Night Over Water

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Eddie Deakin could feel the hostility of his crewmates as they went ashore in the launch. None of them would meet his eye. They all knew how close they had come to running out of fuel and crashing into the stormy ocean. Their lives had been in danger. No one yet knew just why it had happened, but fuel was the engineer’s responsibility, so Eddie was to blame.

They must have noticed that he had been behaving oddly. He had been preoccupied the whole flight, he had talked scarily to Tom Luther during dinner, and a window had inexplicably broken while he was in the men’s room. No wonder the others felt he was not one hundred percent reliable anymore. That kind of feeling spread fast in a tightly knit crew whose lives depended on one another.

The knowledge that his mates no longer trusted him was a bitter pill to swallow. He was proud to be considered one of the most solid guys around. To make matters worse, he himself was slow to forgive others’ mistakes, and had sometimes been scornful of people whose performance fell off because of personal problems. “Excuses don’t fly,” he sometimes said, a crack that now made him wince every time he thought of it.

He had tried telling himself he did not give a damn. He had to save his wife and he had to do it alone: he could not ask anyone for help, and he could not worry about other people’s feelings. He had risked their lives, but the gamble had paid off and that was the end of it. It was all perfectly logical, and none of it made any difference. Engineer Deakin, solid as a rock, had turned into Unreliable Eddie, a guy you had to watch in case he screwed up. He hated people like Unreliable Eddie. He hated himself.

A lot of passengers had stayed on board the plane, as always at Botwood: they were glad of the chance to catch some sleep while the plane was still. Ollis Field, the F.B.I. man, and his prisoner, Frankie Gordino, had also stayed behind, of course: they had not disembarked at Foynes either. Tom Luther was in the launch, wearing a topcoat with a fur collar and a dove gray hat. As they approached the pier, Eddie moved next to Luther and murmured: “Wait for me at the airline building. I’ll take you to where the phone is.”

Botwood was a huddle of wooden houses around a deepwater harbor in the landlocked estuary of the Exploits River. Even the millionaires on the Clipper could never find much to buy here. The village had had telephone service only since June. Such few cars as there were drove on the left, for Newfoundland was still under British rule.

They all went into the wooden Pan American building and the crew made their way to the flight room. Eddie immediately read the weather reports sent by radio from the big new landplane airport thirty-eight miles away at Gander Lake. Then he calculated the fuel requirement for the next leg. Because this hop was so much shorter, the calculation was not so crucial, but all the same the plane never carried a great excess of fuel because payload was expensive. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he worked out the arithmetic. Would he ever be able to go through these sums again without thinking of this awful day? The question was academic: after what he was about to do, he would never again be engineer on a Clipper.

The captain might already be wondering whether to trust Eddie’s calculations. Eddie needed to do something toward restoring confidence. He decided to show some implicit self-doubt. He went over his figures twice, then handed his work to Captain Baker, saying in a neutral tone: “I’d appreciate it if someone would check these.”

“Won’t hurt,” the captain said noncommittally; but he looked relieved, as if he had wanted to propose a double-check but had been reluctant to.

“I’m going to get a breath of air,” Eddie said, and he went out.

He found Tom Luther outside the Pan American building, standing with his hands in his pockets, moodily watching the cows in the field. “I’ll take you to the telegraph office,” Eddie said. He led the way up the hill at a brisk pace. Luther lagged behind. “Set fire, you,” Eddie said. “I have to get back.” Luther walked faster. He looked like he did not want to make Eddie angry. Maybe it was not surprising, after Eddie almost threw him out of the plane.

They nodded to two passengers who appeared to be coming back from the telegraph office: Mr. Lovesey and Mrs. Lenehan, the couple who had got on at Foynes. The guy wore a flying jacket. Distracted though he was, Eddie noticed that they seemed happy together. People always said he and Carol-Ann looked happy together, he recalled, and he felt a stab of pain.

They reached the office and Luther placed the call. He wrote the number he wanted on a piece of paper: he did not want Eddie to hear him say it. They went into a small private room with a phone on a table and a couple of chairs, and waited impatiently for the call to go through. This early in the morning the lines should not be too busy, but there were probably a lot of connections between here and Maine.

Eddie felt confident that Luther would tell his men to bring Carol-Ann to the rendezvous. That was a big step forward: it meant he would be free to act the moment the rescue was over, instead of continuing to worry about his wife. But what exactly could he do? The obvious thing would be to radio the police immediately; but Luther was sure to think of that, and he would probably smash up the Clipper’s radio. Nobody would be able to do anything until help turned up. By then Gordino and Luther would be on land, in a car, speeding away—and no one would even know which country they were in, Canada or the U.S.A. Eddie racked his brains for some way to make it easier for the police to trace Gordino, but he could not think of anything. And if he were to give the warning beforehand, there was a danger the police would blunder in too early and endanger Carol-Ann—the one risk Eddie was not prepared to take. He began to wonder whether he had achieved anything after all.

After a while the phone rang and Luther picked up the earpiece. “It’s me,” he said. “There’s going to be a change of plan. You have to bring the woman on the launch.” There was a pause, then he said: “The engineer wants it this way, and he says he won’t do it any other way, and I believe him, so just bring the woman, okay?” After another pause he looked at Eddie. “They want to talk to you.”

Eddie’s heart sank. So far Luther had acted like the man in charge. Now it sounded as if he might not have the power to order Carol-Ann brought to the rendezvous. Eddie said edgily: “Are you telling me this is your boss?”

“I’m the boss,” Luther said uneasily. “But I have partners.”

Clearly the partners did not like the idea of bringing Carol-Ann to the rendezvous. Eddie cursed. Should he give them the chance to talk him out of it? Was there anything at all to be gained by speaking to them? He thought not. They might bring Carol-Ann to the phone and make her scream, to weaken his resolve.... “Tell them to fuck off,” Eddie said. The phone was on the table and he spoke loudly, hoping they could hear him at the other end of the line.

Luther looked scared. “You can’t talk that way to these people!” he said in a high voice.

Eddie wondered if he should be scared, too. Maybe he had misread the situation. If Luther was one of the gangsters, what was he frightened of? But there was no time to reassess the position right now. He had to stick to his plan. “I just want a yes or no,” he said. “I don’t need to talk to the shitheel.”

“Oh, my God.” Luther picked up the phone and said: “He won’t come to the phone—I told you he was difficult.” There was a pause. “Yes, good idea. I’ll tell him.” He turned to Eddie again and held out the earpiece. “Your wife is on the line.”

Eddie reached for the phone, then pulled his hand back. If he talked to her, he would be putting himself at their mercy. But he was desperate to hear her voice. He summoned up every ounce of willpower, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and shook his head in silent negation.

Luther stared at him for a moment, then spoke into the phone again. “He still won’t speak! He—Get off the line, cunt. I want to talk to—”

Suddenly Eddie had him by the throat. The phone clattered to the floor. Eddie pressed his thumbs into Luther’s thick neck. Luther gasped: “Stop! Let go! Leave me....” His voice was choked off.

The red mist cleared from Eddie’s eyes. He realized he was killing the man. He eased the pressure, but retained his grip. He brought his face close to Luther’s, so close that Luther blinked. “Listen to me,” Eddie said. “You call my wife Mrs. Deakin.”

“Okay, okay!” Luther said hoarsely. “Let me go, for Christ’s sake!”

Eddie let him go.

Luther rubbed his neck, breathing hard; then he grabbed the phone. “Vincini? He just went for me because I called his wife a—a bad word. Says I have to call her Mrs. Deakin. Are you getting it now, or do I have to draw you a picture? He’ll do anything!” There was a pause. “I guess I could handle him, but if people see us fighting, what’ll they think? It could blow the whole thing!” He was silent for a while. “Good. I’ll tell him. Listen, we’re making the right decision. I know it. Hold on.” He turned to Eddie. “They’ll go along with it. She’ll be on the launch.”

Eddie made his face a mask to conceal his tremendous relief.

Luther went on nervously: “But he says, I must tell you that if there are any snags, he’s going to shoot her.”

Eddie snatched the phone from his hand. “Get this, Vincini. One: I have to see her on the deck of your launch before I open the doors of the plane. Two: She has to come on board with you. Three: No matter what snags there might be, if she’s hurt I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. Just keep that in your mind, Vincini.” Before the man had time to reply, Eddie hung up.

Luther looked dismayed. “What did you do that for?” He lifted the earpiece and jiggled the cradle. “Hello? Hello?” He shook his head and hung up. “Too late.” He looked at Eddie with a mixture of anger and awe. “You really live dangerously, don’t you?”

“Go pay for the call,” Eddie said.

Luther reached into his inside pocket and took out a thick roll of bills. “Listen,” he said. “Your getting mad doesn’t help anyone. I’ve given you what you ask. Now we have to work together to make this operation a success, for both our sakes. Why don’t we just try to get along? We’re partners now.”

“Fuck you, shitheel,” Eddie said, and he went out.

He was angrier than ever as he strode along the road back to the harbor. Luther’s remark that they were partners had touched a raw nerve. Eddie had done what he could to protect Carol-Ann, but he was still committed to help free Frankie Gordino, who was a murderer and a rapist. The fact that he was being forced into it should have excused him, and in others’ minds perhaps it would, but to him it seemed to make no difference: he knew that if he went through with it he would never hold up his head again.

As he walked down the hill to the bay, he looked across the water. The Clipper floated majestically on the calm surface. Eddie’s career on Clippers was at an end, he knew. He was mad about that, too. There were also two big freighters at anchor and a few smaller fishing boats; and, to his surprise, he saw a U.S. Navy patrol boat tied up at the dock. He wondered what it was doing here in Newfoundland. Something to do with the war? It reminded him of his days in the navy. Looking back, that seemed like a golden time when life was simple. Maybe the past always looked attractive when you were in trouble.

He entered the Pan American building. There in the green-and-white painted lobby was a man in lieutenant’s uniform, presumably off the patrol boat. As Eddie walked in, the lieutenant turned around. He was a big, ugly man with small eyes set too close together and a wart on his nose. Eddie stared at him in amazement and delight. He could not believe his eyes. “Steve?” he said. “Is it really you?”

“Hi, Eddie.”

“How in the hell ... ?” It was Steve Appleby, whom Eddie had tried to call from England—his oldest and best friend, the one man above all others he wanted by his side in a tight spot. He could hardly take it in.

Steve came over and they embraced, hitting each other on the back. Eddie said: “You’re supposed to be in New Hampshire—what the hell are you doing here?”

“Nella said you sounded frantic when you called,” Steve said, looking solemn. “Hell, Eddie, I’ve never known you to seem even a little shook. You’re always such a rock. I knew you had to be in bad trouble.”

“I am. I’m ...” Suddenly Eddie was overcome with emotion. For twenty hours he had kept his feelings bottled up and tightly corked, and he was ready to explode. The fact that his best friend had moved heaven and earth to come and help him out touched him deeply. “I’m in bad trouble,” he confessed; then tears came to his eyes and his throat seized up so he could not speak. He turned away and went outside.

Steve followed. Eddie led him around the comer of the building and through the big open doorway into the empty boat room, where the launch was normally kept. They would not be seen in here.

Steve spoke to cover his embarrassment. “I can’t count how many favors I’ve called in to get here. I’ve been in the navy eight years, and a lot of people owe me, but today they all paid me back double, and now I owe them. It’s going to take me another eight years just to get back to even!”

Eddie nodded. Steve had a natural aptitude for wheeling and dealing, and he was one of the navy’s great fixers. Eddie wanted to say thank you, but he could not stop the tears.

Steve’s tone changed and he said: “Eddie, what the hell is going on?”

“They’ve got Carol-Ann,” Eddie managed.

“Who has, for Christ’s sake?”

“The Patriarca gang.”

Steve was incredulous. “Ray Patriarca? The racketeer?”

“They kidnapped her.”

“God almighty, why?”

“They want me to bring down the Clipper.”

“What for?”

Eddie wiped his face with his sleeve and brought himself under control. “There’s an F.B.I. agent on board with a prisoner, a hoodlum called Frankie Gordino. I figure Patriarca wants to rescue him. Anyway, a passenger calling himself Tom Luther told me to bring the plane down off the Maine coast. They’ll have a fast boat waiting, and Carol-Ann will be on it. We swap Carol-Ann for Gordino—then Gordino disappears.”

Steve nodded. “And Luther was smart enough to realize that the only possible way to get Eddie Deakin to cooperate was to kidnap his wife.”

“Yeah.”

“The bastards.”

“I want to get these people, Steve. I want to fucking crucify them. I want to nail the bastards up, I swear.”

Steve shook his head. “But what can you do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”

Steve frowned. “The danger period for them is from when they come aboard the plane until they get back to their car. Maybe the police could find the car and ambush them.”

Eddie was dubious. “How would the police recognize it? It will just be a car parked near a beach.”

“It might be worth a try.”

“It’s not tight enough, Steve. There’s too much to go wrong. And I don’t want to call in the police—there’s no knowing what they might do to endanger Carol-Ann.”

Steve nodded agreement. “And the car could be on either side of the border, so we’d have to call in the Canadian police as well. Hell, it wouldn’t stay secret for five minutes. No, the police are no good. That leaves the navy or the Coast Guard.”

Eddie felt better just being able to discuss his dilemma with someone. “Let’s talk navy.”

“All right. Suppose I could get a patrol boat like this one to intercept the launch after the trade, before Gordino and Luther reach land?”

“That might work,” Eddie said, and he began to feel hopeful. “But could you do it?” It was next to impossible to get naval vessels to move outside their chain of command.

“I think I can. They’re out on exercises anyway, getting all excited in case the Nazis decided to invade New England after Poland. It’s just a question of diverting one. The guy who can do that is Simon Greenbourne’s father—remember Simon?”

“Sure I do.” Eddie recalled a wild kid with a crazy sense of humor and a huge thirst for beer. He was always in trouble, but he usually got off lightly because his father was an admiral.

Steve continued. “Simon went too far one day and set fire to a bar in Pearl City and burned down half a block. It’s a long story, but I kept him out of jail and his father is eternally grateful. I think he would do this for me.”

Eddie looked at the vessel Steve had come in. It was an SC-class submarine chaser, twenty years old, with a wooden hull, but it carried a three-inch, twenty-three-caliber machine gun and a depth charge. It would scare the pants off a bunch of citified mobsters in a speedboat. But it was conspicuous. “They might see the boat beforehand and smell a rat,” he said anxiously.

Steve shook his head. “These things can hide up creeks. Their draft is less than six feet, fully loaded.”

“It’s risky, Steve.”

“So they spot a navy patrol boat. It leaves them alone. What are they going to do—call the whole thing off?”

“They might do something to Carol-Ann.”

Steve seemed about to argue; then he changed his mind. “That’s true,” he said. “Anything might happen. You’re the only one who has the right to say we’ll take the risk.”

Eddie knew Steve was not saying what he really felt. “You think I’m running scared, don’t you?” he said testily.

“Yeah. But you’re entitled.”

Eddie looked at his watch. “Christ, I’m due back in the flight room.” He had to make up his mind. Steve had come up with the best plan he could, and now it was up to Eddie to take it or leave it.

Steve said: “One thing you may not have thought of. They could still be planning to double-cross you.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how, but once they’re on board the Clipper it’s going to be hard to argue with them. They may decide to take Gordino and Carol-Ann, too.”

“Why the hell would they do that?”

“To make sure you don’t cooperate too enthusiastically with the police for a while.”

“Shit.” There was another reason, too, Eddie realized. He had yelled at these guys and insulted them. They might well be planning some final payoff to teach him a lesson.

He was cornered.

He had to go along with Steve’s plan now. It was too late to do otherwise.

God forgive me if I’m wrong, he thought.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Margaret woke up thinking: Today I have to tell Father.

It took her a moment to remember what she had to tell him: she would not be living with them in Connecticut; she was going to leave the family, find lodgings and get a job.

He was sure to throw a tantrum.

A nauseating sensation of fear and shame came over her. It was a familiar feeling. She got it every time she wanted to defy Father. I’m nineteen years old, she thought; I’m a woman. Last night I made passionate love to a wonderful man. Why am I still scared of my father?

It had been like this as long as she could remember. She had never understood why he was so determined to keep her in a cage. He was the same with Elizabeth, but not with Percy. He seemed to want his daughters to be useless ornaments. He had always been at his worst when they wanted to do something practical, like learn to swim or build a tree-house or ride bicycles. He never cared how much they spent on gowns, but he would not let them have an account at a bookshop.

It was not simply the prospect of defeat that made her feel sick. It was the way he refused her, the anger and scorn, the mocking jibes and the purple-faced rage.

She had often tried to outwit him by deceit, but that rarely worked: she was so terrified he might hear the scratching of the rescued kitten in the attic, or come across her playing with the “unsuitable” children from the village, or search her room and find her copy of Elinor Glyn’s The Vicissitudes of Evangeline, that forbidden delights lost their charm.

She had succeeded in going against his will only with the help of others. Monica had introduced her to sexual pleasure, and he had never been able to take that away from her. Percy showed her how to shoot; Digby, the chauffeur, taught her to drive. Now perhaps Harry Marks and Nancy Lenehan would help her to become independent.

She already felt different. There was a pleasant ache in her muscles, as if she had spent a day at some hard physical work in the fresh air. She lay in her bunk and ran her hands all over her body. For the past six years she had thought of herself as a thing of ungainly bulges and unsightly hair, but now suddenly she liked her body. Harry seemed to think it was wonderful.

From outside her curtained bunk came a few faint noises. People were waking up, she guessed. She peeped out. Nicky, the fat steward, was taking down the opposite bunks, the pair in which Mother and Father had slept, and remaking the divan seat. Harry’s and Mr. Membury’s had already been done. Harry was sitting down, fully dressed, looking out of the window meditatively.

She suddenly felt bashful, and closed the curtain quickly, before he could see her. It was funny: a few hours ago they had been as intimate as two people can possibly be, but now she felt awkward.

She wondered where the others were. Percy would have gone ashore. Father had probably done the same: he generally woke up early. Mother was never very energetic in the morning: she was probably in the ladies’ room. Mr. Membury was nowhere in sight.

Margaret looked out of the window. It was daylight. The plane was at anchor near a small town in a pine forest. The scene was very still.

She lay back, enjoying the privacy, savoring the memory of the night, recalling the details and storing them away like photographs in an album. She felt as if last night was when she really lost her virginity. Previously, with Ian, sexual intercourse had been hurried, difficult and quick, and she had felt like a guilty child disobediently imitating a grown-up game. Last night she and Harry had been adults taking pleasure in one another’s bodies. They had been discreet but not furtive, shy but not embarrassed, uncertain without clumsiness. She had felt like a real woman. I want more of that, she thought, lots more; and she hugged herself, feeling wanton.

She pictured Harry as she had just glimpsed him, sitting by the window in a sky blue shirt with such a thoughtful look on his handsome face; and suddenly she wanted to kiss him. She sat up, pulled her robe around her shoulders, opened her curtains, and said, “Good morning, Harry.”

His head jerked around and he looked as if he had been caught doing something wrong. She thought: What were you thinking about? He met her eyes, then smiled. She smiled back, and found that she could not stop. They grinned stupidly at one another for a long minute. Finally Margaret dropped her eyes and stood up.

The steward turned around from fixing Mother’s seat and said: “Good morning, Lady Margaret. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you, Nicky.” She probably looked a fright, and she was in a hurry to get to a mirror and brush her hair. She felt undressed. She was undressed, whereas Harry had shaved and put on a fresh shirt and looked as bright as a new apple.

However, she still wanted to kiss him.

She stepped into her slippers, remembering how she had indiscreetly left them beside Harry’s bunk and retrieved them a split second before Father would have seen them. She put her arms into the sleeves of her robe, and saw Harry’s eyes drop to her breasts. She did not mind: she liked him to look at her breasts. She tied her belt and ran her fingers through her hair.

Nicky finished what he was doing. She hoped he would leave the compartment, so that she could kiss Harry, but instead he said: “May I do your bunk now?”

“Of course,” she said, feeling disappointed. She wondered how long she would have to wait for another chance to kiss Harry. She picked up her bag, shot a regretful look at Harry, then went out.

The other steward, Davy, was laying out a buffet breakfast in the dining room. She stole a strawberry, feeling sinful. She walked the length of the plane. Most of the bunks had now been remade as seats, and a few people were sitting around drinking coffee sleepily. She saw Mr. Membury deep in conversation with Baron Gabon, and wondered what that disparate pair found to talk about so earnestly. Something was missing, and after a moment she realized what: there were no morning newspapers.

She went into the ladies’ room. Mother was sitting at the dressing table. Suddenly Margaret felt dreadfully guilty. How could I have done those things, she thought wildly, with Mother only a couple of steps away? She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. She forced herself to say: “Good morning, Mother.” To her surprise, her voice sounded quite normal.

“Good morning, dear. You look a little flushed. Did you sleep?”

“Very well,” Margaret said, and she blushed deeper. Then she was inspired, and said: “I’m feeling guilty because I stole a strawberry from the breakfast buffet.” She dived into the toilet cubicle to escape. When she came out, she ran water into the basin and washed her face vigorously.

She was sorry she had to put on the dress she had been wearing yesterday. She would have liked something fresh. She splashed on extra eau de toilette. Harry had told her he liked it. He had even known it was Tosca. He was the first man she had ever met who could identify perfumes.

She took her time brushing her hair. It was her best feature, and she needed to make the most of it. I ought to take more trouble over how I look, she thought. She had never cared much until now, but suddenly it seemed to matter. I ought to have dresses that show off my figure, and smart shoes to call attention to my long legs; and wear colors that look good with red hair and green eyes. The dress she had on if was all right: it was a sort of brick red. But it was rather loose and shapeless, and now, looking in the mirror, she wished it had squarer shoulders and a belt at the waist. Mother would never let her wear makeup, of course, so she would have to be satisfied with her pale complexion. At least she had good teeth.

“I’m ready,” she said brightly.

Mother was still in the same position. “I suppose you’re going back to talk to Mr. Vandenpost.”

“I suppose I am, since there’s no one else there and you’re still redecorating your face.”

“Don’t be fresh. There’s a look of the Jew about him.”

Well, he isn’t circumcised, Margaret thought, and she almost said it out of sheer devilment; but instead she started to giggle.

Mother was offended. “There’s nothing to laugh at. I want you to know that I will not permit you to see that young man again after we get off this plane.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I don’t care tuppence.” It was true: she was going to leave her parents, so it no longer mattered what they would or would not permit.

Mother threw her a suspicious look. “Why do I think you’re not being quite sincere?”

“Because tyrants can never trust anyone,” Margaret said.

That was quite a good exit line, she thought, and she went to the door; but Mother called her back.

“Don’t go away, dear,” Mother said, and her eyes filled with tears.

Did she mean Don’t leave the room or Don’t leave the family? Could she possibly have guessed what Margaret was planning? She had always had good intuition. Margaret said nothing.

“I’ve already lost Elizabeth. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”

“But it’s Father’s fault!” Margaret burst out, and suddenly she wanted to cry. “Can’t you stop him being so horrid?”

“Don’t you think I try?”

Margaret was shocked: Mother had never before admitted that Father might be at fault. “But I can’t help it if he’s that way,” she said miserably.

“You could try not to provoke him,” Mother said.

“Give in to him all the time, you mean.”

“Why not? It’s only until you’re married.”

“If you would stand up to him, he might not be this way.”

Mother shook her head sadly. “I can’t take your side against him, dear. He’s my husband.”

“But he’s so wrong!”

“It makes no difference. You’ll know that when you’re married.”

Margaret felt cornered. “It’s not fair.”

“It’s not for long. I’m just asking you to tolerate him a little while longer. As soon as you’re twenty-one he’ll be different, I promise you, even if you’re not married. I know it’s hard. But I don’t want you to be banished, like poor Elizabeth....”

Margaret realized that she would be as upset as Mother if they became estranged. “I don’t want that either, Mother,” she said. She took a step closer to the stool. Mother opened her arms. They embraced awkwardly, Margaret standing and Mother sitting.

“Promise me you won’t quarrel with him,” Mother said.

She sounded so sad that Margaret wanted with all her heart to give the promise; but something held held back, and all she would say was: “I’ll try, Mother. I really will.”

Mother let her go and looked at her, and Margaret read bleak resignation in her face. “Thank you for that, anyway,” Mother said.

There was nothing more to say.

Margaret went out.

Harry stood up when she entered the compartment. She felt so upset that she completely lost all sense of propriety and threw her arms around him. After a moment’s startled hesitation he hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She began to feel better right away.

Opening her eyes, she caught an astonished look from Mr. Membury, who was back in his seat. She hardly cared, but she detached herself from Harry and they sat down on the other side of the compartment.

“We’ve got to make plans,” Harry said. “This could be our last chance to talk privately.”

Margaret realized that Mother would be back soon, and Father and Percy would return with the other passengers, and after that she and Harry might not be alone again. She was seized by a near-panic as she saw a vision of the two of them parting company at Port Washington and never finding one another again. “Where can I contact you—tell me quick!” she said.

“I don’t know—I haven’t fixed anything. But don’t worry. I’ll get in touch with you. What hotel will you be staying at?”

“The Waldorf. Will you telephone me tonight? You must!”

“Calm down. Of course I will. I’ll call myself Mr. Marks.”

Harry’s relaxed tone made Margaret realize she was being silly ... and a little selfish, too. She should think of him as well as herself. “Where will you spend the night?”

“I’ll find a cheap hotel.”

She was struck by an idea. “Would you like to sneak into my room at the Waldorf?”

He grinned. “Are you serious? You know I would!”

She was happy to have pleased him. “Normally I’d share with my sister, but now I’ll be on my own.”

“Oh, boy. I can’t wait.”

She knew how he loved the high life, and she so wanted to make him happy. What else would he like? “We’ll order scrambled eggs and champagne from room service.”

“I’ll want to stay there forever.”

That brought her back to reality. “My parents will be moving to my grandfather’s place in Connecticut after a few days. Then I’ll have to find somewhere to to live.”

‘We’ll look together,” he said. “Maybe get rooms in the same building, or something.”

“Really?” She was thrilled. They would have rooms in the same building! It was exactly what she wanted. She had been half afraid that he would go over the top and ask her to marry him, and half afraid he would not want to see her again; but this was ideal: she could stay close to him and get to know him better without making a foolishly hasty commitment. And she would be able to sleep with him. But there was a snag. “If I work for Nancy Lenehan, I’ll be in Boston.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Boston too.”

“Would you?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

“It’s as good a place as any. Where is it, anyway?”

“New England.”

“Is that like old England?”

“Well, I’ve heard that the people are snobbish.”

“It’ll be just like home.”

“What sort of rooms will we get?” she said excitedly. “I mean, how many, and so on?”

He smiled. “You won’t have more than one room, and you’ll find it a struggle to pay even for that. If it’s anything like the English equivalent, it will have cheap furniture and one window. With luck there might be a gas ring or a hot plate for you to make coffee. You’ll share the bathroom with the rest of the house.”

“And the kitchen?”

He shook his head. “You can’t afford a kitchen. Your lunch will be the only hot meal of the day. When you come home you can have a cup of tea and a piece of cake, or you could make toast if you’ve got an electric fire.”

She knew that he was trying to prepare her for what he saw as unpleasant reality, but she found the whole thing wonderfully romantic. To think of being able to make tea and toast yourself, anytime you liked, in a little room of your own, with no parents to worry about and no servants to grumble at you.... It sounded heavenly. “Do the owners of these places generally live there?”

“Sometimes. It’s good if they do, because then they keep the place nice; although they poke their noses into your private life, too. But if the owner lives elsewhere, the building often gets run down: broken plumbing, peeling paint, leaking roofs, that sort of thing.”

Margaret realized she had an awful lot to learn, but nothing Harry said could dismay her: it was all too exhilarating. Before she could ask any more questions, the passengers and crew who had disembarked arrived back, and at the same moment Mother returned from the ladies’ room, looking pale but beautiful. Margaret’s elation was punctured. Recalling her conversation with Mother, she realized that the thrill of escaping with Harry would be mingled with heartache.

She did not normally eat a lot in the morning, but today she was ravenous. “I’d like some bacon and eggs,” she said. “Quite a lot, in fact.” She caught Harry’s eye and realized that she was hungry because she had been making love to him all night. She smothered a grin. He read her mind and looked away hastily.

The plane took off a few minutes later. Margaret found it no less exciting even though this was the third time she had experienced it. She no longer felt afraid, though.

She mulled over her conversation with Harry. He wanted to go to Boston with her! Although he was so handsome and charming, and must have had lots of chances with girls just like herself, he seemed to have fallen for her in a special way. It was terribly sudden, but he was being very sensible: not making extravagant vows, but ready to do just about anything to stay with her.

That commitment erased all doubt from her mind. Until now she had not allowed herself to think of a future with Harry, but suddenly she felt completely confident in him. She was going to have everything she wanted: freedom, independence and love.

As soon as the plane leveled out they were invited to help themselves from the breakfast buffet, and Margaret did so with alacrity. They all had strawberries and cream except for Percy, who preferred cornflakes. Father had champagne with his strawberries. Margaret also took hot rolls and butter.

As Margaret was about to return to the compartment, she caught the eye of Nancy Lenehan, who was hovering over the hot porridge. Nancy was as trim and smart as ever, with a navy silk blouse in place of the gray one she had worn yesterday. She beckoned to Margaret and said in a low voice: “I got a very important phone call in Botwood. I’m going to win today. You can take it that you have a job.”

Margaret beamed with pleasure. “Oh, thank you!”

Nancy put a small white business card on Margaret’s bread plate. “Just call me when you’re ready.”

“I will! In just a few days! Thank you!”

Nancy put a finger to her lips and winked.

Margaret returned to her compartment elated. She hoped Father had not seen the business card: she did not want him asking questions. Fortunately, he was too intent on his food to notice anything else.

But as she ate, she realized that he had to be told sooner or later. Mother had begged her to avoid a confrontation, but it could not be done. She had tried to sneak away the last time, and it had not worked. This time she had to announce openly that she was leaving, so that the world would know. There must be no secret about it, no excuse to call the police. She must make it clear to him that she had a place to go and friends to support her.

And this plane was surely the place to confront him. Elizabeth had done it on a train, and that had worked because Father had been obliged to behave himself. Later, in their hotel rooms, he could do anything he liked.

When should she tell him? Sooner rather than later: he would be in his best mood of the day after breakfast, full of champagne and food. Later, as the day wore on and he had a cocktail or two and some wine, he would become more irascible.

Percy stood up and said: “I’m going to get some more cornflakes.”

“Sit down,” Father said. “There’s bacon coming. You’ve had enough of that rubbish.” For some reason he was against cornflakes.

“I’m still hungry,” Percy said; and to Margaret’s astonishment he went out.

Father was dumbfounded. Percy had never openly defied him. Mother just stared. Everyone waited for Percy to return. He came back with a bowl full of cornflakes. They all watched. He sat down and began to eat.

Father said: “I told you not to take more of those.”

Percy said: “It’s not your stomach.” He continued to eat.

Father looked as if he was about to get up, but at that moment Nicky came in from the galley and handed him a plate of sausages, bacon and poached eggs. For a second Margaret thought Father might throw the plate at Percy; but he was too hungry. He picked up the knife and fork and said: “Bring me some English mustard.”

“I’m afraid we don’t carry mustard, sir.”

“No mustard?” Father said furiously. “How can I eat sausages without mustard?”

Nicky looked scared. “I’m sorry, sir—no one has ever asked before. I’ll make sure we have some on the next flight.”

“That’s not much use to me now, is it?”

“I guess not. I’m sorry.”

Father grunted and began to eat. He had taken out his anger on the steward, and Percy had got away with it. Margaret was amazed. This had never happened before.

Nicky brought her bacon and eggs and she tucked in heartily. Could it really be that Father was softening at last? The end of his political hopes, the beginning of the war, his exile, and the rebellion of his elder daughter might have combined to crush his ego and weaken his will.

There would never be a better moment to tell him.

She finished her breakfast, and waited for the others to finish theirs. Then she waited for the steward to take away the plates; then she waited while Father got more coffee. Finally there was nothing left to wait for.

She moved to the middle seat of the divan, next to Mother and almost opposite Father. She took a deep breath and began. “I’ve got something to tell you, Father, and I hope you won’t be cross.”

Mother murmured: “Oh, no ...”

Father said: “What now?”

“I’m nineteen years old and I’ve never done a stroke of work in my life. It’s time I began.”

Mother said: “For heaven’s sake, why?”

“I would like to be independent.”

Mother said: “There are millions of girls working in factories and offices who would give their eyes to be in your position.”

“I realize that, Mother.” Margaret also realized that Mother was arguing with her in an attempt to keep Father out of it. However, it would not work for long.

Mother surprised her by capitulating almost immediately. “Well, I suppose if you’re determined to do it, your grandfather may be able to get you a place with someone he knows—”

“I already have a job.”

That took her by surprise. “In America? How can you?”

Margaret decided not to tell them about Nancy Lenehan: they might talk to her and try to spoil everything. “It’s all arranged,” she said blandly.

“What sort of a job?”

“An assistant in the sales department of a shoe factory.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t be ridiculous.”

Margaret bit her lip. Why did Mother have to be so scornful? “It’s not ridiculous. I’m rather proud of myself. I got a job, all on my own, without help from you or Father or Grandfather, just on my merits.” Perhaps that was not exactly the way it happened, but Margaret was beginning to feel defensive.

“Where is this factory?” Mother said.

Father spoke for the first time. “She can’t work in a factory, and that’s that.”

Margaret said: “I’ll be working in the sales office, not the factory. And it’s in Boston.”

“That settles it, then,” Mother said. “You’ll be living in Stamford, not Boston.”

“No, Mother, I won’t. I’ll be living in Boston.”

Mother opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, realizing at last that she was confronted with something she could not easily dismiss. She was silent for a moment; then she said: “What are you telling us?”

“Just that I’m going to leave you and go to Boston, and live in lodgings and go to work.”

“Oh, this is too stupid.”

Margaret flared: “Don’t be so dismissive.” Mother flinched at her angry tone, and Margaret immediately regretted it. She said more quietly: “I’m only doing what most girls of my age do.”

“Girls of your age, perhaps, but not girls of your class.”

“Why should that make a difference?”

“Because there’s no point in your working at a silly job for five dollars a week and living in an apartment that costs your father a hundred dollars a month.”

“I don’t want Father to pay for my apartment.”

“Then where will you live?”

“I’ve told you, in lodgings.”

“In squalor! But what is the point?”

“I shall save money until I’ve got enough for a ticket home. Then I’ll go back and join the A.T.S.”

Father spoke again. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Margaret was stung. “What don’t I know, Father?”

Mother, trying to interrupt, said: “No, don’t—”

Margaret overrode her. “I know I shall have to run errands and make coffee and answer the phone in the office. I know I shall live in a single room with a gas ring, and share the bathroom with other lodgers. I know I shan’t like being poor—but I shall love being free.”

“You don’t know anything,” he said scornfully. “Free? You? You’ll be like a pet rabbit released in a kennel. I’ll tell you what you don’t know, my girl: you don’t know that you’ve been pampered and spoiled all your life. You’ve never even been to school—”

The injustice of that brought tears to her eyes and provoked her into a rejoinder. “I wanted to go to school,” she protested. “You wouldn’t let me!”

He ignored the interruption. “You’ve had your clothes washed and your food prepared. You’ve been chauffeured everywhere you ever wanted to go. You’ve had children brought to the house to play with you. And you’ve never given a thought to how all of it was provided—”

“But I have!”

“And now you want to live on your own! You don’t know the price of a loaf of bread, do you?”

“I’ll soon find out—”

“You don’t know how to wash your own underwear. You’ve never ridden on a bus. You’ve never slept in a house alone. You don’t know how to set an alarm clock, bait a mousetrap, wash dishes, boil an egg—could you boil an egg? Do you know how?”

“Whose fault is it if I don’t?” Margaret said tearfully.

He pressed on remorselessly, his face a mask of contempt and anger. “What use will you be in an office? You can’t make the tea—you don’t know how! You’ve never seen a filing cabinet. You’ve never had to stay in one place from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon. You’ll get bored and wander off. You won’t last a week.”

He was giving expression to Margaret’s own secret worries, and that was why she was getting so upset. In her heart she was terrified that he might be right: she would be hopeless at living alone; she would get fired from her job. His mercilessly derisive voice, confidently predicting that her worst fears would come true, was destroying her dream like the sea washing away a sand castle. She cried openly, tears streaming down her face.

She heard Harry say: “This is too much—”

“Let him go on,” she said. This was one battle Harry could not fight for her: it was between her and Father.

Red in the face, wagging his finger, speaking more and more loudly, Father raved on. “Boston isn’t like Oxenford village, you know. People don’t help one another there. You’ll fall ill and get poisoned by half-breed doctors. You’ll be robbed by Jew landlords and raped by street niggers. And as for your joining the army ... !”

“Thousands of girls have joined the A.T.S.,” Margaret said, but her voice was a feeble whisper.

“Not girls like you,” he said. “Tough girls, perhaps, who are used to getting up early in the morning and scrubbing floors, but not pampered debutantes. And God forbid that you should find yourself in any kind of danger—you’d turn to jelly!”

She remembered how incapable she had been in the blackout—scared and helpless and panicky—and she burned with shame. He was right—she had turned to jelly. But she would not always be frightened and defenseless. He had done his utmost to make her powerless and dependent, but she was fiercely determined to be her own person, and she kept that flame of hope flickering even as she cringed under his onslaught.

He pointed his finger at her and his eyes bulged so much they looked as if they would burst. “You won’t last a week in an office, and you wouldn’t last a day in the A.T.S.,” he said malevolently. “You’re just too soft.” He sat back, looking self-satisfied.

Harry came and sat beside Margaret. Taking out a crisp linen handkerchief, he dabbed her wet cheeks gently.

Father said: “And as for you, young fellow-me-lad—”

Harry got up out of his seat in a flash and rounded on Father. Margaret gasped, thinking there was going to be a fight. Harry said: “Don’t dare to speak to me that way. I’m not a girl. I’m a grown man, and if you insult me I’ll punch your fat head.”

Father subsided into silence.

Harry turned his back on Father and sat down beside Margaret again.

Margaret was upset, but in her heart she felt a sense of triumph. She had told him that she was leaving. He had raged and jeered, and he had reduced her to tears, but he had not changed her mind: she was still going to leave.

Nonetheless, he had succeeded in fostering a doubt. She had already been worried that she might not have the courage to go through with her plans, might be paralyzed with anxiety at the last minute. He had inflamed that doubt with his mockery and derision. She had never done anything courageous in her entire life: could she manage it now? Yes, I will, she thought. I’m not too soft, and I’ll prove it.

He had discouraged her, but he had failed to make her change course. However, he might not have given up yet. She looked over Harry’s shoulder. Father was staring out of the window with a malevolent face. Elizabeth had defied him, but he had banished her, and she might never see her family again.

What awful revenge was he planning for Margaret?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Diana Lovesey was thinking mournfully that true love did not last long.

When Mervyn first fell for her, he had delighted in catering to her every desire, the more capricious the better. At a moment’s notice he was ready to drive to Blackpool for a stick of rock candy, take an afternoon off and go to the cinema, or drop everything and fly to Paris. He was happy to visit every shop in Manchester looking for a cashmere scarf in just the right shade of blue-green, leave a concert halfway through because she was bored, or get up at five in the morning and go for breakfast at a workingmen’s café. But this attitude had not lasted long after the wedding. He rarely denied her anything, but he soon ceased to take pleasure in gratifying her whims. Delight turned to tolerance and then impatience and sometimes, toward the end, contempt.

Now she was wondering whether her relationship with Mark would follow the same pattern.

All summer he had been her slave, but now, within days of their running away together, they had had a row. On the second night of their elopement they had been so mad at each other that they had slept apart! In the middle of the night, when the storm broke and the plane bucked and tossed like a wild horse, Diana had been so frightened that she almost swallowed her pride and went to Mark’s bunk; but that would have been too humiliating, so she had just lain still, thinking she was going to die. She had hoped he would come to her, but he had been just as proud as she, and that had made her madder still.

This morning they had hardly spoken. She had woken up just as the plane was coming down at Botwood, and when she got up, Mark had already gone ashore. Now they sat opposite one another in the aisle seats of number 4 compartment, pretending to eat breakfast: Diana toyed with some strawberries and Mark was breaking up a roll without eating it.

She was no longer sure why it had made her so angry to learn that Mervyn was sharing the honeymoon suite with Nancy Lenehan. She just thought Mark should have sympathized with her and supported her. Instead he had questioned her right to feel that way and implied that she must still be in love with Mervyn. How could Mark say that, when she had given up everything to run away with him!

She looked around. On her right, Princess Lavinia and Lulu Bell were carrying on a desultory conversation. Neither had slept at all because of the storm, and both looked exhausted. To her left, across the aisle, the F.B.I, man, Ollis Field, and his prisoner, Frankie Gordino, ate in silence. Gordino’s foot was handcuffed to his seat. Everyone seemed tired and rather grumpy. It had been a long night.

Davy, the steward, came in and took away the breakfast plates. Princess Lavinia complained that her poached eggs had been too soft and her bacon overdone. Davy offered coffee. Diana did not take any.

She caught Mark’s eye and tried a smile. He glared at her. She said: “You haven’t spoken to me all morning.”

“Because you seem to be more interested in Mervyn than me!” he said.

Suddenly she felt contrite. Maybe he had a right to feel jealous. “I’m sorry, Mark,” she blurted out: “You’re the only man I’m interested in, truly.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes, I do. I feel such a fool. I’ve behaved so badly.”

He stroked the back of her hand. “You see ...” He looked into her eyes, and to her surprise she saw that he was close to tears. “You see, I’m terrified you’ll leave me.”

She had not been expecting that. She was quite shocked. It had never occurred to her that he was frightened of losing her.

He went on. “You’re so lovely, so desirable, you could have any man, and it’s hard to believe you want me. I’m scared you’ll realize your mistake and change your mind.”

She was touched. “You’re the most lovable man in the world—that’s why I fell for you.”

“You really don’t care for Mervyn?”

She hesitated, only for a moment, but it was enough.

Mark’s face changed again, and he said bitterly: “You do care for him.”

How could she explain? She was no longer in love with Mervyn, but he still had some kind of power over her. “It’s not what you think,” she said desperately.

Mark withdrew his hand. “Then set me straight. Tell me how it is.”

At that moment Mervyn entered the compartment.

He looked around, located Diana and said: “There you are.”

She immediately felt nervous. What did he want? Was he angry? She hoped he would not make a scene.

She looked at Mark. His face was pale and tense. He took a deep breath and said: “Look here, Lovesey—we don’t want another row, so maybe you should just get out of here.”

Mervyn ignored him and spoke to Diana. “We’ve got to talk about this.”

She studied him warily. His idea of a conversation could be one-sided: a “talk” sometimes turned out to be a harangue. However, he did not look aggressive. He was trying to keep his face expressionless, but she had a notion he was feeling sheepish. That made her curious. Cautiously she said: “I don’t want any fuss.”

“No fuss, I promise.”

“All right, then.”

Mervyn sat down beside her. Looking at Mark, he said: “Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

“Hell, yes!” Mark said vociferously.

They both looked at her, and she realized she would have to decide. On balance she would have liked to be alone with Mervyn, but if she said that, she would hurt Mark. She hesitated, afraid to side with one or the other. Finally she thought: I’ve left Mervyn, and I’m with Mark; I should take his side. With her heart pounding, she said: “Say your piece, Mervyn. If you can’t say it in front of Mark, I don’t want to hear it.”

He looked shocked. “All right, all right,” he said irritably; then he composed himself and became mild again. “I’ve been thinking about some of the things you said. About me. How I became cold toward you. How miserable you’ve been.”

He paused. Diana said nothing. This was not like Mervyn. What was coming?

“I want to say that I’m really sorry.”

She was astonished. He meant it, she could tell. What had brought about this change?

He went on. “I wanted to make you happy. When we were first together, that was all I wanted to do. I never wanted you to be miserable. It’s wrong that you should be unhappy. You deserve happiness because you give it. You make people smile just by walking into a room.”

Tears came to her eyes. She knew it was true; people did love to look at her.

“It’s a sin to make you sad,” Mervyn said. “I shan’t do it anymore.”

Was he going to promise to be good? she wondered with a sudden stab of fear. Would he beg her to come back to him? She did not want him even to ask. “I’m not coming back to you,” she said anxiously.

He took no notice of that. “Does Mark make you happy?” he said.

She nodded.

“Will he be good to you?”

“Yes, I know he will.”

Mark said: “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here!”

Diana reached across and took Mark’s hand. “We love each other,” she said to Mervyn.

“Aye.” For the first time, the hint of a sneer appeared on his face, but it passed quickly. “Aye, I think you do.”

Was he going soft? This was not like him at all. How much did the widow have to do with the transformation? “Did Mrs. Lenehan tell you to come and speak to me?” Diana said suspiciously.

“No—but she knows what I’m going to say.”

Mark said: “I wish you’d hurry up and say it.”

Mervyn looked scornful. “Don’t push it, lad—Diana’s still my wife.”

Mark stood his ground. “Forget it,” he said. “You have no claim on her, so don’t try to make one. And don’t call me lad, Grandpa.”

Diana said: “Don’t start that. Mervyn, if you’ve got something to say, come out with it, and stop trying to throw your weight around.”

“All right, all right. It’s just this.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ve asked you to come back to me and you’ve turned me down. If you think this chap can succeed where I’ve failed, and make you happy, then good luck to you both. I wish you well.” He paused, and looked from one to the other of them. “That’s it.”

There was a moment’s silence. Mark was about to say something, but Diana got in first. “You bloody hypocrite!” she said. She had seen in a flash what was really going on in Mervyn’s mind, and she surprised herself with the fury of her reaction. “How dare you!” she spat.

He was startled. “What? Why ... ?”

“What rubbish, saying you won’t stand in our way. Don’t you condescend to wish us luck, as if you were making some kind of sacrifice. I know you only too damn well, Mervyn Lovesey: the only time you ever give something up is when you don’t want it anymore!” She could see that everyone in the compartment was listening avidly, but she was too riled to care. “I know what you’re up to. You had it off with that widow last night, didn’t you?”

“No!”

“No?” She watched him carefully. She thought he was probably telling the truth. “It was close, though, wasn’t it?” she said; and she could see by his face that she had guessed right this time. “You’ve fallen for her, and she likes you, and now you don’t want me anymore—that’s the truth of the matter, isn’t it? Now admit it!”

“I’ll not admit any such thing—”

“Because you haven’t got the courage to be honest. But I know the truth and everyone else on the plane suspects it. I’m disappointed in you, Mervyn. I thought you had more guts.”

“Guts!” That stung him.

“That’s right. But instead you had to make up a pitiful story about not standing in our way. Well, you have gone soft—soft in the head. I wasn’t born yesterday and you can’t fool me so easily!”

“All right, all right,” he said, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’ve made a peace offering and you’ve spurned it. Please yourself.” He stood up. “From the way you talk, anybody would think I was the one who had run off with a lover.” He went to the doorway. “Let me know when you get wed. I’ll send you a fish slice.” He went out.

“Well!” Diana’s blood was still up. “The nerve of the man!” She looked around at the other passengers. Princess Lavinia looked away haughtily, Lulu Bell grinned, Ollis Field frowned disapprovingly and Frankie Gordino said: “Attagirl!”

Finally she looked at Mark, wondering what he had thought of Mervyn’s performance and her outburst. To her surprise he was grinning broadly. His smile was infectious, and she found herself grinning back. “What’s so funny?” she said with a giggle.

“You were magnificent,” he said. “I’m proud of you. And I’m pleased.”

“Why pleased?”

“You just stood up to Mervyn for the first time in your life.”

Was that true? She thought it was. “I suppose I did.”

“You’re not scared of him anymore, are you?”

She thought about it. “You’re right. I’m not.”

“Do you realize what that means?”

“It means I’m not scared of him.”

“It means more than that. It means you don’t love him anymore.”

“Does it?” she said thoughtfully. She had been telling herself that she stopped loving Mervyn ages ago, but now she looked into her heart and realized that it was not so. All summer, even while she was deceiving him, she had remained in his thrall. He had retained some kind of hold over her even after she left him, and on the plane she had been full of remorse and had thought of going back to him. But not any longer.

Mark said: “How would you feel if he went off with the widow?”

Without thinking, she said: “Why should I care?”

“See?”

She laughed. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s over at last.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As the Clipper began its descent to Shediac Bay in the St. Lawrence Gulf, Harry was having second thoughts about steal ing Lady Oxenford’s jewels.

His will had been weakened by Margaret. Just to sleep with her in a bed at the Waldorf Hotel, and wake up and order breakfast from room service, was worth more than jewels. But he was also looking forward to going to Boston with her, and living in lodgings, helping her to become independent, and getting to know her really well. Her excitement was infectious, and he shared her thrilled anticipation of their simple life together.

But all that would change if he robbed her mother.

Shediac was the last stop before New York. He had to make up his mind quickly. This would be his last chance to get into the hold.

He wondered again if he could find a way to have Margaret and the jewels both. First of all, would she ever know that he had stolen them? Lady Oxenford would discover the loss when she opened her trunk, presumably at the Waldorf. But no one would know whether the jewels had been taken on the plane, or before, or since. Margaret knew Harry was a thief, so she would certainly suspect him; but if he denied it, would she believe him? She might.

Then what? They would live in poverty in Boston while he had a hundred thousand dollars in the bank! But that would not be for long. She would find some way of returning to England and joining the women’s army, and he would go to Canada and become a fighter pilot. The war might last a year or two, maybe longer. When it was over, he would take his money out of the bank and buy that country house; and perhaps Margaret would come and live there with him ... and then she would want to know where the money had come from.

Whatever happened, sooner or later he would have to tell her.

But later might be better than sooner.

He was going to have to give her some excuse for his staying on the plane at Shediac. He could not tell her he felt ill, for then she would want to stay on board with him, and that would spoil everything. He had to make sure she went ashore and left him alone.

He glanced at her across the aisle. At that moment she was fastening her seat belt, pulling in her stomach. In a vivid flash of imagination he saw her sitting there naked, in the same pose, with her bare breasts outlined by the light from the low windows, a tuft of chestnut hair peeping out from between her thighs, and her long legs stretched across the floor. Would he not be a fool, he thought, to risk losing her for the sake of a handful of rubies?

But it was not a handful of rubies, it was the Delhi Suite, worth a hundred grand, enough to turn Harry into what he had always wanted to be, a gentleman of leisure.

Nevertheless he toyed with the idea of telling her now. I’m going to steal your mother’s jewels. I hope you don’t mind. She might say Good idea. The old cow never did anything to deserve them. No, that would not be Margaret’s reaction. She thought herself radical, and she believed in redistribution of wealth, but that was all theoretical: she would be shocked to the core if he actually dispossessed her family of some of their riches. She would take it like a body blow, and it would change her feelings about him.

She caught his eye and smiled.

He smiled back guiltily, then looked out of the window.

The plane was coming down to a horseshoe-shaped bay with a scattering of villages along its edge. Behind the villages was farmland. As they came closer, Harry made out a railway line snaking through farms to a long pier. Close to the pier were moored several vessels of different sizes and a small seaplane. To the east of the pier were miles of sandy beaches, with a few large summer cottages dotted among the dunes. Harry thought how nice it would be to have a summer house on the edge of the beach in a place like this. Well, if that’s what I want, that’s what I’ll have, he said to himself; I’m going to be rich!

The plane splashed down smoothly. Harry felt less tension: he was an experienced air traveler now.

“What time is it, Percy?” he asked.

“Eleven o’clock, local time. We’re running an hour late.”

“And how long do we stay here?”

“One hour.”

At Shediac a new method of docking was in operation. The passengers were not landed by launch. Instead a vessel that looked like a lobster boat came out and towed the plane in. Hawsers were attached to both ends of the plane, and it was winched in to a floating dock connected to the pier by a gangway.

This arrangement solved a problem for Harry. At previous stops, where the passengers had been landed by launch, there had been only one chance to go ashore. Harry had consequently been trying to think of some excuse for staying on board throughout this stopover without letting Margaret stay with him. Now, however, he could let Margaret go ashore and tell her he would follow in a few minutes, and she was less likely to insist on staying with him.

A steward opened the door and the passengers started putting on their coats and hats. All the Oxenfords got up. So did Clive Membury, who had hardly spoken a word all through the long flight——except, Harry now recalled, for one rather intense conversation with Baron Gabon. He wondered again what they had been talking about. Impatiently, he brushed the thought aside and concentrated on his own problems. As the Oxenfords were going out, Harry whispered to Margaret: “I’ll catch you up.” Then he went into the men’s room.

He combed his hair and washed his hands, just to have something to do. The window had been broken in the night somehow, and now there was a solid screen fixed to the frame. He heard the crew come down the stairs from the flight deck and pass the door. He checked his watch and decided to wait another two minutes.

He guessed almost everyone would get off. A lot of them had been too sleepy at Botwood, but by now they wanted to stretch their legs and get some fresh air. Ollis Field and his prisoner would stay on board, as always. It was odd that Membury went ashore, though, if he was supposed to keep an eye on Frankie. Harry was still intrigued by the man in the wine red waistcoat.

The cleaners would be coming aboard almost immediately. He listened hard: he could hear no sound from the other side of the door. He cracked it an inch and looked out. All was clear. Cautiously, he stepped out.

The kitchen opposite was empty. He glanced into number 2 compartment : empty. Looking toward the lounge, he saw the back of a woman with a broom. Without further hesitation, he went up the staircase.

He trod lightly, not wanting to advertise his approach. At the turn of the stairs, he paused and scrutinized as much of the floor of the flight cabin as he could see. No one was there. He was about to go on when a pair of uniformed legs came into view, walking across the carpet away from him. He ducked back around the comer, then peeped out. It was the assistant engineer, Mickey Finn, the one who had caught him last time. The man paused at the engineer’s station and turned around. Harry pulled his head back again, wondering where the crewman was headed. Would he come down the stairs? Harry listened hard. The footsteps went across the flight deck and became silent. Last time, Harry recalled, he had seen Mickey in the bow compartment, doing something with the anchor. Was the same thing happening now? He had to take a chance on it.

He went on up silently.

As soon as he was high enough he looked forward. His guess appeared to have been right: the hatch was open and Mickey was nowhere to be seen. Harry did not stop to look more closely, but hurried across the flight deck and passed quickly through the door at the rear end into the hold area. He closed the door softly behind him and breathed again.

Last time he had searched the starboard hold. This time he went into the port side.

He knew immediately that he was in luck. In the middle of the hold was a huge steamer trunk in green-and-gold leather with bright brass studs. He felt sure it belonged to Lady Oxenford. He checked the tag: there was no name, but the address was THE MANOR, OXENFORD, BERKSHIRE.

“Bingo,” he said softly.

It was secured by one simple lock, which he snapped with the blade of his penknife.

As well as the lock, it had six brass clasps that were fastened without keys. He undid them all.

The trunk was designed to be used as a wardrobe in a stateroom on board a liner. Harry stood it on end and opened it up. It divided into two spacious cupboards. On one side was a hanging rail with dresses and coats, and a small shoe compartment at the bottom. The other side contained six drawers.

Harry went through the drawers first. They were made of light wood covered in leather, and were lined with velvet. Lady Oxenford had silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, lace underwear and crocodile belts.

On the other side, the top of the trunk lifted like a lid, and the hanging rail slid out to make it easier to get at the dresses. Harry ran his hands up and down each garment and felt all around the sides of the trunk.

Finally he opened the shoe compartment. There was nothing in it but shoes.

He was crestfallen. He had been so sure that she would have her jewels with her; but maybe there was a flaw in his reasoning.

It was too soon to give up hope.

His first inclination was to look for the rest of the Oxenford family’s luggage, but he thought again. If I were going to transport priceless jewels in checked baggage, he thought, I would try to conceal them somehow. And it would be easier to make a hiding place in a big trunk than in a regular suitcase.

He decided to look again.

He started with the hanging compartment. He put one arm inside the trunk and one outside and tried to gauge the thickness of the sides: if they seemed abnormal there might be a hidden compartment. But he found nothing unusual. Turning to the other side, he pulled all the drawers out completely—

And found the hiding place.

His heart beat faster.

A large manila envelope and a leather wallet were taped to the back of the trunk.

“Amateurs,” he said, shaking his head.

With growing excitement he began detaching the tapes. The first item to come loose was the envelope. It felt as if it contained nothing but a wad of papers, but Harry ripped it open anyway. Inside were about fifty sheets of heavy paper with elaborate printing on one side. It took him a while to figure out what they were, but eventually he decided they were bearer bonds, each worth a hundred thousand dollars.

Fifty of those added up to five million dollars, which was a million pounds.

Harry sat staring at the bonds. A million pounds. It was almost too much to take in.

Harry knew why they were there. The British government had brought in emergency exchange-control regulations to stop money leaving the country. Oxenford was smuggling his bonds out, which was a criminal offense, of course.

He’s just as much of a crook as I am, Harry thought wryly.

Harry had never stolen bonds. Would he be able to cash them? They were payable to the bearer: that was stated plainly on the front of each certificate. But they were also individually numbered, so that they could be identified. Would Oxenford report them stolen? That might mean admitting he had smuggled them out of England. But he could probably think of a lie to cover that.

It was too dangerous. Harry had no expertise in the field. If he tried to cash the bonds, he would be caught. Reluctantly, he put them aside.

The other hidden item was a tan leather folder like a man’s pocketbook but somewhat larger. Harry detached it.

It looked like a jewelry wallet.

The soft leather was fastened with a zipper. He opened it.

There, lying on the black velvet lining, was the Delhi Suite.

It seemed to glow in the gloom of the baggage hold like stained glass in a cathedral. The profound red of the rubies alternated with the rainbow sparkle of the diamonds. The stones were huge, perfectly matched and exquisitely cut, each one set on a gold base and surrounded by delicate gold petals. Harry was awestruck.

He picked up the necklace solemnly and let the gems run through his fingers like colored water. How strange, he thought bemusedly, that something should look so warm and feel so cold. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry he had ever handled, perhaps the most beautiful ever made.

And it would change his life.

After a minute or two he set down the necklace and examined the rest of the set. The bracelet was like the necklace, with alternating rubies and diamonds, although the stones were proportionately smaller. The earrings were particularly dainty: each had a ruby stud with a drop of alternating small diamonds and rubies on a gold chain, each stone on a tiny version of the same gold petal setting.

Harry imagined the suite on Margaret. The red and gold would look stunning on her pale skin. I’d like to see her wearing nothing but this, he thought, and the vision gave him an erection.

He was not sure how long he had sat on the floor, gazing at the precious stones, when he heard someone coming.

The first thought that flashed through his mind was that it was the assistant engineer; but the footsteps sounded different: intrusive, aggressive, authoritarian ... official.

Suddenly he was taut with fear, his stomach tight, his teeth clenched, his fists balled.

The steps came rapidly closer. In a sudden frenzy of activity Harry replaced the drawers, threw in the envelope containing the bonds and closed up the trunk. He was stuffing the Delhi Suite into his pocket when the door to the hold opened.

He ducked behind the trunk.

There was a long moment of silence. He had a dreadful feeling he had not got down fast enough, and the guy had seen him. He heard moderately hard breathing, like that of a fat man who has hurried upstairs. Was the fellow going to come right inside and look around, or what? Harry held his breath. The door closed.

Had the man gone out? Harry listened hard. He could no longer hear breathing. He stood and looked out. The man had gone.

He sighed with relief.

But what was going on?

He had a notion those heavy footsteps and hard breathing belonged to a policeman. Or maybe a customs officer? Perhaps this had only been a routine check.

He went to the door and cracked it. He could hear muffled voices from way off in the flight cabin, but there seemed to be no one right outside. He stepped out and stood by the door to the flight cabin. It was ajar, and he could hear two male voices.

“The guy ain’t on the plane.”

“He has to be. He didn’t get off.”

The accents were a muted American that Harry recognized as Canadian. But who were they talking about?

“Maybe he sneaked off after everyone else.”

“So where has he gone? He’s nowhere around.”

Had Frankie Gordino made his escape? Harry wondered.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“They say he’s an ‘associate’ of this hoodlum they got on the plane.”

So Gordino himself had not got away; but one of his gang had been on board, had been discovered and had made his escape. Which of the respectable-looking passengers could it have been?

“It ain’t a crime to be an associate, is it?”

“No, but he’s traveling on a false passport.”

A chill struck Harry. He was traveling on a false passport himself. Surely they could not be looking for him?

“Well, what do we do now?” he heard.

“Report back to Sergeant Morris.”

After a moment the scary thought dawned on Harry that he could be the one they were looking for. If the police had learned, or guessed, that someone on board was going to try to rescue Gordino, they would naturally run a check on the passenger list; and they would soon discover that Harry Vandenpost had reported his passport stolen in London two years ago; and then they would only have to call at his home to learn that he was not on the Pan American Clipper but sitting in the kitchen eating his cornflakes and reading the morning paper, or something. Knowing that Harry was an impostor, they would naturally assume he was the one who was going to try to rescue Gordino.

No, he told himself, don’t jump to conclusions. There could be some other explanation.

A third voice joined in the conversation. “Who are you guys looking for?” It sounded like the assistant engineer, Mickey Finn.

“Guy’s using the name of Harry Vandenpost, but he ain’t him.”

That settled it. Harry felt stunned with shock. He had been found out. The vision of the country house with the tennis court faded like an aging photograph, and instead he saw a blacked-out London, a court, a prison cell, and then, eventually, an army barracks. This was the worst luck he had ever heard of.

The assistant engineer was saying: “You know, I found him sneaking around here while we were at Botwood!”

“Well, he ain’t up here now.”

“Are you sure?”

Shut up, Mickey, Harry thought.

“We looked all over.”

“Did you check the mechanics’ stations?”

“Where are they?”

“In the wings.”

“Yeah, we looked in the wings.”

“But did you crawl along? There are places to hide in there that you couldn’t see from here in the cabin.”

“We better look again.”

These two policemen sounded kind of dumb, Harry thought.

He doubted whether their sergeant would trust them very far. If he had any sense he would order one more search of the plane. And next time they would surely look behind the steamer trunk. Where could Harry hide?

There were several little hiding places, but the crew would know them all. A thorough search was bound to take in the bow compartment, the toilets, the wings and the shallow void in the tail. Any other place Harry could find would surely be known to the crew.

He was stuck.

Could he leave? He might sneak off the plane and get away along the beach. It was a slim chance, but better than giving himself up. But even if he could get out of this little village undetected, where could he go? He could talk his way out of anything in a city, but he had a feeling he was an awfully long way from any cities. In the countryside he was a dead loss. He needed crowds, alleyways, railway stations and shops. He had an idea that Canada was a pretty big country, most of it trees.

He would be all right if only he could get to New York.

But where could he hide in the meantime?

He heard the policemen come out of the wings. For safety he ducked back into the hold—

And found himself staring straight at the answer to his problem.

He could hide in Lady Oxenford’s trunk.

Could he get inside? He thought so. It was about five feet high and two feet square: if it had been empty you could have got two people into it. It was not empty, of course: he would have to make room in it by taking out some of the clothes. Then what would he do with them? He could not leave them lying around. But he could cram them into his own half-empty suitcase.

He had to hurry.

He crawled over the piled luggage and grabbed his own suitcase. Working feverishly, he opened it and stuffed Lady Oxenford’s coats and dresses into it. He had to sit on the lid to close it again.

Now he could get into the trunk. He found he could close it from the inside easily enough. Would he be able to breathe when it was shut? He would not be inside for long: it might get stuffy but he would live.

Would the cops notice if the clasps were undone? They might. Could he close them from inside? That looked difficult. He studied the problem for a long moment. If he made holes in the trunk near the clasps, he might be able to poke his knife through and manipulate the clasps through the holes. The same holes would bring him air, too.

He took out his penknife. The trunk was made of wood covered with leather. The dark green-brown leather was imprinted with a pattern of gold-colored flowers. Like all penknives, his had a pointed implement for getting stones out of horses’ hooves. He set the point in the middle of one of the flowers and pushed it in. It penetrated the leather easily enough, but the wood was harder. He worked it in and out. The wood was about a quarter of an inch thick, he guessed. It took a minute or two but eventually he got through.

He pulled the point out. Because of the pattern, the hole could hardly be seen.

He got inside the trunk. With relief he found that he could close and open the clasp from inside.

There were two clasps on top and three down the side. He went to work on the top ones first, as they were most visible. He had just finished when he heard footsteps again.

He got inside the trunk and closed it.

Somehow it was not so easy to close the clasps this time. Standing with his legs bent he found it difficult to maneuver. But he managed it at last.

His position was painfully uncomfortable after a couple of minutes. He twisted and turned but got no relief. He would just have to suffer.

His breathing sounded very loud. Noises from outside were muffled. However, he could hear footsteps outside the hold, probably because there was no carpet there and vibrations were transmitted through the deck. There were now at least three people out there, he guessed. He could not hear doors opening and closing, but he felt a much nearer step and knew someone had come into the hold.

A voice came suddenly from right next to him. “I don’t see how the bastard got away from us.”

Don’t look at the side clasps, please, Harry thought fearfully.

There was a knock on the top of the trunk. Harry stopped breathing. Maybe the guy just leaned his elbow on it, he thought.

Someone else spoke from a distance.

“No, he ain’t on this plane,” the man replied. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

The other party spoke again. Harry’s knees hurt. For God’s sake, he thought, go and chat somewhere else!

“Oh, we’ll catch him all right. He ain’t gonna walk a hundred and fifty miles to the border without somebody sees him.”

A hundred and fifty miles! It would take him a week to walk that far. He might hitch a ride, but in this wilderness he would surely be remembered.

There was no speech for a few seconds. At last he heard receding footsteps.

He waited awhile, hearing nothing.

He took out his knife and poked it through one of the holes to undo the clasp.

This time it was harder still. His knees hurt so much that he could hardly stand, and would have fallen if there had been room. He became impatient, and poked the blade through the hole again and again. A panicky claustrophobia seized him and he thought I’m going to suffocate in here! He tried to be calm. After a moment he was able to blank out the pain while he carefully worked the blade through the hole so that it engaged the catch. He pushed the blade. It lifted the brass loop, then slipped. He gritted his teeth and tried again.

This time the catch came undone.

Slowly and painfully he repeated the process with the other catch.

At last he was able to push the two halves of the trunk apart and stand upright. The pain in his knees became excruciating as he straightened his legs, and he almost cried out; then it eased.

What was he going to do?

He could not get off the plane here. He was probably safe until they reached New York, but what then? He would have to stay in hiding on the plane and then slip out at night.

He might get away with it. He had no alternative, anyway. The world would know that he had stolen Lady Oxenford’s jewels. More important, Margaret would know. And he would not be around to talk to her about it.

The more he contemplated this possibility, the more he hated it.

He had known that stealing the Delhi Suite put his relationship with Margaret at risk; but he had always imagined that he would be around when she realized what had happened, so he could try to make it all right with her. Now, however, it might be days before he reached her; and if things went wrong, and he got arrested, it would be years.

He could guess what she would think. He had befriended her, made love to her and promised to help her find a new home; and it had all been a sham, for he had stolen her mother’s jewelry and left her high and dry. She would think the jewels had been all he wanted right from the start. She would be heartbroken, then she would come to hate and despise him.

The idea made him feel sick with misery.

Until this moment he had not fully realized what a difference Margaret had made to him. Her love for him was genuine. Everything else in his life had been faked: his accent, his manners, his clothes, his entire way of life was a disguise. But Margaret had fallen in love with the thief, the working-class boy with no father, the real Harry. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him. If he threw it away, his life would always be what it was now, a matter of pretending and dishonesty. But she had made him want something more. He still hoped for the country house with the tennis courts, but it would not please him unless she were there.

He sighed. Harry boy was not Harry boy anymore. Perhaps he was becoming a man.

He opened Lady Oxenford’s trunk. He took from his pocket the tan leather wallet containing the Delhi Suite.

He opened the wallet and took out the jewels once again. The rubies glowed like banked fires. I may never see anything like this again, he thought.

He replaced the jewels in their wallet. Then, with a heavy heart, he put the wallet back in Lady Oxenford’s trunk.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Nancy Lenehan sat on Shediac’s long plank pier, at the shore ward end, outside the air terminal. This was a building like a seaside cottage, with flowers in window boxes and awnings over the windows; but a radio mast beside the house and an observation tower rising from its roof gave away its true function.

Mervyn Lovesey sat beside her in another striped canvas deck chair. The water shushed against the pier in a soothing way, and Nancy closed her eyes. She had not slept much. A faint smile twitched the comers of her mouth as she recalled how she and Mervyn had misbehaved in the night. She was glad she had not gone all the way with him. It would have been too sudden. And now she had something to look forward to.

Shediac was a fishing village and a seaside resort. To the west of the pier was a sunlit bay, on which floated several lobster boats, some cabin cruisers and two planes, the Clipper and a little seaplane. To the east was a wide sandy beach that seemed to go on for miles, and most of the passengers from the Clipper were sitting among the dunes or strolling along the edge of the shore.

The peace of the scene was disturbed by two cars that screeched up to the pier and disgorged seven or eight policemen. They went into the flight building in a hurry, and Nancy murmured to Mervyn: “They looked like they were planning to arrest someone.”

He nodded and said: “I wonder who?”

“Frankie Gordino, perhaps?”

“They can’t—he’s already arrested.”

They came out of the building a few moments later. Three went on board the Clipper, two set off along the beach and two followed the road. They looked as if they were searching for someone. When one of the Clipper’s crew emerged, Nancy asked: “Who are the cops after?”

The man hesitated, as if he were not sure he should reveal anything; then he shrugged and said: “The guy’s calling himself Harry Vandenpost, but that’s not his real name.”

Nancy frowned. “That was the boy sitting with the Oxenford family.” She had an idea Margaret Oxenford was developing a crush on him.

Mervyn said: “Aye. Did he get off the plane? I didn’t see.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I thought he looked a bit of a wide boy.”

“Really?” Nancy had taken him for a young man from a good family. “He’s got beautiful manners.”

“Exactly.”

Nancy smothered a smile: it seemed characteristic that Mervyn would dislike men with beautiful manners. “I think Margaret was quite interested in him. I hope she doesn’t get hurt.”

“Her parents will be grateful for a narrow escape, I imagine.”

Nancy could not be happy for the parents. She and Mervyn had witnessed the crass behavior of Lord Oxenford in the dining room of the Clipper. Such people deserved everything they got. However, Nancy felt sorry for Margaret if she had fallen for a bounder.

Mervyn said: “I’m not normally the impulsive type, Nancy.”

She was suddenly alert.

He went on. “I met you only a few hours ago, but I feel completely certain that I want to know you for the rest of my life.”

Nancy thought: You can’t be certain, you idiot! But she was pleased all the same. She said nothing.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving you in New York and going back to Manchester, and I don’t want to do it.”

Nancy smiled. This was just what she wanted him to say. She reached out and touched his hand. “I’m so glad,” she said.

“Are you?” He leaned forward. “The trouble is, soon it will be next to impossible to cross the Atlantic, for anyone other than the military.”

She nodded. The problem had occurred to her, too. She had not thought about it very hard, but she felt sure they would be able to find a solution if they were determined enough.

Mervyn went on. “If we split up now, it may be years, literally, before we can see one another again. I can’t accept that.”

“I feel the same.”

Mervyn said: “So will you come back to England with me?”

Nancy stopped smiling. “What?”

“Come back with me. Move into a hotel, if you like, or buy a house, or a flat—anything.”

Nancy felt resentment rise up inside her. She gritted her teeth and tried to stay calm. “You’re out of your mind,” she said dismissively. She looked away from him. She was bitterly disappointed.

He looked hurt and puzzled by her reaction. “What’s the matter?”

“I have a home, two sons and a multimillion dollar business,” she said. “You’re asking me to leave them to move into a hotel in Manchester?”

“Not if you don’t want to!” he said indignantly. “Live with me, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m a respectable widow with a place in society—I’m not going to live like a kept floozie!”

“Look, I think we’ll get married—I’m sure we will—but I don’t imagine you’re ready to commit yourself to that, are you, after just a few hours?”

“That’s not the point, Mervyn,” she said, although in a way it was. “I don’t care what arrangements you envisage. I just resent the casual assumption that I’m going to give up everything and follow you to England.”

“But how else could we be together?”

“Why didn’t you ask that question, instead of assuming the answer?”

“Because there is only one answer.”

“There are three. I could move to England; you could move to America; or we could both move, to somewhere like Bermuda.”

He was nonplussed. “But my country is at war. I have to join the fight. I may be too old for active service, but the air force is going to need propellers by the thousand, and I know more about making propellers than anyone else in the country. They need me.”

Everything he said seemed to make it worse. “Why do you assume that my country doesn’t need me?” she said. “I make boots for soldiers, and when the U.S. gets into this war, there are going to be a lot more soldiers needing good boots.”

“But I’ve got a business in Manchester.”

“And I’ve got a business in Boston—a much bigger one, by the way.”

“It’s not the same for a woman!”

“Of course it’s the same, you fool!” she yelled.

Right away, she regretted the word fool. A look of stony fury settled on his face: she had offended him mortally. He got up from his chair. She wanted to say something to stop him walking away in a snit, but she could not think of the right words, and a moment later he had gone.

“Damn,” she said bitterly. She was angry with him and furious with herself. She did not want to drive him away—she liked him! Years ago she had learned that nose-to-nose confrontation was not the right approach when dealing with men: they would accept aggression from one another but not from women. In business she had always tempered her combative spirit, softened her tone and got her way by manipulating people, not by quarreling with them. Now, just for a moment, she had stupidly forgotten all that and had a fight with the most attractive man she had come across in ten years.

I’m such a fool, she thought; I know he’s proud. That’s one of the things I like about him—it’s part of his strength. He is tough, but he hasn’t suppressed all his emotions the way tough men often do. Look at the way he followed that runaway wife half across the world. See how he stood up for the Jews when Lord Oxenford blew his top in the dining room. Remember how he kissed me....

The irony of it was that she felt very ready to think about a change in her life.

What Danny Riley had told her about her father had cast a new light over her entire history. She had always assumed that she and Peter quarreled because he resented her being cleverer. But that kind of sibling rivalry normally faded away in adolescence: her own two boys, having fought like cat and dog for almost twenty years, were now the best of friends and fiercely loyal to one another. By contrast, the hostility between her and Peter had stayed alive into middle age, and she could now see that Pa was responsible.

Pa had told Nancy that she was to be his successor, and Peter would work under her; but he had told Peter the opposite. In consequence, both of them thought they were intended to run the company. But it went back farther than that. Pa had always refused to lay down clear rules or define areas of responsibility, she realized. He would buy toys they had to share, then refuse to adjudicate the inevitable disputes. When they were old enough to drive, he had bought a car for them both to use: they had fought over it for years.

Pa’s strategy had worked for Nancy: it had made her strong-willed and smart. But Peter had ended up weak, sly and spiteful. And now the stronger of the two was about to take control of the company, in accordance with Pa’s plan.

And that was what disturbed Nancy: it was all in accordance with Pa’s plan. The knowledge that everything she did had been foreordained by someone else spoiled the taste of victory. Her whole life now seemed like a school assignment set by her father: she had got an A, but at forty she was too old to be in school. She had an angry wish to set her own goals and live her own life.

In fact, she had been in just the right mood to have an open-minded discussion with Mervyn about their future together. But he had offended her by assuming that she would drop everything and follow him half across the world; and instead of talking him around she had bawled him out.

She had not expected him to go down on his knees and propose, of course, but ...

She felt in her heart that he really should have proposed. She was not a bohemian, after all; she was an American woman from a Catholic family, and if a man wanted a commitment from her, there was only one kind of commitment he was entitled to ask for, and that was her hand in marriage. If he could not do that, he should not ask for anything.

She sighed. It was all very well to be indignant, but she had driven him away. Perhaps the rift would not be permanent. She hoped so with all her heart. Now that she was in danger of losing Mervyn, she realized how much she wanted him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another man she had once driven away: Nat Ridgeway.

He stood in front of her, took off his hat politely and said: “It seems you’ve defeated me—again.”

She studied him for a moment. He could never have started a company and built it up the way Pa had built Black’s Boots: he did not have either the vision or the drive. But he was very good at running a big organization: he was clever, hard-working and tough. “If it’s any consolation, Nat,” said Nancy, “I know I made a mistake five years ago.”

“A business mistake, or a personal one?” he said, and there was an edge to his voice that betrayed underlying resentment.

“Business,” she said lightly. His departure had ended a romance that had hardly begun: she did not want to talk about that. “Congratulations on your marriage,” she said. “I saw a picture of your wife—she’s very beautiful.” It was not true: she was attractive at best.

“Thank you,” he said. “But to revert to business, I’m rather surprised that you’ve resorted to blackmail to get what you want.”

“This is a takeover, not a tea party. You said that to me yesterday.”

“Touché.” He hesitated. “May I sit down?”

Suddenly she was impatient with formality. “Hell, yes,” she said. “We worked together for years, and for a few weeks we dated, too; you don’t have to ask my permission to sit down, Nat.”

He smiled. “Thanks.” He took Mervyn’s deck chair and moved it around so that he could look at her. “I tried to take over Black’s without your help. That was dumb, and I failed. I should have known better.”

“No argument here.” That sounded hostile, she realized. “And no hard feelings, either.”

“I’m glad you said that—because I still want to buy your company.”

Nancy was taken aback. She had been in danger of underestimating him. Don’t let your guard down! she told herself. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m going to try again,” he said. “Of course, I’ll have to make a better offer next time. But more important, I want you on my side—before and after the merger. I want to come to terms with you, and then I want you to become a director of General Textiles and sign a five-year contract.”

She had not expected this, and she did not know how she felt about it. To gain time she asked a question. “A contract? To do what?”

“To run Black’s Boots as a division of General Textiles.”

“I’d lose my independence—I’d be an employee.”

“Depending on how we structure the deal, you might be a shareholder. And while you’re making money, you’ll have all the independence you want—I don’t interfere with profitable divisions. But if you lose money, then yes, you’ll forfeit your independence. I fire failures.” He shook his head. “But you won’t fail.”

Nancy’s instinct was to turn him down. No matter how he sugared the pill, he still wanted to take the company away from her. But she realized that instant refusal was what Pa would have wanted, and she had resolved to stop living her life by her father’s program. However, she had to say something, so she prevaricated. “I might be interested.”

“That’s all I want to know,” he said, standing up. “Think about it and figure out-what kind of deal would make you comfortable. I’m not offering you a blank check, but I want you to understand that I’ll go a long way to make you happy.” Nancy was faintly bemused: his technique was persuasive. He had learned a lot about negotiating in the last few years. He looked past her, toward the land. “I think your brother wants to talk to you.”

She looked over her shoulder and saw Peter coming. Nat put on his hat and walked away. This looked like a pincer movement. Nancy stared resentfully at Peter. He had deceived her and betrayed her, and she could hardly bring herself to speak to him. She would have liked to mull over Nat Ridgeway’s surprising offer, and think about how it fitted in with her new feelings about her life; but Peter did not give her time. He stood in front of her, put his head on one side in a way that reminded her of his boyhood, and said: “Can we talk?”

“I doubt it,” she snapped.

“I want to apologize.”

“You’re sorry for your treachery, now that it’s failed.”

“I’d like to make peace.”

Everyone wants to do a deal with me today, she thought sourly. “How could you possibly make up for what you’ve done to me?”

“I can’t,” he said immediately. “Never.” He sat down in the chair vacated by Nat. “When I read your report, I felt such a fool. You were saying I couldn’t run the business, I’m not the man my father was, my sister could do it better than me, and I felt so ashamed because in my heart I knew it was true.”

Well, she thought, that’s progress.

“It made me mad, Nan—that’s the truth.” As children they had called each other Nan and Petey, and his use of the childhood name brought a lump to her throat. “I don’t think I knew what I was doing.”

She shook her head. That was a typical Peter excuse. “You knew what you were doing.” But she was sad now, rather than angry.

A group of people stopped near the door to the airline building, chatting. Peter looked irritably at them and said to Nancy: “Come and walk along the shore with me?”

She sighed. He was, after all, her little brother. She got up.

He gave her a radiant smile.

They walked to the landward end of the pier then stepped across the railroad track and descended to the beach. Nancy took off her high-heeled shoes and walked along the sand in her stockings. The breeze tossed Peter’s fair hair, and she saw, with a little shock, that it was receding from his temples. She wondered why she had not noticed that before, and realized that he combed his hair carefully to conceal it. That made her feel old.

There was nobody nearby now, but Peter said no more for a while, and eventually Nancy spoke. “Danny Riley told me a weird thing. He said Pa deliberately set things up so you and I would fight.”

Peter frowned. “Why would he do that?”

“To make us tougher.”

Peter laughed harshly. “Do you believe it?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I do, too.”

“I’ve decided I’m not going to live the rest of my life under Pa’s spell.”

He nodded, then said: “But what does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll accept Nat’s offer, and merge our company into his.”

“It’s not ‘our’ company anymore, Nan. It’s yours.”

She studied him. Was this genuine? She felt mean, being so suspicious. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He looked sincere as he went on. “I’ve realized I’m not cut out for business, and I’m going to leave it to people like you who are good at it.”

“But what will you do?”

“I thought I might buy that house.” They were passing an attractive white-painted cottage with green shutters. “I’m going to have lots of time for holidays.”

She felt rather sorry for him. “It’s a pretty house,” she said. “Is it for sale, though?” ,

“There’s a board on the other side. I was poking around earlier. Come and see.”

They walked around the house. It was locked up, and the shutters were closed, so they could not look into the rooms, but from the outside it was appealing. It had a wide veranda with a hammock. There was a tennis court in the garden. On the far side was a small building without windows, which Nancy guessed was a boathouse. “You could have a boat,” she said. Peter had always liked sailing.

A side door to the boathouse stood open. Peter went inside. She heard him say: “Good God!”

She stepped through the doorway and peered into the gloom. “What is it?” she said anxiously. “Petey, are you all right?”

Peter appeared beside her and took her arm. For a split second she saw a nasty, triumphant grin on his face, and she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Then he jerked her arm violently, pulling her farther in. She stumbled, cried out, dropped her shoes and handbag, and fell to the dusty floor.

“Peter!” she cried out furiously. She heard him take three rapid steps; then the door banged and she was in darkness. “Peter?” she called, fearful now. She got to her feet. There was a scraping sound and then a knock as if something was being used to jam the door. She yelled out: “Peter! Say something!”

There was no reply.

Hysterical fear bubbled up in her throat and she wanted to scream in terror. She put her hand to her mouth and bit the knuckle of her thumb. After a moment the panic began to recede.

Standing there in the dark, blind and disoriented, she realized he had planned this all along: he had found the empty house with its convenient boathouse, lured her here and locked her in so that she would miss the plane and be unable to vote at the board meeting. His regrets, his apology, his talk of giving up business and his painful honesty had all been faked. He had cynically evoked their childhood to soften her. Once again she had trusted him; once again he had betrayed her. It was enough to make her weep.

She bit her lip and considered her situation. When her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she was able to see a line of light under the door. She walked toward it, holding both hands out in front of her. When she reached the door, she felt the wall on both sides of it and found a switch. She flipped it up and the boathouse was flooded with light. She found the handle of the door and tried, without any real hope, to push it open. It did not budge: he had jammed it well. She put her shoulder to the door and heaved with all her might, but it would not move.

Her elbows and knees hurt where she had fallen, and her stockings were torn. “You pig,” she said to the absent Peter.

She put on her shoes, picked up her handbag and looked around. Most of the space was taken up by a big sailing boat on a wheeled dolly. Its mast hung in a cradle from the ceiling, and its sails were folded in neat bundles on the deck. At the front of the boathouse was a wide door. Nancy examined it and found, as she expected, that it was securely locked.

The house was set back from the beach a little, but there was a chance that passengers from the Clipper, or even someone else, might meander past. Nancy took a deep breath and shouted at the top of her voice: “Help! Help! Help!” She decided to yell at one-minute intervals so that she would not get hoarse.

Both the front and side doors were stout and well-fitting, but she might be able to break them open with a crowbar or something. She looked around. The owner was a neat man: he did not keep gardening tools in his boathouse. There were no shovels or rakes.

She shouted for help again, then climbed onto the deck of the boat, still looking for a tool. There were several closets on deck, but all had been locked shut by the tidy owner. She looked around the place again from up on the deck, but she saw nothing new. “Damn, damn, damn!” she said aloud.

She sat on the raised centerboard and brooded despondently. It was quite cold in the boathouse, and she was glad of her cashmere coat. She continued to call for help every minute or so but, as time passed, her hopes diminished. The passengers would be back on board the Clipper by now. Soon it would take off, leaving her behind.

It struck her that losing the company might be the least of her worries. Suppose nobody came by this boathouse for a week? She could die here. Panicking, she began to yell loudly and continuously. She could hear a note of hysteria in her voice, and that scared her even more.

After a while she got tired, and that calmed her. Peter was wicked but he was not a murderer. He would not leave her to die. He probably intended to place an anonymous call to the Shediac police department and tell them to let her out. But not until after the board meeting, of course. She told herself she was safe, but she still felt deeply uneasy. What if Peter was more wicked than she thought? What if he should forget? What if he fell ill, or suffered some sort of accident? Who would save her then?

She heard the roar of the Clipper’s mighty engines sounding out across the bay. From panic her mood switched to total despair. She had been betrayed and defeated, and she had even lost Mervyn, who would be on board the plane by now, waiting to take off. He might wonder idly what had happened to her, but since her last words to him had been “You fool!” he probably figured she was through with him.

It had been arrogant of him to assume she would follow him to England, but to be realistic about it, any man would have made the same assumption, and she had been silly to get mad about it. Now they had parted angrily and she would never see him again. She might even die.

The roar of the distant engines rose to a crescendo. The Clipper was taking off. The noise persisted at high volume for a minute or two, then began to fade as, Nancy presumed, the plane climbed into the distant sky. That’s it, she thought; I’ve lost my business and I’ve lost Mervyn, and I’m probably going to starve to death here. No, she would not starve, she would die of thirst, raving and screaming in agony....

She felt a tear on her cheek, and wiped it away with the cuff of her coat. She had to pull herself together. There must be a way out of here. She looked around again. She wondered if she could use the mast as a battering ram. She reached up to the sling. No, the mast was much too heavy to be moved by one person. Could she cut through the door somehow ? She recalled stories of prisoners in medieval dungeons scratching the stones with their fingernails year after year in a vain attempt to dig a way out. She did not have years, and she would need something stronger than fingernails. She looked in her bag. She had a small ivory comb, a bright red lipstick almost used up, a cheap powder compact the boys had given her for her thirtieth birthday, an embroidered handkerchief, her checkbook, a five-pound note; several fifty-dollar bills and a small gold pen: nothing she could use. She thought of her clothes. She was wearing a crocodile belt with a gold-plated buckle. The point of the buckle might be used to gouge away the wood of the door around the lock. It would be a long job, but she had all the time in the world.

She climbed off the boat and located the lock on the big front door. The wood was quite stout, but perhaps she would not need to scratch all the way through: when she had made a deep groove it might then break. She shouted for help again. No one answered.

She took off her belt. Her skirt would not stay up without it, so she took that off, folded it neatly and draped it over the gunwale of the boat. Although no one could see her, she was glad she was wearing pretty panties with a lacy trim and a matching garter belt.

She scratched a square mark all around the lock and then began to make it deeper. The metal of her buckle was not very strong, and after a while the prong bent. Nevertheless she carried on, stopping every minute or so to shout. Slowly the mark became a groove. Sawdust trickled out and drifted to the floor.

The wood of the door was soft, perhaps because of the damp air. The work went more quickly and she began to think she might get out soon.

Just as she was becoming hopeful, the prong snapped off.

She picked it up from the floor and tried to continue, but without the buckle the prong on its own was hard to handle. If she dug deep it slipped from her fingers, and if she scratched lightly she made the groove no deeper. After dropping it five or six times she cursed aloud, cried tears of rage and hammered uselessly on the door with her fists.

A voice called: “Who’s there?”

She shut up and, stopped hammering. Had she really heard it? She shouted: “Hello! Help!”

“Nancy, is that you?”

Her heart leaped. The voice had a British accent, and she recognized it. “Mervyn! Thank God!”

“I’ve been searching for you. What the devil happened to you?”

“Just let me out, will you?”

The door shook. “It’s locked.”

“Come around the side.”

“On my way.”

Nancy crossed the boathouse, skirting the sailing boat, and went to the side door. She heard him say: “It’s wedged—just a minute....” She realized she was standing there in her stockings and underwear, so she pulled her coat around her to cover her nakedness. A moment later the door flew open, and she flung herself into Mervyn’s arms. “I thought I was going to die in here!” she said, and to her embarrassment she began to cry.

He hugged her and stroked her hair, saying: “There, there.”

“Peter locked me in,” she said tearfully.

“I guessed he’d done something sly. That brother of yours is a right bastard, if you ask me.”

Nancy did not care about Peter—she was too glad to see Mervyn. She looked into his eyes through a haze of tears, then kissed his face all over: eyes, cheeks, nose and finally lips. She suddenly felt powerfully aroused. She opened her mouth and kissed him passionately. He put his arms around her and squeezed her tight. She pressed herself against him, hungry for the feel of his body. He ran his hands down her back inside her coat and stopped, startled, when he felt her panties. He drew back and looked at her. Her coat had fallen open. “What happened to your skirt?”

She laughed. “I tried to cut through the door with the prong of my belt buckle, and my skirt wouldn’t stay up without the belt, so I took it off....”

“What a nice surprise,” he said thickly, and he stroked her bottom and her bare thighs. She felt his penis grow erect against her stomach. She reached down and stroked it.

In a moment they were both mad with desire. She wanted to make love now, here, and she knew he felt the same. He covered her small breasts with his big hands, and she gasped. She pulled open the buttons of his fly and reached inside. All the time, in the back of her mind, she was thinking, I might have died, I might have died, and the thought made her desperate for satisfaction. She found his penis, squeezed it and pulled it out. They were both breathing like sprinters now. She stood back and looked down at the big cock in her small white hand. Giving in to an irresistible urge, she bent over and took it in her mouth.

It seemed to fill her up. There was a mossy smell in her nostrils and a salty taste in her mouth. She groaned: she had forgotten how much she liked doing this. She could have gone on forever, but eventually he drew her head up, moaning: “Stop, before I burst.”

He bent in front of her and slowly drew her panties down. She felt shy and inflamed at the same time. He kissed her pubic hair. He pulled her panties down to her ankles and she stepped out of them.

He straightened up and embraced her again, and then at last his hand closed over her sex, and a moment later she felt his finger slide easily inside. All the while they kissed wetly, lips and tongues in a frantic tangle, pausing only to gasp for breath. After a while she drew away from him, looked around and said: “Where?”

“Put your arms around my neck,” he said.

She reached up and clasped her hands behind his neck. He put his hands under her thighs and lifted her effortlessly off the ground. Her coat swung behind her. As he lowered her, she guided him inside, then wrapped her legs around his waist.

For a moment they were still, and she savored the feeling she had been without so long, the comforting sense of utter closeness that came from having a man inside her and mingling two bodies so intimately. It was the best feeling in the world, and she thought she must have been mad to go without it for ten years.

Then she began to move, pulling herself to him and pushing away. She heard him groan deep in his throat, and the thought of the pleasure she was giving him inflamed her more. She felt shameless, making love in this bizarre position with a man she hardly knew. At first she wondered whether he could take her weight; but she was petite and he was a big man. He grasped the globes of her bottom and moved her, lifting her up and down. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling of his penis going in and out and her clitoris pressing against his belly. She forgot to worry about his strength and concentrated intensely on the sensations in her groin.

After a while she opened her eyes and looked at him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. Somewhere in the back of her mind a sentinel of common sense told her it was too soon; but all the same she felt it. “You’re very dear,” she whispered to him.

The look in his eyes told her that he understood. He murmured her name and began to move faster.

She closed her eyes again and thought only of the waves of delight emanating from the place where their bodies met. She heard her own voice, as if at a distance, giving small cries of pleasure each time she sank down on him. He was breathing hard, but he held her weight without any sign of strain. Now she sensed him holding back, waiting for her. She thought of the pressure building up inside him with every rise and fall of her hips, and that image pushed her over the top. Her whole body thrilled with pleasure and she cried aloud. She felt him surge and jerk, and she rode him like a bucking horse as the climax shook them both. At last the pleasure eased, Mervyn became still, and she slumped on his chest.

He hugged her hard and said: “By heck, is it always like that for you?”

She laughed breathlessly. She loved a man who could make her laugh.

Eventually he lowered her to the floor. She stood shakily on her feet, still leaning on him, for a few minutes. Then, reluctantly, she put her clothes back on.

They smiled at one another a lot, but did not speak, as they went out into the mild sunshine and walked slowly along the beach toward the pier.

Nancy was wondering if perhaps it was her destiny to live in England and marry Mervyn. She had lost her battle for control of the company: there was no way she could get to Boston in time for the board meeting, so Peter would outvote Danny Riley and Aunt Tilly, and carry the day. She thought of her boys: they were independent now; she did not need to live her life according to their needs. And she had now discovered that as a lover Mervyn was everything she longed for. She still felt dazed and a little weak after their lovemaking. But what would I do in England? she thought. I can’t be a housewife.

They reached the pier and stood looking over the bay. Nancy wondered how often trains ran from here. She was about to propose making inquiries when she noticed Mervyn staring hard at something in the distance. “What are you looking at?” she said.

“A Grumman Goose,” he said thoughtfully.

“I don’t see any geese.”

He pointed. “That little seaplane is called a Grumman Goose. It’s quite new—they’ve only been out for a couple of years. They’re very fast, faster than the Clipper....”

She looked at the seaplane. It was a modern-looking twin-engined monoplane with an enclosed cabin. She realized what he was thinking. In a seaplane she could get to Boston in time for the board meeting. “Could we charter it?” she said hesitantly, hardly daring to hope.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Let’s ask!” She hurried along the pier to the airline building, and Mervyn followed, his long stride easily keeping up with her. Her heart was pounding. She might yet save her company. But she kept her elation bottled up: there might be a snag.

They entered the building, and a young man in a Pan American uniform said: “Hey, you guys missed your plane!”

Without preamble, Nancy said: “Do you know who the little seaplane belongs to?”

“The Goose? Sure do. A mill owner called Alfred Southborne.”

“Does he ever rent it?”

“Yeah, whenever he can. You want to charter it?”

Nancy’s heart leaped. “Yes!”

“One of the pilots is right here—came to look at the Clipper.” He stepped back and called into an adjoining room. “Hey, Ned? Someone wants to charter your Goose.”

Ned came out. He was a cheerful man of about thirty in a shirt with epaulets. He nodded politely and said: “I’d like to help you folks, but my copilot ain’t here, and the Goose needs a crew of two.”

Nancy’s heart sank again.

Mervyn said: “I’m a pilot.”

Ned looked skeptical. “Ever flown a seaplane?”

Nancy held her breath.

Mervyn said: “Yes—the Supermarine.”

Nancy had never heard of a Supermarine, but it must have been a competition plane, for Ned was impressed and said: “Do you race?”

“I did when I was young. Now I just fly for pleasure. I have a Tiger Moth.”

“Well, if you’ve flown a Supermarine you won’t have any trouble being copilot on the Goose. And Mr. Southbome is away until tomorrow. Where do you want to go?”

“Boston.”

“Cost you a thousand dollars.”

“No problem!” Nancy said excitedly. “But we need to leave right away.”

The man looked at her in mild surprise: he had assumed the man was in charge. “We can be gone in a few minutes, ma’am. How would you pay?”

“I can give you a personal check, or you can bill my company in Boston, Black’s Boots.”

“You work for Black’s Boots?”

“I own it.”

“Hey, I’m wearing your shoes!”

She looked down. He had on the $6.95 toe-capped Oxford in black, size 9. “How do they feel?” she said automatically.

“Great. They’re good shoes. But I guess you know that.”

She smiled. “Yes,” she said. “They’re good shoes.”