nonetheless.
Coats and scarves already, a breezy blue September day with white horses in the bay, struggling to hold the
‘It isn’t the city,’ she said, when he proposed they catch the ferry to Coney Island. ‘I thought you wanted a guide to the city. What about Liberty Island? Have you been?’
‘No,’ he lied.
They caught the ferry from Battery Park pier.
‘Oh dear, if only I’d known we would be on the river,’ she declared, trying to hold her hair beneath her hat.
‘You’re regretting it already.’
‘Yes,’ she said, with a teasing frown.
She made him climb to the top of the green lady so she could number the buildings on the Manhattan skyline from the balcony. He was happy to listen, prompting her with a question from time to time even when he knew the answer. She was conscious that he was gazing at her and tried not to catch his eye. Why have you come, Laura? he wondered; did they tell you to? But his instinct told him ‘no’, that she was smart but guileless, and intrigued by Mr Jan de Witt.
‘The first of the New World,’ she said as they strolled round the platform, their heads bent into the wind. ‘You know, my father says he cried when he saw this statue from his ship. Ah, you smile. Sentimental Irishman, is that it? Doing what he was supposed to do? My father doesn’t cry.’
‘Look.’ He pointed to the flame above their heads. ‘A bit battered and tarnished, isn’t it?’
‘You’re joking, I see,’ she observed tartly. ‘Bit of an old cynic. Does Roger know?’
‘I don’t know; “perhaps” to both.’
She turned towards him, small gloved hand on the rail, the Jersey shore at her back. ‘Then you’re sure to think me a fool. You see, I have faith in our journey. I’m an optimist. I believe in this…’ she lifted her arms like a vestal beseeching a goddess. ‘Think what you like. Naive American if you like. I believe in progress.’
‘Why?’ He closed his eyes for a second and shrugged. ‘It isn’t inevitable. Here, read today’s newspaper.’ He tried to present it to her but she ignored the offer.
‘Horrible. They’re as bad as each other,’ she insisted, im-patiently sweeping a loose lock of hair from her face. ‘But when this madness is over, well, we’ll build something better.’
‘For the world or just for Ireland?’
‘Here and in Ireland; everywhere in time — for women too. Universal suffrage, liberty, equality; that’s our trajectory, our duty, isn’t it?’
She was trembling with passionate intensity, her green eyes indecently large. He wanted to kiss her. She didn’t give a fig what the other visitors thought of her. Perhaps they were like him and couldn’t see more from the balcony than the stains on Liberty’s copper skin.
‘You’ve risked your life for freedom.’
He shook his head a little, as if to say ‘what of it’.
‘Stop it,’ she commanded, letting go of the rail. ‘Cynicism is poison. You’re trying to provoke me.’
He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t dare. But you’re confusing me with Roger.’
But wasn’t that who he should try to be — if that was who she wanted him to be?
‘Is everything all right?’ It was the plump keeper of the flame in his green uniform. Perfectly all right, thank you. Goodbye, they said.
‘It isn’t attractive, is it? I mean, an old cynic.’ He plunged his hands into his pockets, drawing his coat tightly round himself like a rueful schoolboy. ‘Is it the world or me? Don’t you protect yourself from disappointment by expecting the worst?’
She smiled and stretched out her hand, checking the impulse before she touched his arm. ‘As long as there are, well, right-thinking people in the world, things will change — you’ll see. We have to take risks, don’t we?’ She paused, biting her lip for a second; ‘haven’t you ever been in love?’
He laughed. ‘What a question.’
‘Well, haven’t you? That’s a risk, giving so much.’
‘Have you?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but you’re…’
‘Older?’
She blushed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’ He frowned intently. ‘You know, I don’t know if I’ve been in love.’
‘You don’t know?’ She sounded a little shocked.
‘I’ve forgotten,’ he said with a fresh laugh. ‘Yes. Forgotten. Come on…’
They wandered round the balcony once more and this time she drew his attention to a finger of land on the Jersey shore.
‘That’s the Black Tom yard. Do you see? Yes, there. All of it for the British.’
Piers protruded at right angles from a main dock like flanges on a mace. Wolff counted eight, nine, ten ships alongside, cranes swinging boxes of shells aboard in rope slings. Look, she said, a freight train crawling on to the wharf with ammunition from the factories upstate, and millions more pounds of explosives in the yard’s sheds awaiting shipment. ‘Guns, bullets, oh, I don’t know, horses, food…’ Arms open wide as if she were ready to embrace him; ‘…whatever they need to fight their war. The docks along the river, in Boston, Baltimore, Newport News, Norfolk…’ she shook her head angrily; ‘that’s one way to change the world for the better.’
‘Stopping it?’
‘Yes. Look, can we go?’ She was struggling to hold down her hat. ‘I do believe it’s getting worse.’
Wolff didn’t move. He was still gazing across the narrow stretch of water.
‘We might have time for the next ferry,’ she prompted.
‘Do you think they’ll try to stop this?’ He nodded in the direction of the yard.
‘Stop it? Who? No. This is the land of the free, remember, free capital, free enterprise. A lot of people are becoming very rich. Our friends in…’
‘I don’t mean government…’ He glanced round to be sure no one was in earshot. ‘The Clan
‘No,’ she bridled at the suggestion, ‘no’ — and shook her head angrily. ‘Don’t ask me about the Clan. Not here or anywhere — oh, now look what you’ve made me…’ she was tugging on the rim of her hat so hard it looked like a circus bowler, auburn curls breaking free and dancing in front of her face.
‘Come on, let’s find some shelter.’ He tried to take her arm, but she shook it free, ‘No…’, and stamped her foot in frustration. Hat pulled down over her eyes, head bent, she began to shake, and it was a moment before he realised she wasn’t crying but laughing heartily.
‘Very… unladylike,’ she managed to gasp.
He laughed too. ‘Nonsense, really.’ Yes, it was nonsense. He thought she was very fine. ‘And what kind of gentleman takes a lady on the water in a gale?’
‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘just what kind of gentleman?’
Only when she was in the cabin of the ferry, pinning up her hair, did she mention the Clan to him again. If there was something he wanted to know, she said as quietly as she could over the throbbing of the engine, he must speak to Mr Devoy, because the British have so many spies, Jan, you know how careful everyone must be. Wolff leant forward to gaze out of a port at nothing in particular.
‘I’m the girl who takes the notes, that’s all — you do understand, don’t you?’
He turned and bent his head to look sideways at her. She returned his gaze but with a hesitant smile.
‘I met a Mr Emile Gache, do you know him?’ he asked, leaning closer. ‘His real name is von Rintelen. He’s a German spy.’
She frowned and looked away. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘But you do, don’t you?’
She gathered her skirts to rise. ‘Excuse me, Mr de Witt…’
‘A minute, please,’ and he reached across to her arm.
