" Good morning David Jones?"
Davy stirred, groaned, blinked his eyes and attempted to focus on a mist-shrouded figure next to the bed. "Tell Tracey she was right. It's time to end this." Tears streamed over his face. Fatigue replaced sorrow as he returned to drug-induced sleep.
***
With the casualties in the hospital, Adrian hoped to sail. To his frustration, a signal arrived, ordering him to remain in the harbour.
The following morning, dockyard workers, assisted by a mobile crane, relieved HMS Peacock of the wreckage.
Alan Holmes called on Adrian before re-joining the exercise.
With a pile of routine paperwork to complete, Adrian visited the hospital instead. The nurse at reception smiled as he asked; in French could he see the British casualty. With a pleasant smile, she pointed him in the right direction. The smell of her perfume teased his senses. He reflected gone the days when he put to good use the attraction of uniform and good manners to seduce women.
A gendarme sat reading a paper outside a private room. The moment he saw Adrian, he jumped to attention and saluted. The formalities over, he unlocked the door.
Clean-shaven and with a haircut, the casualty appeared much younger. "Commander Adrian Viper." He held out his hand.
"Good morning, sir." Davy smiled, shaking his hand.
This man's opening remark convinced Adrian he had served in the armed forces.
"Good morning. I'm in command of the ship that rescued you and your wife. My condolences, by the way."
"Oh, she wasn't my wife, sir." His voice dropped as Davy suppressed a shudder and a pained expression filled his eyes. "I loved her, and I'll miss her. I believed we could make it together. We were a good team." Dejected, he sat on the bed and stared out of the window. "It's not right. Who dies at twenty-six?" He buried his head in his hands and wept. "Why, why?" he sobbed. "Every time I get close to someone, a ton of shit falls from the sky and destroys everything."
"Mr Jones," interrupted Adrian. "Is there anything you need?"
"A bottle of whisky."
"I don't think you'll find solace in a bottle," said Adrian.
A long silence followed, "You're right. Can you find out why they're keeping me in the hospital? I have a funeral to arrange."
Adrian smiled; he remembered the bags of money. "I have no idea. Perhaps for your safety. You have survived one hell of an experience. Out of curiosity, what made you sail in such a storm? You must have heard the shipping forecast?"
Davy related his tale of misfortune. "My radio stopped working during the storm. The Bay is always bouncy, and I thought it might blow over. I was wrong."
"We recovered your yacht. What's left, the harbour master dumped on the back of a lorry this morning."
Startled Davy asked. "Oh, did they manage to salvage much?"
Adrian smiled. "I don't know. I'm sure when you're fit and well, you can collect your belongings."
Davy's mind raced. Had they found the money, a remote chance existed he might bluff his way out of this and continue overland to Spain.
For a further fifteen minutes, they passed the time. From memory, Adrian recognised David. As he returned to his ship, the information emerged. It had been a story on which his wife worked.
