The steward turned around from fixing Mother’s seat and said: “Good morning, Lady Margaret. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you, Nicky.” She probably looked a fright, and she was in a hurry to get to a mirror and brush her hair. She felt undressed. She was undressed, whereas Harry had shaved and put on a fresh shirt and looked as bright as a new apple.
However, she still wanted to kiss him.
She stepped into her slippers, remembering how she had indiscreetly left them beside Harry’s bunk and retrieved them a split second before Father would have seen them. She put her arms into the sleeves of her robe, and saw Harry’s eyes drop to her breasts. She did not mind: she liked him to look at her breasts. She tied her belt and ran her fingers through her hair.
Nicky finished what he was doing. She hoped he would leave the compartment, so that she could kiss Harry, but instead he said: “May I do your bunk now?”
“Of course,” she said, feeling disappointed. She wondered how long she would have to wait for another chance to kiss Harry. She picked up her bag, shot a regretful look at Harry, then went out.
The other steward, Davy, was laying out a buffet breakfast in the dining room. She stole a strawberry, feeling sinful. She walked the length of the plane. Most of the bunks had now been remade as seats, and a few people were sitting around drinking coffee sleepily. She saw Mr. Membury deep in conversation with Baron Gabon, and wondered what that disparate pair found to talk about so earnestly. Something was missing, and after a moment she realized what: there were no morning newspapers.
She went into the ladies’ room. Mother was sitting at the dressing table. Suddenly Margaret felt dreadfully guilty. How could I have done those things, she thought wildly, with Mother only a couple of steps away? She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. She forced herself to say: “Good morning, Mother.” To her surprise, her voice sounded quite normal.
“Good morning, dear. You look a little flushed. Did you sleep?”
“Very well,” Margaret said, and she blushed deeper. Then she was inspired, and said: “I’m feeling guilty because I stole a strawberry from the breakfast buffet.” She dived into the toilet cubicle to escape. When she came out, she ran water into the basin and washed her face vigorously.
She was sorry she had to put on the dress she had been wearing yesterday. She would have liked something fresh. She splashed on extra eau de toilette. Harry had told her he liked it. He had even known it was Tosca. He was the first man she had ever met who could identify perfumes.
She took her time brushing her hair. It was her best feature, and she needed to make the most of it. I ought to take more trouble over how I look, she thought. She had never cared much until now, but suddenly it seemed to matter. I ought to have dresses that show off my figure, and smart shoes to call attention to my long legs; and wear colors that look good with red hair and green eyes. The dress she had on if was all right: it was a sort of brick red. But it was rather loose and shapeless, and now, looking in the mirror, she wished it had squarer shoulders and a belt at the waist. Mother would never let her wear makeup, of course, so she would have to be satisfied with her pale complexion. At least she had good teeth.
“I’m ready,” she said brightly.
Mother was still in the same position. “I suppose you’re going back to talk to Mr. Vandenpost.”
“I suppose I am, since there’s no one else there and you’re still redecorating your face.”
“Don’t be fresh. There’s a look of the Jew about him.”
Well, he isn’t circumcised, Margaret thought, and she almost said it out of sheer devilment; but instead she started to giggle.
Mother was offended. “There’s nothing to laugh at. I want you to know that I will not permit you to see that young man again after we get off this plane.”
“You’ll be happy to know that I don’t care tuppence.” It was true: she was going to leave her parents, so it no longer mattered what they would or would not permit.
Mother threw her a suspicious look. “Why do I think you’re not being quite sincere?”
“Because tyrants can never trust anyone,” Margaret said.
That was quite a good exit line, she thought, and she went to the door; but Mother called her back.
“Don’t go away, dear,” Mother said, and her eyes filled with tears.
Did she mean Don’t leave the room or Don’t leave the family? Could she possibly have guessed what Margaret was planning? She had always had good intuition. Margaret said nothing.
“I’ve already lost Elizabeth. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”
“But it’s Father’s fault!” Margaret burst out, and suddenly she wanted to cry. “Can’t you stop him being so horrid?”
“Don’t you think I try?”
Margaret was shocked: Mother had never before admitted that Father might be at fault. “But I can’t help it if he’s that way,” she said miserably.
“You could try not to provoke him,” Mother said.
“Give in to him all the time, you mean.”
“Why not? It’s only until you’re married.”
“If
Mother shook her head sadly. “I can’t take your side against him, dear. He’s my husband.”
“But he’s so wrong!”
“It makes no difference. You’ll know that when you’re married.”
Margaret felt cornered. “It’s not fair.”
“It’s not for long. I’m just asking you to tolerate him a little while longer. As soon as you’re twenty-one he’ll be different, I promise you, even if you’re not married. I know it’s hard. But I don’t want you to be banished, like poor Elizabeth....”
Margaret realized that she would be as upset as Mother if they became estranged. “I don’t want that either, Mother,” she said. She took a step closer to the stool. Mother opened her arms. They embraced awkwardly, Margaret standing and Mother sitting.
“Promise me you won’t quarrel with him,” Mother said.
She sounded so sad that Margaret wanted with all her heart to give the promise; but something held held back, and all she would say was: “I’ll try, Mother. I really will.”
Mother let her go and looked at her, and Margaret read bleak resignation in her face. “Thank you for that, anyway,” Mother said.
There was nothing more to say.
Margaret went out.
Harry stood up when she entered the compartment. She felt so upset that she completely lost all sense of propriety and threw her arms around him. After a moment’s startled hesitation he hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She began to feel better right away.
Opening her eyes, she caught an astonished look from Mr. Membury, who was back in his seat. She hardly cared, but she detached herself from Harry and they sat down on the other side of the compartment.
“We’ve got to make plans,” Harry said. “This could be our last chance to talk privately.”
Margaret realized that Mother would be back soon, and Father and Percy would return with the other passengers, and after that she and Harry might not be alone again. She was seized by a near-panic as she saw a vision of the two of them parting company at Port Washington and never finding one another again. “Where can I contact you—tell me quick!” she said.
“I don’t know—I haven’t fixed anything. But don’t worry. I’ll get in touch with you. What hotel will you be staying at?”
“The Waldorf. Will you telephone me tonight? You must!”
“Calm down. Of course I will. I’ll call myself Mr. Marks.”
Harry’s relaxed tone made Margaret realize she was being silly ... and a little selfish, too. She should think of him as well as herself. “Where will you spend the night?”
“I’ll find a cheap hotel.”
She was struck by an idea. “Would you like to sneak into my room at the Waldorf?”
He grinned. “Are you serious? You know I would!”
