Night Over Water - Ken Follett [49]
However, all that paled into insignificance beside the glaring, awful possibility that her own sons would be conscripted, to fight and be wounded and perhaps to die in agony on a battlefield.
A porter came for her bags and interrupted her morbid thoughts. She asked the man whether Peter had yet dispatched his luggage. In a thick local accent she could hardly understand, he told her that Peter had sent his bags to the ship last night.
She went along to Peter’s room to see whether he was ready to leave. When she knocked, the door was opened by a maid, who told her in the same guttural accent that he had left yesterday.
Nancy was puzzled. They had checked in together yesterday evening. Nancy decided to have dinner in her room and get an early night; and Peter had said he would do the same. If he had changed his mind, where had he gone? Where had he spent the night? And where was he now?
She went down to the lobby to phone, but she was not sure whom to call. Neither she nor Peter knew anybody in England. Liverpool was just across the water from Dublin: could Peter have gone to Ireland, to see the country where the Black family came from? It had been part of their original plan. But Peter would know he could not get back from there in time for the departure of the ship.
On impulse, she asked the operator for Aunt Tilly’s number.
Calling America from Europe was a chancy business. There were not enough lines, and sometimes you could wait a long time. If you were lucky you might get through in a few minutes. The sound quality was generally bad, and you had to shout.
It was a few minutes before seven a.m. in Boston, but Aunt Tilly would be up. Like many older people she slept little and woke early. She was very alert.
The lines were not busy at the moment—perhaps because it was too early for businessmen in the States to be at their desks—and after only five minutes the phone in the booth rang. Nancy picked it up to hear the familiar American ringing tone in her ear. She pictured Aunt Tilly in her silk dressing gown and fur slippers, padding across the gleaming wood floor of her kitchen to the black telephone in the hall.
“Hello?”
“Aunt Tilly, this is Nancy.”
“My goodness, child, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. They’ve declared war but the shooting hasn’t started yet, at least not in England. Have you heard from the boys?”
“They’re both fine. I had a postcard from Liam in Palm Beach, he says Jacqueline is even more beautiful with a suntan. Hugh took me for a ride in his new car, which is very pretty.”
“Does he drive it very fast?”
“He seemed pretty careful to me, and he refused a cocktail because he says people shouldn’t drive powerful automobiles when they’ve been drinking.”
“That makes me feel better.”
“Happy birthday, dear! What are you doing in England?”
“I’m in Liverpool, about to take ship for New York, but I’ve lost Peter. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him, have you?”
“Why, my dear, of course I have. He’s called a board meeting for the day after tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
Nancy was mystified. “You mean Friday morning?”
“Yes, dear, Friday is the day after tomorrow,” Tilly said with a touch of pique. Her tone of voice implied I’m not so old that I don’t know what day of the week it is.
Nancy was baffled. What was the point of calling a board meeting when neither she nor Peter would be there? The only other directors were Tilly and Danny Riley, and they would never decide anything on their own.
This had the marks of a plot. Was Peter up to something?
“What’s on the agenda, Aunt?”
“I was just looking it over.” Aunt Tilly read aloud: “ ‘To approve the sale of Black’s Boots, Inc., to General Textiles, Inc., on the terms negotiated by the chairman.’ ”
“Good God!” Nancy was so shocked that she felt faint. Peter was selling the company behind her back!
For a moment she was too stunned to speak; then, with an effort, she said in a shaky voice: “Would you mind