifeline and brave the treacherously slippery, listing deck as it pitched and rolled, taking an axe to the ice to prevent the build-up of weight from capsizing the ship.
Radio silence had to be maintained so that the German listening stations didn’t pick up the convoy’s presence, so although they travelled as a group with each ship holding its position in the line, there was a sense of isolation that was only amplified by the sight of the Arctic ice floes in the distance. That winter ice narrowed the channel available to them, forcing them to navigate a fine line between icebergs to the north and the German-occupied Norwegian coast to the south. But the short winter days brought fog as well, which covered the sea in a low-lying blanket – so thick, Alec said, that you could hardly see the jackstaff from the bridge of the Isla. Ordinarily they’d have cursed it as another hazard to be negotiated, but in those dangerous waters they’d given thanks for the white shroud that concealed them and allowed them to slip past the north cape undetected. Finally, with relief, they’d turned their bows to the south-east, hugging the Russian shore as they entered the Kola Inlet which led to the port of Murmansk.
Flora passed Alec her glass and he raised himself up on one elbow as he replenished it from the bottle. Then he reached across and fished another log from the basket, throwing it on to the fire where it settled in a cascade of sparks as tongues of flame licked around it.
‘What’s Russia like?’ she asked.
‘Cold. Dark. Vast. But with a terrible sort of beauty as well. We were met by a pilot vessel to guide us in and were pretty pleased to see it, I can tell you. It’s a deep fjord but the channel’s so narrow there you need to keep your wits about you. We had steep mountains to starboard and were jolly glad to think that they stood between us and the Germans. And the most extraordinary thing happened as we neared Murmansk . . . All the upper works of the ships, the masts and the yards, suddenly started to glow with a white flickering light. I’d heard of it before – they call it St Elmo’s fire – but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen it. In the mist, everything becomes charged with static and it discharges from anything that has a point. It was like our own personal lightning show. We were mightily relieved that it hadn’t happened off Norway, I can tell you. We’d have been lit up for the Jerries like Christmas trees!’
‘The Russians must have been glad to see you, with all that equipment for them.’
‘I suppose so.’ He paused to take a sip of beer. ‘Russian dockers are not exactly effusive. In fact, once the cargo was offloaded, one of them said, “Is that all you’ve brought us?” But it’s a tough life for them away up there in the Arctic Circle. At this time of year they only get an hour or two of daylight and the weather is brutal. I think they pretty much survive on vodka to get them through. The war’s brought awful suffering to their country as well. Ever since the German advance last year there’s been bitter fighting in the south and some of the men working on the dockside had seen action there. They’re hard as nails.’