Night Over Water

no knowing what they might do to endanger Carol-Ann.”

Steve nodded agreement. “And the car could be on either side of the border, so we’d have to call in the Canadian police as well. Hell, it wouldn’t stay secret for five minutes. No, the police are no good. That leaves the navy or the Coast Guard.”

Eddie felt better just being able to discuss his dilemma with someone. “Let’s talk navy.”

“All right. Suppose I could get a patrol boat like this one to intercept the launch after the trade, before Gordino and Luther reach land?”

“That might work,” Eddie said, and he began to feel hopeful. “But could you do it?” It was next to impossible to get naval vessels to move outside their chain of command.

“I think I can. They’re out on exercises anyway, getting all excited in case the Nazis decided to invade New England after Poland. It’s just a question of diverting one. The guy who can do that is Simon Greenbourne’s father —remember Simon?”

“Sure I do.” Eddie recalled a wild kid with a crazy sense of humor and a huge thirst for beer. He was always in trouble, but he usually got off lightly because his father was an admiral.

Steve continued. “Simon went too far one day and set fire to a bar in Pearl City and burned down half a block. It’s a long story, but I kept him out of jail and his father is eternally grateful. I think he would do this for me.”

Eddie looked at the vessel Steve had come in. It was an SC-class submarine chaser, twenty years old, with a wooden hull, but it carried a three-inch, twenty-three-caliber machine gun and a depth charge. It would scare the pants off a bunch of citified mobsters in a speedboat. But it was conspicuous. “They might see the boat beforehand and smell a rat,” he said anxiously.

Steve shook his head. “These things can hide up creeks. Their draft is less than six feet, fully loaded.”

“It’s risky, Steve.”

“So they spot a navy patrol boat. It leaves them alone. What are they going to do—call the whole thing off?”

“They might do something to Carol-Ann.”

Steve seemed about to argue; then he changed his mind. “That’s true,” he said. “Anything might happen. You’re the only one who has the right to say we’ll take the risk.”

Eddie knew Steve was not saying what he really felt. “You think I’m running scared, don’t you?” he said testily.

“Yeah. But you’re entitled.”

Eddie looked at his watch. “Christ, I’m due back in the flight room.” He had to make up his mind. Steve had come up with the best plan he could, and now it was up to Eddie to take it or leave it.

Steve said: “One thing you may not have thought of. They could still be planning to double-cross you.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how, but once they’re on board the Clipper it’s going to be hard to argue with them. They may decide to take Gordino and Carol-Ann, too.”

“Why the hell would they do that?”

“To make sure you don’t cooperate too enthusiastically with the police for a while.”

“Shit.” There was another reason, too, Eddie realized. He had yelled at these guys and insulted them. They might well be planning some final payoff to teach him a lesson.

He was cornered.

He had to go along with Steve’s plan now. It was too late to do otherwise.

God forgive me if I’m wrong, he thought.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Margaret woke up thinking: Today I have to tell Father.

It took her a moment to remember what she had to tell him: she would not be living with them in Connecticut; she was going to leave the family, find lodgings and get a job.

He was sure to throw a tantrum.

A nauseating sensation of fear and shame came over her. It was a familiar feeling. She got it every time she wanted to defy Father. I’m nineteen years old, she thought; I’m a woman. Last night I made passionate love to a wonderful man. Why am I still scared of my father?

It had been like this as long as she could remember. She had never understood why he was so determined to keep her in a cage. He was the same with Elizabeth, but not with Percy. He seemed to want his daughters to be useless ornaments. He had always been at his worst when they wanted to do something practical, like learn to swim or build a tree-house or ride bicycles. He never cared how much they spent on gowns, but he would not let them have an account at a bookshop.

It was not simply the prospect of defeat that made her feel sick. It was the way he refused her, the anger and scorn, the mocking jibes and the purple-faced rage.

She had often tried to outwit him by deceit, but that rarely worked: she was so terrified he might hear the scratching of the rescued kitten in the attic, or come across her playing with the “unsuitable” children from the village, or search her room and find her copy of Elinor Glyn’s The Vicissitudes of Evangeline, that forbidden delights lost their charm.

She had succeeded in going against his will only with the help of others. Monica had introduced her to sexual pleasure, and he had never been able to take that away from her. Percy showed her how to shoot; Digby, the chauffeur, taught her to drive. Now perhaps Harry Marks and Nancy Lenehan would help her to become independent.

She already felt different. There was a pleasant ache in her muscles, as if she had spent a day at some hard physical work in the fresh air. She lay in her bunk and ran her hands all over her body. For the past six years she had thought of herself as a thing of ungainly bulges and unsightly hair, but now suddenly she liked her body. Harry seemed to think it was wonderful.

From outside her curtained bunk came a few faint noises. People were waking up, she guessed. She peeped out. Nicky, the fat steward, was taking down the opposite bunks, the pair in which Mother and Father had slept, and remaking the divan seat. Harry’s and Mr. Membury’s had already been done. Harry was sitting down, fully dressed, looking out of the window meditatively.

She suddenly felt bashful, and closed the curtain quickly, before he could see her. It was funny: a few hours ago they had been as intimate as two people can possibly be, but now she felt awkward.

She wondered where the others were. Percy would have gone ashore. Father had probably done the same: he generally woke up early. Mother was never very energetic in the morning: she was probably in the ladies’ room. Mr. Membury was nowhere in sight.

Margaret looked out of the window. It was daylight. The plane was at anchor near a small town in a pine forest. The scene was very still.

She lay back, enjoying the privacy, savoring the memory of the night, recalling the details and storing them away like photographs in an album. She felt as if last night was when she really lost her virginity. Previously, with Ian, sexual intercourse had been hurried, difficult and quick, and she had felt like a guilty child disobediently imitating a grown-up game. Last night she and Harry had been adults taking pleasure in one another’s bodies. They had been discreet but not furtive, shy but not embarrassed, uncertain without clumsiness. She had felt like a real woman. I want more of that, she thought, lots more; and she hugged herself, feeling wanton.

She pictured Harry as she had just glimpsed him, sitting by the window in a sky blue shirt with such a thoughtful look on his handsome face; and suddenly she wanted to kiss him. She sat up, pulled her robe around her shoulders, opened her curtains, and said, “Good morning, Harry.”

His head jerked around and he looked as if he had been caught doing something wrong. She thought: What were you thinking about? He met her eyes, then smiled. She smiled back, and found that she could not stop. They grinned stupidly at one another for a long minute. Finally Margaret dropped her eyes and stood up.