A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [219]
“Thank you very much, Inspector,” said Hugh. “I’m only sorry you didn’t catch Miranda as well.”
“We will, sir. He won’t get aboard the Aztec unless he’s learned how to fly.”
The guard from the luggage van came along the platform pushing a wheelchair. He stopped in front of Hugh and the inspector and said: “Now what am I supposed to do with this?”
“What’s the problem?” the inspector said patiently.
“That woman with all the luggage and the bird on her hat.”
“Lady Whitehaven, yes.”
“She was with an old gent at Waterloo. Puts him in a first-class compartment and then asks me to take the bath chair in the luggage van. Glad to oblige, says L Gets off at Southampton and pretends she don’t know what I’m talking about. ‘You must have mistaken me for somebody else,’ she goes. ‘Not likely—there’s only one hat like that,’ says I.”
Hugh said: “That’s right—the cabbie said she was with a man in a wheelchair … and there was an old fellow in the compartment with her.”
“There you are,” the guard said triumphantly.
The inspector suddenly lost his avuncular air and rounded on Hugh. “Did you see the old man pass through the ticket barrier?”
“No, I didn’t. And I looked at every passenger. Aunt Augusta was the last.” Then it hit him. “Good God! Do you think it was Micky Miranda in disguise?”
“Yes, I do. But where is he now? Could he have got off at an earlier stop?”
The guard said: “No—it’s an express train, nonstop from Waterloo to Southampton.”
“Then we’ll search the train. He must be on it still.”
But he was not.
5
THE AZTEC WAS FESTOONED with colored lanterns and paper streamers. The Christmas party was in full swing when Augusta boarded: a band played on the main deck, and passengers in evening dress drank champagne and danced with friends who had come to say good-bye.
A steward led Augusta up the grand staircase to a stateroom on an upper deck. She had spent all her cash on the best cabin available, thinking that with the snuffboxes in her suitcase she need not worry about money. The room opened directly onto the deck. Inside it had a wide bed, a full-size washbasin, comfortable chairs and electric lights. There were flowers on the dresser, a box of chocolates beside the bed and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the low table. Augusta was about to tell the steward to take the champagne away, then changed her mind. She was beginning a new life: perhaps she would drink champagne from now on.
She was only just in time. She heard the traditional shout of “All ashore that’s going ashore!” even as the porters brought her luggage into the cabin. When they had gone she stepped onto the narrow deck, turning up her coat collar against the snow. She leaned against the rail and looked down. There was a sheer drop to the water, where a tugboat was already in position to ease the great liner out of the harbor into the sea. As she watched, the gangways were withdrawn one by one and the ropes cast off. The ship’s foghorn sounded, a cheer went up from the crowd on the quay, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the huge ship began to move.
Augusta returned to her cabin and closed the door. She undressed slowly and put on a silk nightgown and a matching robe. Then she summoned the steward and told him she would not require anything further tonight.
“Shall I wake you in the morning, my lady?”
“No, thank you. I’ll ring.”
“Very good, m’lady.”
Augusta locked the door behind him.
Then she opened her trunk and let Micky out.
He staggered across the stateroom and fell on the bed. “Jesus save me, I thought I was going to die.” He moaned.
“My poor darling, where does it hurt?”
“My legs.” She rubbed his calves. The muscles were knotted with cramp. She massaged his calves with her fingertips, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cloth of his trousers. It was a long time since she had touched a man this way, and she felt a flush of heat rise at her throat.
She had often daydreamed about doing this, running away with Micky Miranda, both before and since the death of her husband. She had always been