“Danny would think you have something he wants—”
“He’ll ask me to protect him, as Pa did. He’ll ask me to refuse the bar permission to look at the papers. And I’ll agree—on the condition he votes with me against the merger with General Textiles.”
“Wait a minute. Don’t open the champagne yet. Danny may be venal but he’s not stupid. Won’t he suspect that we’ve cooked this whole thing up to pressure him?”
“Of course he will,” Nancy said. “But he won’t be sure. And he won’t have long to think about it.”
“Yeah. And right now it’s our only chance.”
“Want to give it a try?”
“Okay.”
Nancy was feeling much better: full of hope and the will to win. “Call me at our next stop.”
“Where’s that?”
“Botwood, Newfoundland. We should be there in seventeen hours.”
“Do they have phones there?”
“They must, if there’s an airport. You should book the call in advance.”
“Okay. Enjoy the flight.”
“ ’Bye, Mac.”
She put the earpiece on the hook. Her spirits were high. There was no telling whether Danny would fall for it, but she felt immensely cheered up just to have a ploy.
It was twenty past four, time to board the plane. She left the room and passed through an office in which Mervyn Lovesey was speaking on another telephone. He put out his hand to stop her as she went by. Through the window she could see the passengers on the dockside boarding the launch, but she paused for a moment. He said into the phone: “I can’t be bothered with that now. Give the buggers the rate they’re asking for, and get on with the job.”
She was surprised. She recalled that there had been some kind of industrial dispute at his factory. He sounded as if he was giving in, which did not seem characteristic of him.
The person he was talking to seemed to be surprised too, for after a moment Mervyn said: “Yes, I do bloody well mean it. I’m too busy to argue with toolmakers. Goodbye!” He hung up the earpiece. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said to Nancy.
“Were you successful?” she asked him. “Did you persuade your wife to come back?”
“No. But I didn’t put it to her right.”
“That’s too bad. Is she out there now?”
He looked through the window. “That’s her in the red coat.” Nancy saw a blond woman in her early thirties. “Mervyn, she’s beautiful!” she said. She was surprised. Somehow she had imagined Mervyn’s wife as a tougher, less cute type: Bette Davis rather than Lana Turner. “I can see why you don’t want to lose her.” The woman was holding on to the arm of a man in a blue blazer, presumably the boyfriend. He was not nearly as handsome as Mervyn. He was a little below average height and his hair was beginning to recede. But he had a pleasant, easygoing look about him. Nancy could see instantly that the woman had gone for Mervyn’s opposite. She felt sympathy for Mervyn. “I’m sorry, Mervyn,” she said.
“I haven’t given up,” he said. “I’m coming to New York.”
Nancy smiled. This was more like Mervyn. “Why not?” she said. “She looks like the kind of woman a man might chase all the way across the Atlantic.”
“The thing is, it’s up to you,” he said. “The plane is full.”
“Of course. So how can you come? Why is it up to me?”
“You own the only remaining seat. You’ve taken the honeymoon suite. It seats two. I’m asking you to sell me the spare seat.”
She laughed. “Mervyn, I can’t share a honeymoon suite with a man. I’m a respectable widow, not a chorus girl!”
“You owe me a favor,” he said insistently.
“I owe you a favor, not my reputation!”
His handsome face took on an obstinate expression. “You didn’t think about your reputation when you wanted to fly across the Irish Sea with me.”
“That didn’t involve our spending the night together!” She wished she could help him: there was something touching about his determination to get his beautiful wife back. “I’m sorry. I really am,” she said. “But I can’t be involved in a public scandal at my age.”
“Listen. I’ve inquired about this honeymoon suite, and it’s not that much different from the rest of the plane. There’s two separate bunk beds. If we leave the door open at night, we’ll be in exactly the same situation as two total strangers who happen to be allocated adjoining bunks.”
“But think what people would say!”
“Who are you worried about? You’ve no husband to get offended, and your parents aren’t alive. Who cares what you do?”
He could be extremely blunt when he wanted something, she thought. “I’ve got two sons in their early twenties,” she protested.
“They’ll think it’s a lark, I bet.”
They probably would, she thought ruefully. “I’m also worried about the whole of Boston society. Something like this would be sure to get around.”
“Look. You were desperate when you came to me on that airfield. You were in trouble and I saved your bacon. Now I’m desperate—you can see that, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I’m in trouble and I’m appealing to you. This is my last chance to save my marriage. You can do it. I saved you, and you can save me. All it will cost you is a whiff of scandal. That never killed anybody. Please, Nancy.”
She thought about that “whiff” of scandal. Did it really matter if a widow was faintly indiscreet on her fortieth birthday? It would not kill her, as he said, and it probably would not even damage her reputation. The matrons of Beacon Hill would think her “fast,” but people of her own age would probably admire her nerve. It’s not as if I’m supposed to be a virgin, she thought.
She looked at his hurt, stubborn face, and her heart went out to him. To hell with Boston society, she thought; this is a man in pain. He helped me when I needed it. Without him I wouldn’t be here. He’s right. I owe him.
“Will you help me, Nancy?” he begged. “Please?”
Nancy took a deep breath. “Hell, yes,” she said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Harry Marks’s last sight of Europe was a white lighthouse, standing proud on the north bank of the mouth of the Shannon, while the Atlantic Ocean angrily lashed the foot of the cliff below. A few minutes later there was no land in sight: whichever way he looked he saw nothing but the endless sea.
When I get to America I’m going to be rich, he thought.
Being this close to the famous Delhi Suite was so tantalizing as to be almost sexy. Somewhere on this plane, no more than a few yards from where he sat, was a fortune in jewelry. His fingers itched to touch it.
A million dollars in gems would be worth at least a hundred thousand from a fence. I could buy a nice flat and a car, he thought, or maybe a house in the country with a tennis court. Or perhaps I should invest it and live on the interest. I’d be a toff with a private income!
But first he had to get hold of the stuff.
Lady Oxenford was not wearing the jewelry; therefore it had to be in one of two places: the cabin baggage, right here in the compartment, or the checked baggage in the hold. If it were mine I’d keep it really close, Harry thought: I’d have it in my cabin bag. I’d be scared to let it out of my sight. But there was no telling how her mind worked.
He would check her cabin bag first. He could see it, under her seat, an expensive burgundy leather case with
