Night Over Water

“To get away from Rebecca Maugham-Flint.”

She laughed. “No, seriously.”

She was like a terrier when she got hold of something, he thought: she wouldn’t let go. She was impossible to control, which made her dangerous. “I had to leave to stay out of jail,” he said.

“What will you do when you get there?”

“I thought I might join the Canadian air force. I’d like to learn to fly.”

“How exciting.”

“What about you? Why are you going to America?”

“We’re running away,” she said disgustedly.

“What do you mean?”

“You know that my father is a Fascist.”

Harry nodded. “I’ve read about him in the papers.”

“Well, he thinks the Nazis are wonderful and he doesn’t want to fight against them. Besides, the government would put him in jail if he stayed.”

“So you’re going to live in America?”

“My mother’s family come from Connecticut.”

“And how long will you be there?”

“My parents are. going to stay at least for the duration of the war. They may never come back.”

“But you don’t want to go?”

“Certainly not,” she said forcefully. “I want to stay and fight. Fascism is the most frightful wickedness and this war is dreadfully important, and I want to do my bit.” She started to talk about the Spanish Civil War, but Harry was only half listening. He had been struck by a thought so shocking that his heart was beating faster, and he had to make an effort to keep a normal expression on his face.

When people flee a country at the outbreak of war, they do not leave their valuables behind.

It was quite simple. Peasants drove their livestock before them as they ran from invading armies. Jews fled from the Nazis with gold coins sewn inside their coats. After 1917, Russian aristocrats such as Princess Lavinia arrived in all the capitals of Europe clutching their Faberge eggs.

Lord Oxenford must have considered the possibility that he would never return. Moreover, the government had brought in exchange controls to prevent the British upper classes from transferring all their money abroad. The Oxenfords knew they might never again see what they left behind. It was certain they had brought whatever assets they could carry.

It was a little risky, of course, carrying a fortune in jewelry in your luggage. But what would be less risky? Mailing it? Sending it by courier? Leaving it behind, possibly to be confiscated by a vengeful government, looted by an invading army, or even “liberated” in a postwar revolution?

No. The Oxenfords would have their jewelry with them.

In particular, they would be carrying the Delhi Suite.

The very thought of it took his breath away.

The Delhi Suite was the centerpiece of Lady Oxenford’s famous collection of antique jewelry. Made of rubies and diamonds in gold settings, it consisted of a necklace with matching earrings and a bracelet. The rubies were Burmese, the most precious kind, and absolutely huge: they had been brought to England in the eighteenth century by the general Robert Clive, known as Clive of India, and set by the Crown Jewelers.

The Delhi Suite was said to be worth a quarter of a million pounds—more money than a man could ever spend.

And it was almost certainly on this plane.

No professional thief would steal on a ship or plane: the list of suspects was too short. Furthermore, Harry was impersonating an American, traveling on a false passport, jumping bail and sitting opposite a policeman. It would be madness to try to get his hands on the suite, and he felt shaky just at the thought of the risks involved.

On the other hand, he would never have another chance like this. And suddenly he needed those jewels the way a drowning man gasps for air.

He would not be able to sell the suite for a quarter of a million, of course. But he would get about a tenth of its value, say twenty-five thousand pounds, which was more than a hundred thousand dollars.

In either currency it was enough for him to live on for the rest of his life.

The thought of that much money made his mouth water—but the jewelry itself was irresistible. Harry had seen pictures of it. The graduated stones of the necklace were perfectly matched; the diamonds set off the rubies like teardrops on a baby’s cheek; and the smaller pieces, the earrings and the bracelet, were perfectly proportioned. The whole ensemble, on the neck and ears and wrist of a beautiful woman, would be utterly ravishing.

Harry knew he would never again be this close to such a master-piece. Never.

He had to steal it.

The risks were appalling—but then, he had always been lucky.

“I don’t believe you’re listening to me,” Margaret said.

Harry realized he had not been paying attention. He grinned and said: “I’m sorry. Something you said sent me into a daydream.”

“I know,” she said. “From the look on your face, you were dreaming about someone you love.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nancy Lenehan waited in a fever of impatience while Mervyn Lovesey’s pretty yellow airplane was readied for takeoff. He was giving last-minute instructions to the man in the tweed suit, who seemed to be the foreman of a factory he owned. Nancy gathered that he had union trouble and a strike was threatened.

When he had finished, he turned to Nancy and said: “I employ seventeen toolmakers and every one of them’s a ruddy individualist.”

“What do you make?” she asked.

“Fans,” he replied. He pointed at the plane. “Aircraft propellers, screws for ships, that kind of thing. Anything that has complex curves. But the engineering is the easy part. It’s the human factor that gives me grief.” He smiled condescendingly and added: “Still, you’re not interested in the problems of industrial relations.”

“But I am,” she said. “I run a factory too.”

He was taken aback. “What kind?”

“I make five thousand seven hundred pairs of shoes a day.”

He was impressed, but he also seemed to feel he had been trumped, for he said: “Good for you,” in a tone of voice that mixed mockery with admiration. Nancy guessed that his business was much smaller than hers.

“Maybe I ought to say I used to make shoes,” she said, and the taste of bile was in her mouth as she admitted it. “My brother is trying to sell the business out from under my feet. That,” she added with an anxious look at the plane, “is why I have to catch the Clipper.”

“You will,” he said confidently. “My Tiger Moth will get us there with an hour to spare.”

She hoped with all her heart that he was right.

The mechanic jumped down from the plane and said: “All set, Mr. Lovesey.”

Lovesey looked at Nancy. “Fetch her a helmet,” he said to the mechanic. “She can’t fly in that bloody silly little hat.”

Nancy was taken aback by the sudden reversion to his previous offhand manner. Clearly, he was happy enough to talk to her while there was nothing else to do, but as soon as something important cropped up he lost interest in her. She was not used to such a casual attitude from men. Although not the seductive type, she was attractive enough to catch a man’s eye, and she carried a certain authority. Men patronized her often enough, but they rarely treated her with Lovesey’s insouciance. However, she was not going to protest. She would put up with a lot worse than rudeness for the chance of catching up with her treacherous brother.