Night Over Water (29 page)

The shortfall was terribly small: just a few pounds of payload too much, a few gallons of gas too little. And Carol-Ann was waiting somewhere, scared to death.

He should now tell Captain Baker that takeoff would have to be postponed until the weather improved, unless he was willing to fly through the heart of the storm.

But the gap was so small.

Could he lie?

There was a safety margin built in, anyhow. If things went badly the plane could fly through the storm instead of going around it.

He hated the thought of deceiving his captain. He had always been aware that the lives of the passengers depended on him, and he was proud of his meticulous accuracy.

On the other hand, his decision was not irrevocable. Every hour during the trip he had to compare actual fuel consumption with the projection on the Howgozit Curve. If they burned more than anticipated they simply had to turn back.

He might be found out, and that would be the end of his career, but what did that matter when the lives of his wife and his unborn baby were at stake?

He worked through the calculations again; but this time, when checking the tables, he made two deliberate errors, taking fuel consumption for the lower payload in the next column of figures. Now the result came inside the safety margin.

Still, he hesitated. Lying did not come easily to him, even in this appalling predicament.

Finally Captain Baker got impatient and looked over Eddie’s shoulder, saying: “Snap it up, Ed—do we go or stay?”

Eddie showed him the doctored result on the pad and kept his eyes down, not wanting to look his captain in the eye. He cleared his throat nervously, then did his best to speak in a firm, confident voice.

He said: “It’s close, Captain—but we go.”

FOYNES TO MID-ATLANTIC

 

 

 

 

D
iana Lovesey stepped onto the dock at Foynes and felt patheti cally grateful for the feeling of solid ground under her feet.

She was sad but calm. She had made her decision: she was not going to get back on the Clipper, she was not going to fly to America and she was not going to marry Mark Alder.

Her knees seemed wobbly, and for a moment she was afraid she might fall, but the sensation passed and she walked along the dock to the customs shed.

She put her arm through Mark’s. She would tell him as soon as they were alone. It would break his heart, she thought with a stab of grief: he loved her very much. But it was too late to think of that now.

The passengers had disembarked, all except the odd couple sitting near Diana, handsome Frank Gordon and bald Ollis Field. Lulu Bell had not stopped chatting to Mark. Diana ignored her. She no longer felt angry with Lulu. The woman was intrusive and overbearing, but she had enabled Diana to see her true situation.

They passed through customs and left the dock. They found themselves at the western end of a one-street village. A herd of cows was being driven along the street, and they had to wait while the beasts passed.

Diana heard Princess Lavinia say loudly: “Why have I been brought to this
farm?”

Davy, the little steward, replied in a soothing voice: “I’ll take you into the terminal building, Princess.” He pointed across the road to a large building like an old inn with ivy growing up the walls. “There’s a very comfortable bar, called Mrs. Walsh’s pub, where they sell excellent Irish whiskey.”

When the cows had gone, several of the passengers followed Davy to Mrs. Walsh’s pub. Diana said to Mark: “Let’s walk through the village.” She wanted to get him on his own as soon as possible. He smiled and agreed. However, some other passengers had the same idea, Lulu among them; and it was a small crowd that strolled along the main street of Foynes.

There were a railway station, a post office and a church, then two rows of gray stone houses with slate roofs. Some of the houses had shop fronts. There were several pony carts parked along the street but only one motorized truck. The villagers, dressed in tweeds and homespun, stared at the visitors in silk and furs, and Diana felt as if she were in a procession. Foynes had not yet got used to being a stopover for the world’s wealthy and privileged elite.

She was hoping that the party would split up, but they stayed together in a knot, like explorers afraid of getting lost. She began to feel trapped. Time was passing. They went by another bar, and she suddenly said to Mark: “Let’s go in there.”

Lulu immediately said: “What a great idea—there’s nothing to see in Foynes.”

Diana had had quite enough of Lulu. “I’d really like to talk to Mark alone,” she said crossly.

Mark was embarrassed. “Honey!” he protested.

“Don’t worry!” Lulu said immediately. “We’ll walk on, and leave you lovers alone. There’ll be another bar, if I know anything at all about Ireland!” Her tone was gay, but her eyes were cold.

Mark said: “I’m sorry, Lulu—”

“Don’t be!” she said brightly.

Diana did not like Mark apologizing for her. She turned on her heel and went into the building, leaving him to follow at his leisure.

The place was dim and cool. There was a high bar, with bottles and barrels racked behind it. In front were a few wooden tables and chairs on a plank floor. Two old men sitting in the comer stared up at Diana. She was wearing an orange-red silk coat over her dotted dress. She felt like a princess in a pawnshop.

A small woman in an apron appeared behind the bar. Diana said: “May I have a brandy, please?” She wanted some Dutch courage. She sat down at a small table.

Mark came in—probably having apologized some more to Lulu, Diana thought sourly. He sat beside her and said: “What was all that about?”

“I’ve had enough of Lulu,” Diana said.

“Why did you have to be so rude?”

“I wasn’t rude. I simply said I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Couldn’t you have found a more tactful way of saying so?”

“I think she’s probably oblivious to hints.”

He looked annoyed and defensive. “Well, you’re wrong. She’s actually a sensitive person, although she seems brash.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“How can it not matter? You’ve just offended one of my oldest friends!”

The barmaid brought Diana’s brandy. She drank some quickly to steel her nerve. Mark ordered a glass of Guinness. Diana said: “It doesn’t matter because I’ve changed my mind about this whole thing, and I’m not coming to America with you.”

He went pale. “You can’t mean that.”

“I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to go. I’m going back to Mervyn—if he’ll have me.” But she felt sure he would.

“You don’t love him. You told me that. And I know it’s true.”

“What do you know? You’ve never been married.” He looked hurt, and she softened. She put her hand on his knee. “You’re right. I don’t love Mervyn the way I love you.” She felt ashamed of herself, and took her hand away. “But it’s no good.”

“I’ve been paying too much attention to Lulu,” Mark said penitently. “I’m sorry, honey. I apologize. I guess I got wrapped up in her because it’s so long since last I saw her. I’ve been ignoring you. This is our big adventure, and I forgot that for an hour. Please forgive me.”

He was sweet when he felt he had been wrong: he had a sorrowful expression that looked boyish. Diana forced herself to remember how she had been feeling an hour ago. “It’s not just Lulu,” she said. “I think I’ve been foolhardy.”

The barmaid brought Mark’s drink but he did not touch it.

Diana went on. “I’ve left everything I know: home, husband, friends and country. I’m on a flight across the Atlantic, which is dangerous in itself. And I’m going to a strange country where I have no friends, no money, nothing.”

Mark looked distraught. “Oh, God, I see what I’ve done. I abandoned you just when you were feeling vulnerable. Baby, I feel such a horse’s ass. I promise I’ll never do that again.”

Perhaps he would keep such a promise, and perhaps he would not. He was loving, but he was also easygoing. It was not in him to stick to a plan. He was sincere now, but would he remember his vow next time he ran into an old friend? It was his playful attitude to life that had attracted Diana in the first place; and now, ironically, she saw that that very attitude made him unreliable. One thing you could say for Mervyn was that he was reliable: good or bad, his habits never changed.

“I don’t feel I can rely on you,” she said.

He looked angry. “When have I ever let you down?”

She could not think of an instance. “You will, though,” she said.

“Anyway, you
want
to leave all these things behind. You’re unhappy with your husband, your country’s at war, and you’re bored with your home and your friends—you told me that.”

“Bored, but not frightened.”

“There’s nothing to be frightened of. America is like England. People speak the same language, go to the same movies, listen to the same jazz bands. You’re going to love it. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

She wished she could believe him.

“And there’s another thing,” he went on. “Children.”

That shaft went home. She did so long to have a baby, and Mervyn was adamant that he would not. Mark would be such a good father, loving and happy and tender. Now she felt confused, and her determination weakened. Maybe she
should
give up everything, after all. What was home and security to her if she could not have a family?

But what if Mark were to abandon her halfway to California? Suppose another Lulu turned up in Reno, just after the divorce, and Mark went off with her? Diana would be stranded with no husband, no children, no money and no home.

She wished now that she had been slower to say yes to him. Instead of throwing her arms around him and agreeing to everything right away, she should have discussed the future carefully and thought of all the snags. She should have asked for some kind of security, even just the price of a ticket home, in case things went wrong. But that might have offended him, and anyway it was going to take more than a ticket to get across the Atlantic once the war started in earnest.

I don’t know what I should have done, she thought miserably, but it’s too late for regrets. I’ve made my decision and I won’t be talked out of it.

Mark took her hands in his own, and she was too sad to withdraw them. “You changed your mind once. Now change it back,” he said persuasively. “Come with me, and be my wife, and we’ll have children together. We’ll live in a house right on the beach, and take our toddlers paddling in the waves. They’ll be blond and suntanned, and grow up playing tennis and surfing and riding bicycles. How many kids would you like? Two? Three? Six?”

But her moment of weakness had passed. “It’s no good, Mark,” she said wistfully. “I’m going back home.”

She could see from his eyes that now he believed her. They looked at one another sadly. For a while neither of them spoke.

Then Mervyn walked in.

Diana could not believe her eyes. She stared at him as if he were a ghost. He could not be here. It was impossible!

“So there you are,” he said in his familiar baritone voice.

Diana was swamped by contrary emotions. She was appalled, thrilled, frightened, relieved, embarrassed and ashamed. She realized her husband was looking at her holding hands with another man. She snatched her hands out of Mark’s grasp.

Mark said: “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Mervyn came up to their table and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at them.

Mark said: “Who the hell is this jerk?”

“Mervyn,” Diana said weakly.

“Christ Jesus!”

Diana said: “Mervyn ... how did you get here?”

“Flew,” he said with his customary terseness.

She saw he was wearing a leather jacket and carrying a helmet. “But ... but how did you know where to find us?”

“Your letter said you were flying to America, and there’s only one way to do that,” he said with a note of triumph.

She could see that he was pleased with himself for having worked out where she was and intercepted her, somewhat against the odds. She had never imagined he could catch up with them in his own plane: it had simply never occurred to her. She found herself weak with gratitude to him for caring enough to chase after her this way.

He sat down opposite them. “Bring me a large Irish whiskey,” he called to the barmaid.

Mark picked up his beer glass and sipped nervously. Diana looked at him. At first he had seemed intimidated by Mervyn, but now he evidently realized Mervyn was not going to start a fistfight, and he just looked uneasy. He moved his chair back from the table an inch, as if to distance himself from Diana. Perhaps he too felt ashamed at being caught holding hands.

Diana drank some brandy to give her strength. Mervyn was watching her anxiously. His expression of bewilderment and hurt made her want to throw herself into his arms. He had come all this way without knowing what sort of reception he would get. She reached out and touched his arm reassuringly.