Night Over Water - Ken Follett [37]
She asked Mark the question that was on everyone’s lips: “What do you think will happen?”
For once he did not have a funny answer. “I think it’s going to be awful,” he said solemnly. “I believe Europe will be devastated. Maybe this country will survive, being an island. I hope so.”
“Oh,” Diana said. Suddenly she was frightened. British people were not saying things like that. The newspapers were full of fighting talk, and Mervyn was positively looking forward to war. But Mark was an outsider, and his judgment, delivered in that relaxed American voice, sounded worryingly realistic. Would bombs be dropped on Manchester?
She remembered something Mervyn had said, and repeated it. “America will have to come into the war sooner or later.”
Mark shocked her by saying: “Christ, I hope not. This is a European squabble, nothing to do with us. I can just about see why Britain declared war, but I’m damned if I want to see Americans die defending fucking Poland.”
She had never heard him swear like this. Sometimes he whispered obscenities in her ear while they were making love, but that was different. Now he seemed angry. She thought perhaps he was a little frightened. She knew Mervyn was frightened: in him it came out as reckless optimism. Mark’s fear showed as isolationism and cursing.
She was dismayed by his attitude, but she could see his point of view: why should Americans go to war for Poland, or even for Europe? “But what about me?” she asked. She tried for a note of levity. “You wouldn’t like me to be raped by blond Nazis in gleaming jackboots, would you?” It wasn’t very funny and she regretted it immediately.
That was when he took an envelope out of his suitcase and handed it to her.
She pulled out a ticket and looked at it. “You’re going home!” she cried. It was like the end of the world.
Looking solemn, he said simply: “There are two tickets.”
She felt as if her heart would stop. “Two tickets,” she repeated tonelessly. She was disoriented.
He sat on the bed beside her and took her hand. She knew what he was going to say, and she was at the same time thrilled and terrified..
“Come home with me, Diana,” he said. “Fly to New York with me. Then come to Reno and get divorced. Then let’s go to California and be married. I love you.”
Fly. She could hardly imagine flying across the Atlantic Ocean: such things belonged in fairy tales.
To New York. New York was a dream of skyscrapers and nightclubs, gangsters and millionaires, fashionable heiresses and enormous cars.
And get divorced. And be free of Mervyn!
Then let’s go to California. Where movies were made, and oranges grew on trees, and the sun shone every day.
And be married. And have Mark all the time, every day, every night.
She was unable to speak.
Mark said: “We could have babies.”
She wanted to cry.
“Ask me again,” she whispered.
He said: “I love you. Will you marry me and have my children?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, and she felt as if she were already flying. “Yes, yes, yes!”
She had to tell Mervyn that night.
It was Monday. On Tuesday she would have to travel to Southampton with Mark. The Clipper left on Wednesday at two p.m.
She was floating on air when she arrived home on Monday afternoon; but as soon as she entered the house her euphoria evaporated.
How was she going to tell him?
It was a nice house: a big new villa, white with a red roof. It had four bedrooms, three of which were almost never used. There was a nice modern bathroom and a kitchen with all the latest gadgets. Now that she was leaving, she looked at everything with nostalgic fondness: this had been her home for five years.
She prepared Mervyn’s meals herself. Mrs. Rollins did the cleaning and laundry, and if Diana had not cooked she would have had nothing to do. Besides, Mervyn