Night Over Water (52 page)

Mother said: “For heaven’s sake, why?”

“I would like to be independent.”

Mother said: “There are millions of girls working in factories and offices who would give their eyes to be in your position.”

“I realize that, Mother.” Margaret also realized that Mother was arguing with her in an attempt to keep Father out of it. However, it would not work for long.

Mother surprised her by capitulating almost immediately. “Well, I suppose if you’re determined to do it, your grandfather may be able to get you a place with someone he knows—”

“I already have a job.”

That took her by surprise. “In America? How can you?”

Margaret decided not to tell them about Nancy Lenehan: they might talk to her and try to spoil everything. “It’s all arranged,” she said blandly.

“What sort of a job?”

“An assistant in the sales department of a shoe factory.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t be ridiculous.”

Margaret bit her lip. Why did Mother have to be so scornful? “It’s not ridiculous. I’m rather proud of myself. I got a job, all on my own, without help from you or Father or Grandfather, just on my merits.” Perhaps that was not exactly the way it happened, but Margaret was beginning to feel defensive.

“Where is this factory?” Mother said.

Father spoke for the first time. “She can’t work in a factory, and that’s that.”

Margaret said: “I’ll be working in the sales office, not the factory. And it’s in Boston.”

“That settles it, then,” Mother said. “You’ll be living in Stamford, not Boston.”

“No, Mother, I won’t. I’ll be living in Boston.”

Mother opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, realizing at last that she was confronted with something she could not easily dismiss. She was silent for a moment; then she said: “What are you telling us?”

“Just that I’m going to leave you and go to Boston, and live in lodgings and go to work.”

“Oh, this is too stupid.”

Margaret flared: “Don’t be so dismissive.” Mother flinched at her angry tone, and Margaret immediately regretted it. She said more quietly: “I’m only doing what most girls of my age do.”

“Girls of your age, perhaps, but not girls of your class.”

“Why should that make a difference?”

“Because there’s no point in your working at a silly job for five dollars a week and living in an apartment that costs your father a hundred dollars a month.”

“I don’t want Father to pay for my apartment.”

“Then where will you live?”

“I’ve told you, in lodgings.”

“In squalor! But what is the point?”

“I shall save money until I’ve got enough for a ticket home. Then I’ll go back and join the A.T.S.”

Father spoke again. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Margaret was stung. “What don’t I know, Father?”

Mother, trying to interrupt, said: “No, don’t—”

Margaret overrode her. “I know I shall have to run errands and make coffee and answer the phone in the office. I know I shall live in a single room with a gas ring, and share the bathroom with other lodgers. I know I shan’t like being poor—but I shall love being free.”

“You don’t know anything,” he said scornfully. “Free? You? You’ll be like a pet rabbit released in a kennel. I’ll tell you what you don’t know, my girl: you don’t know that you’ve been pampered and spoiled all your life. You’ve never even been to school—”

The injustice of that brought tears to her eyes and provoked her into a rejoinder. “I wanted to go to school,” she protested. “You wouldn’t let me!”

He ignored the interruption. “You’ve had your clothes washed and your food prepared. You’ve been chauffeured everywhere you ever wanted to go. You’ve had children brought to the house to play with you. And you’ve never given a thought to how all of it was provided—”

“But I have!”

“And now you want to live on your own! You don’t know the price of a loaf of bread, do you?”

“I’ll soon find out—”

“You don’t know how to wash your own underwear. You’ve never ridden on a bus. You’ve never slept in a house alone. You don’t know how to set an alarm clock, bait a mousetrap, wash dishes, boil an egg—could you boil an egg? Do you know how?”

“Whose fault is it if I don’t?” Margaret said tearfully.

He pressed on remorselessly, his face a mask of contempt and anger. “What use will you be in an office? You can’t make the tea—you don’t know how! You’ve never seen a filing cabinet. You’ve never had to stay in one place from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon. You’ll get bored and wander off. You won’t last a week.”

He was giving expression to Margaret’s own secret worries, and that was why she was getting so upset. In her heart she was terrified that he might be right: she would be hopeless at living alone; she would get fired from her job. His mercilessly derisive voice, confidently predicting that her worst fears would come true, was destroying her dream like the sea washing away a sand castle. She cried openly, tears streaming down her face.

She heard Harry say: “This is too much—”

“Let him go on,” she said. This was one battle Harry could not fight for her: it was between her and Father.

Red in the face, wagging his finger, speaking more and more loudly, Father raved on. “Boston isn’t like Oxenford village, you know. People don’t help one another there. You’ll fall ill and get poisoned by half-breed doctors. You’ll be robbed by Jew landlords and raped by street niggers. And as for your joining the army ... !”

“Thousands of girls have joined the A.T.S.,” Margaret said, but her voice was a feeble whisper.

“Not girls like you,” he said. “Tough girls, perhaps, who are used to getting up early in the morning and scrubbing floors, but not pampered debutantes. And God forbid that you should find yourself in any kind of danger—you’d turn to jelly!”

She remembered how incapable she had been in the blackout—scared and helpless and panicky—and she burned with shame. He was right—she had turned to jelly. But she would not always be frightened and defenseless. He had done his utmost to make her powerless and dependent, but she was fiercely determined to be her own person, and she kept that flame of hope flickering even as she cringed under his onslaught.

He pointed his finger at her and his eyes bulged so much they looked as if they would burst. “You won’t last a week in an office, and you wouldn’t last a day in the A.T.S.,” he said malevolently. “You’re just too soft.” He sat back, looking self-satisfied.

Harry came and sat beside Margaret. Taking out a crisp linen handkerchief, he dabbed her wet cheeks gently.

Father said: “And as for you, young fellow-me-lad—”

Harry got up out of his seat in a flash and rounded on Father. Margaret gasped, thinking there was going to be a fight. Harry said: “Don’t dare to speak to me that way. I’m not a girl. I’m a grown man, and if you insult me I’ll punch your fat head.”

Father subsided into silence.

Harry turned his back on Father and sat down beside Margaret again.

Margaret was upset, but in her heart she felt a sense of triumph. She had told him that she was leaving. He had raged and jeered, and he had reduced her to tears, but he had not changed her mind: she was still going to leave.

Nonetheless, he had succeeded in fostering a doubt. She had already been worried that she might not have the courage to go through with her plans, might be paralyzed with anxiety at the last minute. He had inflamed that doubt with his mockery and derision. She had never done anything courageous in her entire life: could she manage it now? Yes, I will, she thought. I’m not too soft, and I’ll prove it.

He had discouraged her, but he had failed to make her change course. However, he might not have given up yet. She looked over Harry’s shoulder. Father was staring out of the window with a malevolent face. Elizabeth had defied him, but he had banished her, and she might never see her family again.

What awful revenge was he planning for Margaret?

 

 

 

 

D
iana Lovesey was thinking mournfully that true love did not last long.

When Mervyn first fell for her, he had delighted in catering to her every desire, the more capricious the better. At a moment’s notice he was ready to drive to Blackpool for a stick of rock candy, take an afternoon off and go to the cinema, or drop everything and fly to Paris. He was happy to visit every shop in Manchester looking for a cashmere scarf in just the right shade of blue-green, leave a concert halfway through because she was bored, or get up at five in the morning and go for breakfast at a workingmen’s café. But this attitude had not lasted long after the wedding. He rarely denied her anything, but he soon ceased to take pleasure in gratifying her whims. Delight turned to tolerance and then impatience and sometimes, toward the end, contempt.

Now she was wondering whether her relationship with Mark would follow the same pattern.

All summer he had been her slave, but now, within days of their running away together, they had had a row. On the second night of their elopement they had been so mad at each other that they had slept apart! In the middle of the night, when the storm broke and the plane bucked and tossed like a wild horse, Diana had been so frightened that she almost swallowed her pride and went to Mark’s bunk; but that would have been too humiliating, so she had just lain still, thinking she was going to die. She had hoped he would come to her, but he had been just as proud as she, and that had made her madder still.

This morning they had hardly spoken. She had woken up just as the plane was coming down at Botwood, and when she got up, Mark had already gone ashore. Now they sat opposite one another in the aisle seats of number 4 compartment, pretending to eat breakfast: Diana toyed with some strawberries and Mark was breaking up a roll without eating it.

She was no longer sure why it had made her so angry to learn that Mervyn was sharing the honeymoon suite with Nancy Lenehan. She just thought Mark should have sympathized with her and supported her. Instead he had questioned her right to feel that way and implied that she must still be in love with Mervyn. How could Mark say that, when she had given up everything to run away with him!

She looked around. On her right, Princess Lavinia and Lulu Bell were carrying on a desultory conversation. Neither had slept at all because of the storm, and both looked exhausted. To her left, across the aisle, the F.B.I, man, Ollis Field, and his prisoner, Frankie Gordino, ate in silence. Gordino’s foot was handcuffed to his seat. Everyone seemed tired and rather grumpy. It had been a long night.

Davy, the steward, came in and took away the breakfast plates. Princess Lavinia complained that her poached eggs had been too soft and her bacon overdone. Davy offered coffee. Diana did not take any.

She caught Mark’s eye and tried a smile. He glared at her. She said: “You haven’t spoken to me all morning.”

“Because you seem to be more interested in Mervyn than me!” he said.

Suddenly she felt contrite. Maybe he had a right to feel jealous. “I’m sorry, Mark,” she blurted out: “You’re the only man I’m interested in, truly.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes, I do. I feel such a fool. I’ve behaved so badly.”

He stroked the back of her hand. “You see ...” He looked into her eyes, and to her surprise she saw that he was close to tears. “You see, I’m terrified you’ll leave me.”

She had not been expecting that. She was quite shocked. It had never occurred to her that he was frightened of losing her.

He went on. “You’re so lovely, so desirable, you could have any man, and it’s hard to believe you want me. I’m scared you’ll realize your mistake and change your mind.”

She was touched. “You’re the most lovable man in the world—that’s why I fell for you.”

“You really don’t care for Mervyn?”

She hesitated, only for a moment, but it was enough.

Mark’s face changed again, and he said bitterly: “You do care for him.”

How could she explain? She was no longer in love with Mervyn, but he still had some kind of power over her. “It’s not what you think,” she said desperately.

Mark withdrew his hand. “Then set me straight. Tell me how it is.”

At that moment Mervyn entered the compartment.

He looked around, located Diana and said: “There you are.”

She immediately felt nervous. What did he want? Was he angry? She hoped he would not make a scene.

She looked at Mark. His face was pale and tense. He took a deep breath and said: “Look here, Lovesey—we don’t want another row, so maybe you should just get out of here.”

Mervyn ignored him and spoke to Diana. “We’ve got to talk about this.”

She studied him warily. His idea of a conversation could be one-sided: a “talk” sometimes turned out to be a harangue. However, he did not look aggressive. He was trying to keep his face expressionless, but she had a notion he was feeling sheepish. That made her curious. Cautiously she said: “I don’t want any fuss.”

“No fuss, I promise.”

“All right, then.”

Mervyn sat down beside her. Looking at Mark, he said: “Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

“Hell, yes!” Mark said vociferously.

They both looked at her, and she realized she would have to decide. On balance she would have liked to be alone with Mervyn, but if she said that, she would hurt Mark. She hesitated, afraid to side with one or the other. Finally she thought: I’ve left Mervyn, and I’m with Mark; I should take his side. With her heart pounding, she said: “Say your piece, Mervyn. If you can’t say it in front of Mark, I don’t want to hear it.”

He looked shocked. “All right, all right,” he said irritably; then he composed himself and became mild again. “I’ve been thinking about some of the things you said. About me. How I became cold toward you. How miserable you’ve been.”