Night Over Water - Ken Follett [155]
They passed through the main lounge, stepped out onto the stubby sea-wing, and boarded the launch. The air smelled of the sea and of new timber: there was probably a sawmill nearby. Near the Clipper’s mooring was a fuel barge marked SHELL AVIATION SERVICE, with men in white overalls waiting to refill the plane’s tanks. There were also two quite big freighters in the harbor: the anchorage here must be deep.
Mervyn’s wife and her lover were among those who had decided to land, and Diana glared at Nancy as the launch headed for the shore. Nancy was uncomfortable and could not meet her eye, although she had less to feel guilty about than Diana herself: after all, Diana was the one who had actually committed adultery.
They landed via a floating dock, a catwalk and a pier. Despite the early hour, there was a small crowd of sightseers. At the landward end of the pier were the Pan American buildings, one large and two small, all made of wood painted green with red-brown trim. Beside the buildings was a field with a few cows.
The passengers entered the large airline building and showed their passports to a sleepy exciseman. Nancy noticed that Newfoundlanders spoke fast, with an accent more Irish than Canadian. There was a waiting room, but it attracted no one, and the passengers all decided to explore the village.
Nancy was impatient to speak to Patrick MacBride in Boston. Just as she was about to ask for a phone, her name was called: the building had a voice-hailer system like a ship’s. She identified herself to a young man in a Pan American uniform.
“There’s a telephone call for you, ma’am,” he said. Her heart leaped. “Where’s the phone?” she said, looking around the room.
“In the telegraph office on Wireless Road. It’s less than a mile away.”
A mile away! She could hardly contain her impatience. “Then let’s hurry, before the connection is broken! Do you have a car?”
The youngster looked as startled as if she had asked for a space rocket. “No, ma’am.”
“So we’ll walk. Lead the way.”
They left the building, Nancy and Mervyn following the messenger. They went up the hill, following a dirt road with no sidewalk. Loose sheep grazed the verges. Nancy was grateful for comfortable shoes—made by Black’s, of course. Would Black’s still be her company tomorrow night? Patrick MacBride was about to tell her. The delay was unbearable.
In ten minutes or so they reached another small wooden building and went inside. Nancy was shown to a chair in front of a phone. She sat down and picked up the instrument with a shaking hand. “This is Nancy Lenehan speaking.”
An operator said: “Hold the line for Boston.”
There was a long pause; then she heard: “Nancy? Are you there?”
It was not Mac, contrary to what she expected, and it took a moment to recognize the voice. “Danny Riley!” she exclaimed.
“Nancy, I’m in trouble and you have to help me!”
She gripped the phone harder. It sounded as if her plan had worked. She made her voice calm, almost bored, as if the call was a nuisance. “What sort of trouble, Danny?”
“People are calling me about that old case!”
This was good news! Mac had put the wind up Danny. His voice was panicky. This was what she wanted. But she pretended not to know what he was talking about. “What case? What is this?”
“You know. I can’t talk about it on the phone.”
“If you can’t talk about it on the phone, why are you calling me?”
“Nancy! Stop treating me like shit! I need you!”
“Okay, calm down.” He was scared enough: now she had to use his fear to manipulate him. “Tell me exactly what has happened, leaving out the names and addresses. I think I know what case you’re talking about.”
“You have all your pa’s old papers, right?”
“Sure, they’re in my strong room at home.”
“Some people may ask to look through them.”
Danny was telling Nancy the story she herself had concocted. The ploy had worked perfectly so far. Blithely Nancy said: “I don’t think there’s anything you need worry about—”
“How can you be sure?” he interrupted frantically.
“I don’t know—”
“Have you been through them all?”
“No, there are too