Night Over Water - Ken Follett [109]
She nodded.
He could see that she was close to tears. He touched her arm in sympathy. “Do you still love him?”
“I always will, a little bit.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “His name was Ian.”
Harry felt a lump in his throat. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, and he would have done so had it not been for her red-faced father sitting on the far side of the compartment drinking whiskey and reading The Times. He had to be content with giving her hand a quick, discreet squeeze. She smiled gratefully, seeming to understand.
The steward said: “Dinner is served, Mr. Vandenpost.”
Harry was surprised that it was six o’clock already. He was sorry to break off his conversation with Margaret.
She read his mind. “We’ve got lots more time to talk,” she said. “We’re going to be together for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Right.” He smiled. He touched her hand again. “See you later,” he murmured.
He had started out befriending her in order to manipulate her, he remembered. He had ended up telling her all his secrets. She had a way of overturning his plans that was kind of worrying. Worst of all was that he liked it.
He went into the next compartment. He was a little startled to see that it had been completely transformed, from a lounge into a dining room. There were three tables each for four people, plus two smaller serving tables. It was set out like a good restaurant, with linen tablecloths and napkins, and bone china crockery, white with the blue Pan American symbol. He noticed that the walls in this area were papered with a design showing a map of the world and the same winged Pan American symbol.
The steward showed him to a seat opposite a short, thickset man in a pale gray suit that Harry rather envied. His tie was fixed with a stickpin that had a large, genuine pearl. Harry introduced himself, and the man stuck out a hand and said: “Tom Luther.” Harry saw that his cuff links matched the tiepin. Here was a man who spent money on jewelry.
Harry sat down and unfolded his napkin. Luther had an American accent with something else at the bottom of it, some European intonation. “Where are you from, Tom?” Harry said, probing.
“Providence, Rhode Island. You?”
“Philadelphia.” Harry wished to hell he knew where Philadelphia was. “But I’ve lived all over. My father was in insurance.”
Luther nodded politely, not much interested. That suited Harry. He did not want to be questioned about his background: it was too easy to slip up.
The two crew members arrived and introduced themselves. Eddie Deakin, the engineer, was a broad-shouldered, sandy-haired type with a pleasant face: Harry got the impression he would have liked to undo his tie and take off his uniform jacket. Jack Ashford, the navigator, was dark-haired and blue-chinned, a regular, precise man who looked as if he had been born in a uniform.
As soon as they sat down, Harry sensed hostility between Eddie the engineer and Luther the passenger. That was interesting.
The dinner started with shrimp cocktail. The two crew members drank Coke. Harry had a glass of hock and Tom Luther ordered a martini.
Harry was still thinking about Margaret Oxenford and the boyfriend killed in Spain. He looked out of the window, wondering how much she still felt for the boy. A year was a long time, especially at her age.
Jack Ashford followed his look and said: “We’re lucky with the weather, so far.”
Harry noticed that the sky was clear and the sun was shining on the wings. “What’s it usually like?” he said.
“Sometimes it rains all the way from Ireland to Newfoundland,” Jack said. “We get hail, snow, ice, thunder and lightning.”
Harry remembered something he had read. “Isn’t ice dangerous?”
“We plan our route to avoid freezing conditions. But in any event the plane is fitted with rubber deicing boots.”
“Boots?”
“Just rubber covers that fit over the wings and tail where they tend to ice up.”
“So what’s the forecast for the rest of the trip?”
Jack hesitated momentarily, and Harry saw that he wished he had not mentioned the weather. “There’s a storm in the Atlantic,