Night Over Water

thought made her terribly sad.

Elizabeth said: “I know it’s dangerous, Mother, but my future is at stake in this war. I don’t want to live in a world dominated by Jewish financiers and grubby little Communist trade unionists.”

“What absolute twaddle!” Margaret said, but no one was listening.

“Then come with us,” Mother said to Elizabeth. “America is a good place.”

“Wall Street is run by Jews—”

“I do believe that’s exaggerated,” Mother said firmly, avoiding Father’s eye. “There are too many Jews and other unsavory types in American business, it’s true, but they’re far outnumbered by decent people. Remember that your grandfather owned a bank.”

Percy said: “Incredible that we went from knife-grinding to banking in just two generations.” Nobody took any notice.

Mother went on. “I agree with your views, dear—you know that. But believing in something doesn’t mean you have to die for it. No cause is worth that.”

Margaret was shocked. Mother was implying the Fascist cause was not worth dying for; and that amounted almost to blasphemy in Father’s eyes. She had never known Mother to go against him like this. Elizabeth was surprised, too, Margaret could see. They both looked at Father. He reddened slightly and grunted disapprovingly, but the outburst they were expecting did not come. And that was the most shocking thing of all.

Coffee was served and Margaret saw that they had reached the outskirts of Southampton. They would arrive at the station in a few minutes. Would Elizabeth really do it?

The train slowed down.

Elizabeth said to the waiter: “I’m leaving the train at the main station. Would you please bring my suitcase from the other carriage? It’s a red leather bag and the name is Lady Elizabeth Oxenford.”

“Certainly, m’lady,” he said.

Redbrick suburban houses marched past the carriage windows like ranks of soldiers. Margaret was watching Father. He said nothing, but his face was taut as a balloon with suppressed rage. Mother put a hand on his knee and said: “Please don’t make a scene, dear.” He did not reply.

The train pulled into the station.

Elizabeth was sitting by the window. She caught Margaret’s eye. Margaret and Percy got up and let her out, then sat down again.

Father stood up.

The other passengers sensed the tension and looked at the little tableau: Elizabeth and Father facing one another in the aisle as the train came to a halt.

It struck Margaret once again that Elizabeth had chosen her moment well. It would be difficult for Father to use force in these circumstances : if he tried it he might even be restrained by other passengers. Nevertheless she felt sick with fear.

Father’s face was flushed and his eyes bulged. He was breathing hard through his nose. Elizabeth was shaking, but her mouth was set firm.

Father said: “If you get off this train now, I never want to see you again.”

“Don’t say that!” Margaret cried, but she was too late; it had been said, and he would never take it back.

Mother began to cry.

Elizabeth just said: “Goodbye.”

Margaret stood up and threw her arms around Elizabeth. “Good luck!” she whispered.

“You, too,” Elizabeth said, hugging her back.

Elizabeth kissed Percy’s cheek, then leaned awkwardly across the table and kissed Mother’s face, which was wet with tears. Finally she looked at Father again and said in a trembling voice: “Will you shake hands?”

His face was a mask of hate. He said: “My daughter is dead.”

Mother gave a cry of distress.

The carriage was very quiet, as if everyone knew that a family drama was reaching its tragic conclusion.

Elizabeth turned and walked away.

Margaret wished she could pick her father up and shake him until his teeth rattled. His needless obstinacy made her livid. Why the hell couldn’t he just give in for once? Elizabeth was an adult: she wasn’t obliged to obey her parents for the rest of her life! Father had no right to banish her. In his rage he had split the family, pointlessly and vindictively. At that moment Margaret hated him. As he stood there, looking furious and belligerent, she wanted to tell him that he was mean and unjust and stupid; but as always with Father, she bit her lip and said nothing.

Elizabeth walked past the carriage window, carrying her red suitcase. She looked at them all, smiled tearfully and gave a small, hesitant wave with her free hand. Mother began to sob quietly. Percy and Margaret waved back. Father looked away. Then Elizabeth passed out of sight.

Father sat down and Margaret followed suit.

A whistle blew and the train moved off.

They saw Elizabeth again, waiting in line at the exit. She glanced up as their carriage went by. This time there was no smile or wave: she just looked sad and grim.

The train picked up speed, and she was lost from view.

“Family life is a wonderful thing,” Percy said; and although he was being sarcastic, there was no humor in his voice, just bitterness.

Margaret wondered whether she would ever see her sister again.

Mother was dabbing at her eyes with a little linen handkerchief, but she was unable to stop crying. It was rare for her to lose her composure. Margaret could not remember ever seeing her cry before. Percy looked shaken. Margaret was depressed by Elizabeth’s foolish attachment to such an evil cause; but also she could not help feeling a sense of exultation. Elizabeth had done it: she had defied Father and got away with it! She had stood up to him, defeated him and escaped from him.

If Elizabeth could do it, so could she.

She smelled the sea. The train entered the docks. It ran along the waterfront, moving slowly past sheds, cranes and ocean liners. Despite her grief at parting with her sister, Margaret began to feel the thrill of anticipation.

The train stopped behind a building marked IMPERIAL HOUSE. It was an ultramodern structure that looked a bit like a ship: its comers were rounded, and the upper story had a wide veranda like a deck, with a white rail all around.

With the other passengers, the Oxenfords retrieved their overnight bags and got off the train. While their checked baggage was being transferred from the train to the plane, they all went into Imperial House to complete the departure formalities.

Margaret felt dazed. The world around her was changing too rapidly. She had left her home, her country was at war, she had lost her sister, and she was about to fly to America. She wished she could stop the clock for a while and try to take it all in.

Father explained that Elizabeth would not be joining them, and a Pan American official said: “That’s all right—there’s someone waiting here hoping to buy an unused ticket. I’ll take care of it.”

Margaret noticed Professor Hartmann, standing in a corner, smoking a cigarette, looking around him with nervous, wary glances. He looked jumpy and impatient. People like my sister have made him like this, Margaret thought; Fascists have persecuted him and turned him into a nervous wreck. I don’t blame him for being in a hurry to get out of Europe.

They could not see the plane from the waiting room, so Percy went off to find a better vantage point. He came back full of information. “Takeoff will be on schedule at two o’clock,” he said. Margaret felt a shiver of apprehension. Percy went on: “It should take us an hour and a half to get to our first stop, which is Foynes. Ireland is on summer time, like Britain, so we should arrive there at half past three. We wait there an hour while they refuel and finalize the flight plan. So we take off again at half past four.”

Margaret noticed that there were new faces here, people who had not been on the train. Some passengers must have come directly to Southampton this morning, or perhaps stayed overnight at a local hotel. As she thought this, a strikingly beautiful woman arrived in a taxi. She was a blonde in her thirties, and she wore a stunning dress,