Night Over Water - Ken Follett [149]
Margaret might not have Nancy’s strength. Perhaps I was a little harsh with her, she thought, saying that if she didn’t like her father she should get up and leave home. But she seemed to need someone to tell her to stop whining and grow up. At her age I had two babies!
She had offered practical help as well as tough-minded advice. She hoped she would be able to fulfill her promise and give Margaret a job.
That all depended on Danny Riley, the old reprobate who held the balance of power in her battle with her brother. Nancy began to worry about the problem all over again. Had Mac, her lawyer, been able to reach Danny? If so, how had Danny received the story about an inquiry into one of his past misdemeanors? Did he suspect that the whole thing had been invented to put pressure on him? Or was he scared out of his wits? She tossed and turned uncomfortably as she reviewed all the unanswered questions. She hoped she could talk to Mac on the phone at the next stop, Botwood in Newfoundland. Perhaps he would be able to relieve the suspense by then.
The plane had been jerking and swaying for some time, making Nancy even more restless and nervous, and after an hour or two, the movement got much worse. She had never been frightened in a plane before, but on the other hand she had never experienced such a storm. She held on to the edges of her bunk as the mighty aircraft tossed in the violent winds. She had faced a lot of things alone since her husband died, and she told herself to be brave and tough it out. But she could not help imagining that the wings would break off or the engines would be destroyed and they all would plunge headlong into the sea; and she became terrified. She screwed her eyes up tight and bit the pillow. Suddenly the plane seemed to go into free fall. She waited for the fall to stop, but it went on and on. She could not suppress a whimper of dread. Then at last there was a bump and the plane seemed to right itself.
A moment later she felt Mervyn’s hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a storm,” he said in his flat British accent. “I’ve known worse. There’s nothing to fear.”
She found his hand and gripped it tightly. He sat on the edge of her bunk and stroked her hair during the moments when the plane was stable. She was still frightened, but it helped to hold hands during the bumpy bits, and she felt a little better.
She did not know how long they stayed like that. Eventually the storm eased. She began to feel self-conscious, and she released Mervyn’s hand. She did not know what to say. Mercifully, he stood up and left the room.
Nancy turned on the light and got out of bed. She stood up shakily, put on an electric blue silk robe over her black negligee, and sat at the dressing table. She brushed her hair, which always soothed her. She was embarrassed about having held his hand. At the time she had forgotten about decorum, and had just been grateful for someone to comfort her; but now she felt awkward. She was glad he was sensitive enough to guess at her feelings and leave her alone for a few minutes to collect herself.
He came back with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured drinks and gave one to Nancy. She held the glass in one hand and gripped the edge of the dressing table with the other: the plane was still bumping a little.
She would have felt worse if he had not been wearing that comical nightshirt. He looked ridiculous, and he knew it, but he behaved with as much dignity as if he were walking around in his double-breasted suit, and somehow that made him funnier. He was obviously a man who was not afraid to appear foolish. She liked him for the way he wore his nightshirt.
She sipped her brandy. The warm liquor immediately made her feel better, and she drank some more.
“An odd thing happened,” he said conversationally. “As I was going into the men’s room, another passenger came out looking scared to death. When I went inside, the window was broken, and the