The Captain of the Deep – Part 1: Dive

The suite had been fitted out as a submarine: round hatch doors, riveted walls, brass gauges, a periscope in the ceiling and a sonar screen glowing green. The hotel had asked for no explanation. Corinne had left a deposit and a handwritten note: We would like to be undisturbed.

She was forty-four, a naval architect with a love of order and a deep, steady voice. He was thirty-seven, a diving instructor, easygoing and capable, who had told her one night in the bath that the most restful thing he could imagine was being given an order and carrying it out.

In the little mess, with a pot of tea, she placed a laminated card on the steel table. Standing Orders. His limits and hers: no marks, nothing painful, no real humiliation, no leaving the suite. The word was Surface.

"Say it."

"Surface."

"If you say it, the Captain stands down. We take off our boots and open the wine."

"Yes, Captain."

"Not yet." She put on a navy sweater with epaulettes, a white cap and a pair of plain black gloves. The lights dimmed to a dull red. Her voice dropped, low and level. "Officer Rhodes. You abandoned your post."

"I am sorry, Captain."

"You will be." She pointed at a spot beside the periscope. "Stand there. Attention. Eyes forward."

He stood. The sonar pinged softly. The air hummed. She walked slowly round him, checking a gauge, tapping a dial, ignoring him for twelve whole minutes until his shoulders dropped and his pulse steadied.

"Are you content, Officer?"

"Content, Captain."

"Good. We are going deeper."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Surface.