Night Over Water - Ken Follett [185]
“I want to apologize.”
“You’re sorry for your treachery, now that it’s failed.”
“I’d like to make peace.”
Everyone wants to do a deal with me today, she thought sourly. “How could you possibly make up for what you’ve done to me?”
“I can’t,” he said immediately. “Never.” He sat down in the chair vacated by Nat. “When I read your report, I felt such a fool. You were saying I couldn’t run the business, I’m not the man my father was, my sister could do it better than me, and I felt so ashamed because in my heart I knew it was true.”
Well, she thought, that’s progress.
“It made me mad, Nan—that’s the truth.” As children they had called each other Nan and Petey, and his use of the childhood name brought a lump to her throat. “I don’t think I knew what I was doing.”
She shook her head. That was a typical Peter excuse. “You knew what you were doing.” But she was sad now, rather than angry.
A group of people stopped near the door to the airline building, chatting. Peter looked irritably at them and said to Nancy: “Come and walk along the shore with me?”
She sighed. He was, after all, her little brother. She got up.
He gave her a radiant smile.
They walked to the landward end of the pier then stepped across the railroad track and descended to the beach. Nancy took off her high-heeled shoes and walked along the sand in her stockings. The breeze tossed Peter’s fair hair, and she saw, with a little shock, that it was receding from his temples. She wondered why she had not noticed that before, and realized that he combed his hair carefully to conceal it. That made her feel old.
There was nobody nearby now, but Peter said no more for a while, and eventually Nancy spoke. “Danny Riley told me a weird thing. He said Pa deliberately set things up so you and I would fight.”
Peter frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“To make us tougher.”
Peter laughed harshly. “Do you believe it?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I do, too.”
“I’ve decided I’m not going to live the rest of my life under Pa’s spell.”
He nodded, then said: “But what does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll accept Nat’s offer, and merge our company into his.”
“It’s not ‘our’ company anymore, Nan. It’s yours.”
She studied him. Was this genuine? She felt mean, being so suspicious. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He looked sincere as he went on. “I’ve realized I’m not cut out for business, and I’m going to leave it to people like you who are good at it.”
“But what will you do?”
“I thought I might buy that house.” They were passing an attractive white-painted cottage with green shutters. “I’m going to have lots of time for holidays.”
She felt rather sorry for him. “It’s a pretty house,” she said. “Is it for sale, though?” ,
“There’s a board on the other side. I was poking around earlier. Come and see.”
They walked around the house. It was locked up, and the shutters were closed, so they could not look into the rooms, but from the outside it was appealing. It had a wide veranda with a hammock. There was a tennis court in the garden. On the far side was a small building without windows, which Nancy guessed was a boathouse. “You could have a boat,” she said. Peter had always liked sailing.
A side door to the boathouse stood open. Peter went inside. She heard him say: “Good God!”
She stepped through the doorway and peered into the gloom. “What is it?” she said anxiously. “Petey, are you all right?”
Peter appeared beside her and took her arm. For a split second she saw a nasty, triumphant grin on his face, and she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Then he jerked her arm violently, pulling her farther in. She stumbled, cried out, dropped her shoes and handbag, and fell to the dusty floor.
“Peter!” she cried out furiously. She heard him take three rapid steps; then the door banged and she was in darkness. “Peter?” she called, fearful now. She got to her feet. There was a scraping sound and then a knock as if something was being used to jam the door. She yelled out: “Peter! Say something!”
There was no reply.
Hysterical fear bubbled up in her throat