talking about?”
Margaret hesitated to tell him about Nancy offering her a job. She was thrilled about it, but there was a snag, so she could not ask Harry to rejoice with her. She decided to hug it to herself a little longer. “We started off talking about Frankie Gordino,” she said. “Nancy believes that people like him should be left alone. All they do is organize things like gambling and... prostitution... which do no harm except to people who choose to take part in them.” She felt herself blush faintly: she had never spoken the word
Harry looked thoughtful. “Not all prostitutes are volunteers,” he said after a minute. “Some are forced into it. You’ve heard of white slavery.”
“Is that what it means?” Margaret had seen the phrase in newspapers, but had vaguely imagined that girls were kidnapped and sent off to be chambermaids in Istanbul. How silly she had been.
Harry said: “There’s not as much of it as the papers make out. There’s only one white slaver in London—his name’s Benny the Malt. He’s from Malta.”
Margaret was riveted. To think all this was going on under her nose! “It might have happened to me!”
“It could have, that night you ran away from home,” Harry said. “That’s just the kind of situation Benny can work with. A young girl on her own, with no money and nowhere to sleep. He’d have given you a nice dinner and offered you a job with a dance troupe leaving for Paris in the morning, and you’d think he was your salvation. The dance troupe would turn out to be a strip show, but you wouldn’t find that out until you were stuck in Paris with no money and no way of getting home, so you’d stand in the back row and wiggle as best you could.” Margaret put herself in that situation and realized that she would probably do exactly that. “Then one night they’d ask you to ’be nice’ to a drunk stockbroker from the audience, and if you refused they’d hold you down for him.” Margaret closed her eyes, revolted and scared to think what might have happened to her. “Next day you might walk out, but where would you go? You might have a few francs, but it wouldn’t be enough to get you home. And you’d start thinking about what you were going to tell your family when you arrived. The truth? Never. So you’d drift back to your lodgings with the other girls, who at least would be friendly and understanding. And then you’d start to think that if you’ve done it once you can do it again; and the next stockbroker would be a little easier. Before you know it you’re looking forward to the tips the clients leave on the nightstand in the morning.”
Margaret shuddered. “That’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s why I don’t think Frankie Gordino should be left alone.”
They were both quiet for a minute or two; then Harry said meditatively: “I wonder what the connection is between Frankie Gordino and Clive Membury.”
“Is there one?”
“Well, Percy says Membury’s got a gun. I’d already guessed he might be a copper.”
“Really? How?”
“That red waistcoat. A copper would think it was just the thing to make him look like a playboy.”
“Perhaps he’s helping to guard Frankie Gordino.”
Harry looked dubious. “Why? Gordino’s an American villain on his way to an American jail. He’s out of British territory and in the custody of the F.B.I. I can’t think why Scotland Yard would send someone to help guard him, especially given the cost of a Clipper ticket.”
Margaret lowered her voice. “Could he be following you?”
“To America?” Harry said skeptically. “On the Clipper? With a gun? For a pair of cuff links?”
“Can you think of another explanation?”
“No.”
“Anyway, perhaps all the fuss about Gordino will take people’s minds off my father’s appalling behavior at dinner.”
“Why do you think he let rip like that?” Harry said curiously.
“I don’t know. He wasn’t always like this. I remember him being quite reasonable when I was younger.”
“I’ve run into a few Fascists,” Harry said. “They’re normally frightened people.”
“Is that so?” Margaret found the idea surprising and rather implausible. “They seem so aggressive.”
“I know. But inside, they’re terrified. That’s why they like marching up and down and wearing uniforms—they feel safe when they’re part of a gang. That’s why they don’t like democracy—too uncertain. They feel happier in a dictatorship, where you know what’s going to happen next and the government can’t be turned out all of a sudden.”
Margaret realized that this made a lot of sense. She nodded thoughtfully. “I remember, even before he got so bitter, he would get unreasonably angry about Communists, or Zionists, or trade unions, or Fenians, or fifth columnists—there was always someone about to bring the country to its knees. Come to think of it, it was never very likely that Zionists would bring England to its knees, was it?”
Harry smiled. “Fascists are always angry, too. They’re often people who are disappointed in life for some reason.”
“That applies to Father as well. When my grandfather died, and Father inherited the estate, he found it was bankrupt. He was broke until he married Mother. Then he stood for Parliament, and never got in. Now he’s been thrown out of his country.” She suddenly felt she understood her father better. Harry was surprisingly perceptive. “Where did you learn all this?” she said. “You’re not much older than I am.”
He shrugged. “Battersea is a very political place. Biggest Communist party branch in London, I believe.”
Understanding her father’s emotions better, she felt a little less ashamed of what had happened. It was still no excuse for his behavior of course, but all the same it was comforting to think of him as a disappointed and frightened man rather than a deranged and vindictive one. How clever Harry Marks was. She wished she could have his help in escaping from her family. She wondered whether he would still want to see her after they got to America. “Do you know where you’re going to live now?” she said.
“I suppose I’ll get lodgings in New York,” he said. “I’ve got some money and I can soon find more.”
He made it sound so easy. Probably it was easier for men. A woman needed protection. “Nancy Lenehan offered me a job,” she said impulsively. “But she may not be able to keep her promise, because her brother is trying to take the company away from her.”
He looked at her, then looked away with an uncharacteristically diffident expression on his face, as if he were a little unsure of himself for once. “You know, if you want, I wouldn’t mind, I mean, giving you a hand.”
It was what she had been hoping to hear. “Would you, really?” she said.
He seemed to think there was not much he could do. “I could help you look for a room.”
The relief was tremendous. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “I’ve never looked for lodgings. I don’t know where to begin.”
“You look in the paper,” he said.
“What paper?”
“The newspaper.”
“Newspapers tell you about lodgings?”
“They have advertisements.”
“They don’t advertise lodgings in
“The evening papers are best.”
She felt foolish, not knowing such a simple thing. “I really need a friend to help me.”
“I guess I can protect you from the American equivalent of Benny the Malt, at least.”
“I feel so happy,” Margaret said. “First Mrs. Lenehan, then you. I know I can make a life for myself if I have friends. I’m so grateful to you. I don’t know what to say.”
Davy came into the main lounge. Margaret realized the plane had been flying smoothly for the past five or ten minutes. Davy said: “Look out of the port windows, everyone. You’ll see something in a few seconds.”
Margaret looked out. Harry unfastened his seat belt and came closer to look over her shoulder. The plane tilted to port. After a moment Margaret saw that they were flying low over a big passenger liner, all lit up like Piccadilly Circus. Someone said: “They must have put the lights on for us: they normally sail without lights, since war was declared—they’re afraid of submarines.” Margaret was very conscious of Harry’s closeness to her, and she did not mind in the least. The crew of the Clipper must have talked by radio with the crew of the ship, for the ship’s
