Night Over Water - Ken Follett [19]
Margaret was fascinated. Which was his real self? He smelled of cologne. His hair was well cut, if a fraction too long. He wore a midnight blue evening suit in the fashion set by Edward VIII, with silk socks and patent-leather shoes. His jewelry was very good: diamond studs in his shirt front, with matching cuff links; a gold wristwatch with a black crocodile strap; and a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand. His hands were large and strong-looking, but his fingernails were perfectly clean.
In a low voice she said: “Did you really leave the restaurant without paying?”
He looked at her appraisingly, then seemed to reach a decision. “Actually, I did,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.
“But why?”
“Because, if I’d listened for one more minute to Rebecca Maugham-Flint talking about her blasted horses, I should have been unable to resist the urge to take her by the throat and strangle her.”
Margaret giggled. She knew Rebecca Maugham-Flint, who was a large, plain girl, the daughter of a general, with her father’s hearty manner and parade-ground voice. “I can just imagine it,” she said. It would be hard to think of a more unsuitable dinner companion for the attractive Mr. Marks.
Constable Steve appeared and picked up her empty mug. “Feeling better, Lady Margaret?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry Marks react to her title. “Much better, thank you,” she said. For a moment she had forgotten her own troubles in talking to Harry, but now she remembered all she had to do. “You’ve been so kind,” she went on. “Now I’m going to leave you to get on with more important things.”
“No need for you to rush off,” the constable said. “Your father, the marquis, is on his way to fetch you.”
Margaret’s heart stopped. How could this be? She had been so convinced that she was safe—she had underestimated her father! Now she was as frightened as she had been walking along the road to the railway station. He was after her, on his way here at this very minute! She felt shaky. “How does he know where I am?” she said in a high, strained voice.
The young policeman looked proud. “Your description was circulated late yesterday evening, and I read it when I come on duty. I never recognized you in the blackout, but I remembered the name. The instruction is to inform the marquis immediately. As soon as I brought you in here, I rung him up on the telephone.”
Margaret stood up, her heart fluttering wildly. “I shan’t wait for him,” she said. “It’s light now.”
The policeman looked anxious. “Just a minute,” he said nervously. He turned to the desk. “Sarge, the lady doesn’t want to wait for her father.”
Harry Marks said to Margaret: “They can’t make you stay—running away from home isn’t a crime at your age. If you want to go, just walk out.”
Margaret was terrified that they would find some excuse to detain her.
The sergeant got off his seat and came around the counter. “He’s quite right,” the sergeant said. “You can go any time you like.”
“Oh, thank you,” Margaret said gratefully.
The sergeant smiled. “But you’ve got no shoes, and there’s holes in your stockings. If you must leave before your father gets here, at least let us call a taxi.”
She thought for a moment. They had phoned Father as soon as Margaret arrived at the police station, but that was less than an hour ago. Father could not possibly get here for another hour or more. “All right,” she said to the kindly sergeant. “Thank you.”
He opened a door off the hall. “You’ll be more comfortable in here, while you wait for the taxi.” He switched on the light.
Margaret would have preferred to stay and talk to the fascinating Harry Marks, but she did not want to refuse the sergeant’s kindness, especially after he had given in to her. “Thank you,” she said again.
As she walked to the door she heard Harry say: “More fool you.”
She stepped into the little room. There were some cheap chairs and a bench, a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a barred window. She could not imagine why the sergeant thought this more comfortable than the hallway. She turned