Night Over Water - Ken Follett [105]
“Okay. Enjoy the flight.”
“ ’Bye, Mac.”
She put the earpiece on the hook. Her spirits were high. There was no telling whether Danny would fall for it, but she felt immensely cheered up just to have a ploy.
It was twenty past four, time to board the plane. She left the room and passed through an office in which Mervyn Lovesey was speaking on another telephone. He put out his hand to stop her as she went by. Through the window she could see the passengers on the dockside boarding the launch, but she paused for a moment. He said into the phone: “I can’t be bothered with that now. Give the buggers the rate they’re asking for, and get on with the job.”
She was surprised. She recalled that there had been some kind of industrial dispute at his factory. He sounded as if he was giving in, which did not seem characteristic of him.
The person he was talking to seemed to be surprised too, for after a moment Mervyn said: “Yes, I do bloody well mean it. I’m too busy to argue with toolmakers. Goodbye!” He hung up the earpiece. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said to Nancy.
“Were you successful?” she asked him. “Did you persuade your wife to come back?”
“No. But I didn’t put it to her right.”
“That’s too bad. Is she out there now?”
He looked through the window. “That’s her in the red coat.” Nancy saw a blond woman in her early thirties. “Mervyn, she’s beautiful!” she said. She was surprised. Somehow she had imagined Mervyn’s wife as a tougher, less cute type: Bette Davis rather than Lana Turner. “I can see why you don’t want to lose her.” The woman was holding on to the arm of a man in a blue blazer, presumably the boyfriend. He was not nearly as handsome as Mervyn. He was a little below average height and his hair was beginning to recede. But he had a pleasant, easygoing look about him. Nancy could see instantly that the woman had gone for Mervyn’s opposite. She felt sympathy for Mervyn. “I’m sorry, Mervyn,” she said.
“I haven’t given up,” he said. “I’m coming to New York.”
Nancy smiled. This was more like Mervyn. “Why not?” she said. “She looks like the kind of woman a man might chase all the way across the Atlantic.”
“The thing is, it’s up to you,” he said. “The plane is full.”
“Of course. So how can you come? Why is it up to me?”
“You own the only remaining seat. You’ve taken the honeymoon suite. It seats two. I’m asking you to sell me the spare seat.”
She laughed. “Mervyn, I can’t share a honeymoon suite with a man. I’m a respectable widow, not a chorus girl!”
“You owe me a favor,” he said insistently.
“I owe you a favor, not my reputation!”
His handsome face took on an obstinate expression. “You didn’t think about your reputation when you wanted to fly across the Irish Sea with me.”
“That didn’t involve our spending the night together!” She wished she could help him: there was something touching about his determination to get his beautiful wife back. “I’m sorry. I really am,” she said. “But I can’t be involved in a public scandal at my age.”
“Listen. I’ve inquired about this honeymoon suite, and it’s not that much different from the rest of the plane. There’s two separate bunk beds. If we leave the door open at night, we’ll be in exactly the same situation as two total strangers who happen to be allocated adjoining bunks.”
“But think what people would say!”
“Who are you worried about? You’ve no husband to get offended, and your parents aren’t alive. Who cares what you do?”
He could be extremely blunt when he wanted something, she thought. “I’ve got two sons in their early twenties,” she protested.
“They’ll think it’s a lark, I bet.”
They probably would, she thought ruefully. “I’m also worried about the whole of Boston society. Something like this would be sure to get around.”
“Look. You were desperate when you came to me on that airfield. You were in trouble and I saved your bacon. Now I’m desperate—you can see that, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I’m in trouble and I’m appealing to you. This is my last chance to save my marriage. You can do it. I saved you, and you can save me. All it will cost you is a