Night Over Water

the wretched girls who ruin their health?”

“It’s not that I don’t care about them,” Mrs. Lenehan said. Margaret looked carefully at her face, wondering whether she was sincere. “Listen,” she went on. “I make shoes.” Margaret must have looked surprised, for Mrs. Lenehan added: “That’s what I do for a living. I own a shoe factory. My men’s shoes are cheap, and they last for five or ten years. If you want to, you can buy even cheaper shoes, but they’re no good—they have cardboard soles that last about ten days. And believe it or not, some people buy the cardboard ones! Now I figure I’ve done my duty by making good shoes. If people are dumb enough to buy bad shoes there’s nothing I can do about it. And if people are dumb enough to spend their money gambling when they can’t afford to buy a steak for supper, that’s not my problem either.”

“Have you ever been poor yourself?” Margaret asked.

Mrs. Lenehan laughed. “Smart question. No, I haven’t, so maybe I shouldn’t shoot my mouth off. My grandfather made boots by hand and my father opened the factory that I now run. I don’t know anything about life in the slums. Do you?”

“Not much, but I think there are reasons why people gamble and steal and sell their bodies. They aren’t just stupid. They’re victims of a cruel system.”

“I suppose you’re some kind of Communist.” Mrs. Lenehan said this without hostility.

“Socialist,” Margaret said.

“That’s good,” Mrs. Lenehan said surprisingly. “You may change your mind later—everyone’s notions alter as they get older—but if you don’t have ideals to start with, what is there to improve? I’m not cynical. I think we should learn from experience but hold on to our ideals. Why am I preaching at you like this? Maybe because today is my fortieth birthday.”

“Many happy returns.” Margaret normally resented people who said she would change her mind when she was older: it was a condescending thing to say, and often said when they had lost an argument but would not admit it. However, Mrs. Lenehan was different. “What are your ideals?” Margaret asked her.

“I just want to make good shoes.” She gave a self-deprecating smile. “Not much of an ideal, I guess, but it’s important to me. I have a nice life. I live in a beautiful home. My sons have everything they need. I spend a fortune on clothes. Why do I have all this? Because I make good shoes. If I made cardboard shoes I’d feel like a thief. I’d be as bad as Frankie.”

“A rather socialist point of view,” Margaret said with a smile.

“I just adopted my father’s ideals, really,” Mrs. Lenehan said reflectively. “Where do your ideals come from? Not your father, I know.”

Margaret blushed. “You heard about the scene at dinner.”

“I was there.”

“I’ve got to get away from my parents.”

“What’s keeping you?”

“I’m only nineteen.”

Mrs. Lenehan was mildly scornful. “So what? People run away from home at ten!”

“I did try,” Margaret said. “I got into trouble and the police picked me up.”

“You give in pretty easy.”

Margaret wanted Mrs. Lenehan to understand that it was not from lack of courage that she had failed. “I’ve no money and no skills. I’ve never had a proper education. I don’t know how I’d make a living.”

“Honey, you’re on your way to America. Most people arrived there with a lot less than you, and some of them are millionaires now. You can read and write English. You’re personable, intelligent, pretty.... You could get a job easily. I’d hire you.”

Margaret’s heart seemed to turn over. She had begun to feel resentful of Mrs. Lenehan’s unsympathetic attitude. Now she realized she was being given an opportunity. “Would you?” she said. “Would you hire me?”

“Sure.”

“As what?”

Mrs. Lenehan thought for a moment. “I’d put you in the sales office: licking stamps, going for coffee, answering the phone, being nice to customers. If you made yourself useful you’d soon be promoted to assistant sales manager.”

“What does that involve?”

“It means doing the same things for more money.”

To Margaret it seemed like an impossible dream. “Oh, my goodness, a real job in a real office,” she said longingly.

Mrs. Lenehan laughed. “Most people think of it as drudgery!”

“To me it would be such an adventure.”

“At first, maybe.”

“Do you really mean it?” Margaret asked solemnly. “If I come to your office in a week’s time, will you give me a job?”

Mrs. Lenehan looked startled. “My God, you’re deadly serious, aren’t you?” she said. “I kind of thought we were talking theoretically.”

Margaret’s heart sank. “Then you won’t give me a job?” she asked plaintively. “All this was just talk?”

“I’d like to hire you, but there’s a snag. In a week’s time I may not have a job myself.”

Margaret wanted to cry. “What do you mean?”

“My brother is trying to take the company away from me.”

“How can he do that?”

“It’s complicated, and he may not succeed. I’m fighting him off, but I can’t be sure how it will end.”

Margaret could hardly believe that this chance had been snatched away from her after only a few moments. “You must win!” she said fiercely.

Before Mrs. Lenehan could reply, Harry appeared, looking like a sunrise in red pajamas and a sky blue robe. The sight of him made Margaret feel calmer. He sat down and Margaret introduced him. “Mrs. Lenehan came to get a brandy but the stewards are busy,” she added.

Harry pretended to look surprised. “They may be busy, but they can still serve drinks.” He stood up and put his head into the next compartment. “Davy, just bring a cognac for Mrs. Lenehan right away, would you please?”

Margaret heard the steward say: “Sure thing, Mr. Vandenpost!” Harry had a way of getting people to do what he wanted.

He sat down again. “I couldn’t help noticing your earrings, Mrs. Lenehan,” he said. “They’re absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She seemed pleased by the compliment.

Margaret looked more closely. Each earring was a simple large pearl inside a latticework of gold wire and diamond chips. They were quietly elegant. She wished she had on some exquisite jewelry to excite Harry’s interest.

“Did you get them in the States?” Harry asked.

“Yes, they’re from Paul Flato.”

Harry nodded. “But I think they were designed by Fulco di Verdura.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mrs. Lenehan said. “Jewelry is an unusual interest for a young man,” she added perceptively.

Margaret wanted to say He’s mainly interested in stealing it, so watch out! But in fact she was impressed by his expertise. He always noticed the finest pieces, and often knew who had designed them.

Davy brought Mrs. Lenehan’s brandy. He seemed able to walk without staggering despite the tossing of the plane.

She took it and stood up. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Good luck,” Margaret said, thinking of Mrs. Lenehan’s battle with her brother. If she won it, she would hire Margaret—she had promised.

“Thanks. Good night.”

As Mrs. Lenehan staggered off toward the rear of the plane, Harry asked a little jealously: “What were you