joining the Fascist side, in principle, but he would be furious that she was refusing to go along with his plans for the family.
Margaret had been in many such fights with Father. He had been furious when she learned to drive without his permission; and when he found out she had gone to hear a speech by Marie Stopes, the controversial pioneer of contraception, he had been apoplectic. But on those occasions she had succeeded only by going behind his back. She had never won in a direct conflict. He had refused to let her go on a camping holiday, at the age of sixteen, with her cousin Catherine and several of Catherine’s friends, even though the whole thing was supervised by a vicar and his wife: Father had objected because there would be boys as well as girls. Their biggest battle had been over going to school. She had begged and pleaded, screamed and sobbed and sulked, and he had been stonily implacable. “School is wasted on girls,” he had said. “They only grow up and get married.”
But he could not go on bullying and bossing his children forever, could he?
Margaret felt restless. She stood up and walked along the carriage, just for something to do. Most of the other Clipper passengers seemed to share her dual mood, half excited and half depressed. When they all joined the train at Waterloo Station, there had been a good deal of lively conversation and laughter. They had checked their baggage at Waterloo: there had been a fuss about Mother’s steamer trunk, which exceeded the weight limit many times over, but she had blithely ignored everything the Pan American staff said, and eventually the trunk had been accepted. A young man in uniform had taken their tickets and ushered them into their special carriage. Then, as they left London behind, the passengers had become quiet, as if privately saying goodbye to a country they might never see again.
There was a world-famous American film star among the passengers, which partly accounted for the undertone of excitement. Her name was Lulu Bell. Percy was sitting with her now, talking to her as if he had known her all his life. Margaret herself had wanted to speak to her, but she did not have the cheek just to go up and engage her in conversation. Percy was bolder.
In the flesh Lulu Bell looked older than on the screen; Margaret guessed she was in her late thirties, although she still played debutantes and newlyweds. All the same she was pretty. Small and lively, she made Margaret think of a little bird, a sparrow or a wren.
Margaret smiled at her, and Lulu said: “Your kid brother has been keeping me entertained.”
“I hope he’s being polite,” Margaret replied.
“Oh, sure. He’s telling me all about your great-grandmother, Rachel Fishbein.” Lulu’s voice became solemn, as if she were speaking of tragic heroism. “She must have been a
Margaret was embarrassed. It was wicked of Percy to tell lies to total strangers. What on earth had he said to this poor woman? Feeling flustered, she smiled vaguely—a trick she had learned from Mother—and passed on.
Percy had always been mischievous, but lately he seemed to be getting bolder. He was growing taller, his voice was getting deeper, and his practical jokes were verging on dangerous. He was still afraid of Father, and would only go against parental authority if Margaret backed him up; but she had an idea that the day was coming when Percy would rebel openly. How would Father deal with that? Could he bully a boy as easily as he had bullied his girls? Margaret was not sure it would be quite the same.
At the far end of the carriage was a mysterious figure who seemed vaguely familiar to Margaret. A tall, intense-looking man with burning eyes, he stood out in this well-dressed, well-fed crowd because he was as thin as death and wore a shabby suit of thick, coarse cloth. His hair was cut painfully short, like a prisoner’s. He seemed worried and tense.
She looked at him now and he caught her eye, and suddenly she remembered him. They had never met, but she had seen his photograph in the newspapers. He was Carl Hartmann, the German socialist and scientist. Deciding to be bold like her brother, Margaret sat down opposite him and introduced herself. A longtime opponent of Hitler, Hartmann had become a hero to young people such as Margaret for his bravery. Then he had disappeared about a year ago, and everyone had feared the worst. Margaret assumed he had escaped from Germany. He looked like a man who had been through hell.
“The whole world has been wondering what happened to you,” Margaret said to him.
He replied in heavily accented but correct English, “I was placed under house arrest, but permitted to continue with my scientific work.”
“And then?”
“I have escaped,” he said simply. He introduced the man beside him. “Do you know my friend Baron Gabon?”
Margaret had heard of him. Philippe Gabon was a French banker who used his vast wealth to promote Jewish causes such as Zionism, which made him unpopular with the British government. He spent much of his time traveling the world trying to persuade countries to admit Jewish refugees from the Nazis. He was a small, rather plump man, with a neat beard, wearing a stylish black suit with a dove gray waistcoat and a silver tie. Margaret guessed he was paying for Hartmann’s ticket. She shook his hand and returned her attention to Hartmann.
“Your escape hasn’t been reported in the newspapers,” she said.
Baron Gabon said: “We have tried to keep it quiet until Carl is safely out of Europe.”
That was ominous, Margaret thought: it sounded as if the Nazis might still be after him. “What are you going to do in America?” she asked.
“I am going to Princeton, to work in the physics department there,” Hartmann replied. A bitter expression came over his face. “I did not want to leave my country. But if I had stayed, my work might have contributed to a Nazi victory.”
Margaret did not know anything about his work—just that he was a scientist. It was his politics that interested her. “Your courage has been an inspiration to so many people,” she said. She was thinking of Ian, who had translated Hartmann’s speeches, in the days when Hartmann had been allowed to make speeches.
Her praise seemed to make him uncomfortable. “I wish I could have continued,” he said. “I regret having given up.”
Baron Gabon interjected: “You haven’t given up, Carl. Don’t accuse yourself. You did the only thing you could.”
Hartmann nodded, and Margaret could see that in his head he knew Gabon was right, but in his heart he felt he had let his country down. She would have liked to say something comforting, but she did not know what. Her dilemma was resolved by the Pan American escort, who came by, saying: “Our luncheon is ready in the next car. Please take your seats.”
Margaret stood up and said: “It’s such an honor to know you. I hope we can talk some more.”
“I’m sure we will,” Hartmann said, and for the first time he smiled. “We’re going three thousand miles together.”
She moved into the restaurant car and sat down with her family. Mother and Father sat on one side of the table, and the three children were squeezed together on the other, Percy between Margaret and Elizabeth. Margaret looked sideways at Elizabeth. When would she drop her bombshell?
The waiter poured water and Father ordered a bottle of hock. Elizabeth was silent, looking out of the window. Margaret waited in suspense. Mother sensed the tension and said: “What’s up with you girls?”
Margaret said nothing. Elizabeth said: “I’ve got something important to tell you.”
The waiter came with cream of mushroom soup, and Elizabeth paused while he served them. Mother asked for a salad.
When he had gone, Mother said: “What is it, dear?”
Margaret held her breath.
Elizabeth said: “I’ve decided not to go to America.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Father said irritably. “Of course you’re going—we’re on the way!”
“No, I shan’t be flying with you,” Elizabeth persisted calmly. Margaret watched her closely. Elizabeth’s voice was level, but her long, rather plain face was white with tension, and Margaret’s heart went out to her.
Mother said: “Don’t be silly, Elizabeth. Father’s bought you a ticket.”
Percy said: “Perhaps we can get a refund.”
“Be quiet, foolish boy,” said Father.
