Night Over Water - Ken Follett [50]
Aunt Tilly repeated it.
Nancy suddenly felt cold. How had Peter managed to do this beneath her eyes? When had he negotiated the deal? He must have been working on it surreptitiously ever since she gave him her secret report. While pretending to consider her proposals, he had in fact been plotting against her.
She had always known that Peter was weak, but she would never have suspected him of such treachery.
“Are you there, Nancy?”
Nancy swallowed. “Yes, I’m here. Just dumbstruck. Peter has kept this from me.”
“Really? That’s not fair, is it?”
“He obviously wants it passed while I’m away ... but he won’t be at the meeting, either. We’re taking a ship today—we won’t be home for five days.” And yet, she thought, Peter has disappeared....
“Isn’t there an airplane now?”
“The Clipper!” Nancy remembered: it had been in all the papers. You could fly across the Atlantic in a day. Was that what Peter was doing?
“That’s right, the Clipper,” said Tilly. “Danny Riley says Peter’s coming back on the Clipper and he’ll be here in time for the board meeting.”
Nancy was finding it hard to take in the shameless way her brother had lied to her. He had traveled all the way to Liverpool with her, to make her think he was taking the ship. He must have left again the moment they parted company in the hotel corridor, and driven overnight to Southampton in time for the plane. How could he have spent all that time with her, talking and eating together, discussing the forthcoming voyage, when all along he was scheming to do her in?
Aunt Tilly said: “Why don’t you come on the Clipper, too?”
Was it too late? Peter must have planned this carefully. He would have known she would make some inquiries when she discovered he was not going on the ship, and he would try to make sure that she was not able to catch up with him. But timing was not Peter’s strength, and he might have left a gap.
She hardly dared to hope.
“I’m going to try,” Nancy said with sudden determination. “Goodbye.” She hung up.
She thought for a moment. Peter had left yesterday evening and must have traveled overnight. The Clipper must be scheduled to leave Southampton today and arrive in New York tomorrow, in time for Peter to get to Boston for the meeting on Friday. But what time did the Clipper take off? And could Nancy get to Southampton by then?
With her heart in her mouth, she went to the desk and asked the head porter what time the Pan American Clipper took off from Southampton.
“You’ve missed it, madam,” he said.
“Just check the time, please,” she said, trying to keep the note of impatience out of her voice.
He took out a timetable and opened it. “Two o’clock.”
She checked her watch: it was just noon.
The porter said: “You couldn’t get to Southampton in time even if you had a private airplane standing by.”
“Are there any airplanes?” she persisted.
His face took on the tolerant expression of a hotel employee humoring a foolish foreigner. “There’s an airfield about ten miles from here. Generally you can find a pilot to take you anywhere, for a price. But you’ve got to get to the field, find the pilot, make the journey, land somewhere near Southampton, then get from that airfield to the docks. It can’t be done in two hours, believe me.”
She turned away from him in frustration.
Getting mad was no use in business, she had learned long ago. When things went wrong you had to find a way to put them right. I can’t get to Boston in time, she thought; so maybe I can stop the sale by remote control.
She returned to the phone booth. It was just after seven o’clock in Boston. Her lawyer, Patrick “Mac” MacBride, would be at home. She gave the operator his number.
Mac was the man her brother should have been. When Sean died, Mac had stepped in and taken care of everything: the inquest, the funeral, the will, and Nancy’s personal finances. He had been marvelous with the boys, taking them to ball games, turning up to see them in school plays, and advising them on college and careers. At different times he had talked to each of them about