Night Over Water

Eddie had to give Steve a few more minutes. “You honk on ahead,” he said to Mickey. “I’ll catch up with you. ”

Mickey looked a little hurt that Eddie did not want to go with him. He shrugged, said, “See you later,” and went out.

Where the hell was Steve Appleby?

He sat and stared at the wallpaper for the next fifteen minutes.

At last he picked up his case and went slowly down the stairs, staring at the phone as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike. He stopped in the hall, waiting for it to ring.

Captain Baker came down and looked at Eddie in surprise. “You’re running late,” he said. “You’d better come in the taxi with me.” The captain had the privilege of a taxi to the hangar.

“I’m waiting for a telephone call,” Eddie said.

The ghost of a frown shadowed the captain’s brow. “Well, you can’t wait any longer. Let’s go!”

Eddie did not move for a moment. Then he realized this was stupid. Steve was not going to call, and Eddie had to be on the plane if he was going to do anything. He forced himself to pick up his case and walk out through the door.

The taxi was waiting and they got in.

Eddie realized he had been almost insubordinate. He did not want to offend Baker, who was a good captain and had always treated Eddie decently. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I was expecting a call from the States.”

The captain smiled forgivingly. “Hell, you’ll be there tomorrow!” he said cheerfully.

“Right, Eddie said grimly.

He was on his own.

PART II SOUTHAMPTON TO FOYNES

CHAPTER SIX

As the train rolled south through the pine woods of Surrey toward Southampton, Margaret Oxenford’s sister, Elizabeth, made a shocking announcement.

The Oxenford family were in a special carriage reserved for Pan American Clipper passengers. Margaret was standing at the end of the carriage, alone, staring out of the window. Her mood swung wildly between black despair and rising excitement. She was angry and miserable to be abandoning her country in its hour of need, but she could not help feeling thrilled at the prospect of flying to America.

Her sister, Elizabeth, detached herself from the family group and came up to her, looking solemn. After a moment’s hesitation, she said: “I love you, Margaret.”

Margaret was touched. Over the last few years, since they had been old enough to understand the battle of ideas raging throughout the world, they had taken violently opposite points of view, and because of that, they had become estranged. But she had missed being close to her sister, and the estrangement made her sad. It would be wonderful if they could be real pals again. “I love you too,” she said, and she hugged Elizabeth hard.

After a moment Elizabeth said: “I’m not coming to America.”

Margaret gasped with astonishment. “How can you not?”

“I shall simply tell Mother and Father that I’m not going. I’m twenty-one—they can’t force me.”

Margaret was not sure her sister was right about that, but she let it pass for the moment: she had too many other questions. “Where will you go?”

“To Germany.”

“But, Elizabeth,” Margaret said, horrified, “you’ll get killed!”

Elizabeth looked defiant. “It’s not only socialists who are willing to die for a cause, you know.”

“But for Nazism!”

“It’s not just for Fascism,” Elizabeth said, and there was an odd light in her eye. “It’s for all the thoroughbred white people who are in danger of being swamped by niggers and half-breeds. It’s for the human race.”

Margaret was revolted. It was bad enough to be losing her sister—but to lose her to such a wicked cause! However, Margaret did not want to go over the bitter old political argument now: she was more concerned about her sister’s safety. She said: “What will you live on?”

“I’ve got my own money.”

Margaret remembered that they both inherited money from their grandfather at the age of twenty-one. It was not much, but it might be enough to live on.

She thought of something else. “But your luggage is checked through to New York.”

“Those cases are full of old tablecloths. I packed another set of bags and sent them ahead on Monday.”

Margaret was astonished. Elizabeth had arranged everything perfectly and carried out her scheme in total secrecy. Bitterly, Margaret reflected how impetuous and ill thought-out her own escape attempt had been by comparison. While I was brooding and refusing to eat, she thought, Elizabeth was booking passage and sending her luggage on ahead. Of course, Elizabeth was the right side of twenty-one and Margaret the wrong; but that had not counted as much as careful planning and cool execution. Margaret felt ashamed that her sister, who was so stupid and wrong about politics, had behaved so much more intelligently.

Suddenly she realized how she would miss Elizabeth. Although they were no longer great friends, Elizabeth was always around. Mostly they quarreled, and mocked one another’s ideas, but Margaret would miss that, too. And they still supported one another in distress. Elizabeth always suffered bad period pains, and Margaret would tuck her up in bed and bring her a cup of hot chocolate and Picture Post magazine. Elizabeth had been deeply sorry when Ian died, even though she disapproved of him, and she had been a comfort to Margaret. Tearfully, Margaret said: “I shall miss you dreadfully.”

“Don’t make a fuss,” Elizabeth said anxiously. “I don’t want them to know yet.”

Margaret composed herself. “When will you tell them?”

“At the last minute. Can you act normally until then?”

“All right.” She forced a bright smile. “I shall be as horrible as ever to you.”

“Oh, Margaret!” Elizabeth was on the point of tears. She swallowed and said: “Go and talk to them while I calm down.”

Margaret squeezed her sister’s hand, then returned to her seat.

Mother was leafing through Vogue magazine and reading occasional paragraphs to Father, oblivious of his complete lack of interest. “ ‘Lace is being worn,’ ” she quoted, adding: “I haven’t noticed, have you?” The fact that she got no reply did not discourage her in the least. “ ‘White is glamour color number one.’ Well, I don’t like it. White makes me look kind of bilious.”

Father was wearing an unbearably smug expression. He was pleased with himself, Margaret knew, for reasserting his parental authority and crushing her rebellion. But he did not know that his elder daughter had planted a time bomb.

Would Elizabeth have the pluck to go through with this? It was one thing to tell Margaret and quite another to tell Father. Elizabeth might lose her nerve at the last minute. Margaret herself had planned a confrontation with him, but had ducked it in the end.

Even if Elizabeth went ahead and told Father, it was not certain that she would escape. She might be twenty-one and have her own money, but he was fearfully strong-willed and quite ruthless about getting his own way. If he could think of some means of stopping Elizabeth he would, Margaret felt sure. He might not mind her