Night Over Water - Ken Follett [57]
Suddenly she realized how she would miss Elizabeth. Although they were no longer great friends, Elizabeth was always around. Mostly they quarreled, and mocked one another’s ideas, but Margaret would miss that, too. And they still supported one another in distress. Elizabeth always suffered bad period pains, and Margaret would tuck her up in bed and bring her a cup of hot chocolate and Picture Post magazine. Elizabeth had been deeply sorry when Ian died, even though she disapproved of him, and she had been a comfort to Margaret. Tearfully, Margaret said: “I shall miss you dreadfully.”
“Don’t make a fuss,” Elizabeth said anxiously. “I don’t want them to know yet.”
Margaret composed herself. “When will you tell them?”
“At the last minute. Can you act normally until then?”
“All right.” She forced a bright smile. “I shall be as horrible as ever to you.”
“Oh, Margaret!” Elizabeth was on the point of tears. She swallowed and said: “Go and talk to them while I calm down.”
Margaret squeezed her sister’s hand, then returned to her seat.
Mother was leafing through Vogue magazine and reading occasional paragraphs to Father, oblivious of his complete lack of interest. “ ‘Lace is being worn,’ ” she quoted, adding: “I haven’t noticed, have you?” The fact that she got no reply did not discourage her in the least. “ ‘White is glamour color number one.’ Well, I don’t like it. White makes me look kind of bilious.”
Father was wearing an unbearably smug expression. He was pleased with himself, Margaret knew, for reasserting his parental authority and crushing her rebellion. But he did not know that his elder daughter had planted a time bomb.
Would Elizabeth have the pluck to go through with this? It was one thing to tell Margaret and quite another to tell Father. Elizabeth might lose her nerve at the last minute. Margaret herself had planned a confrontation with him, but had ducked it in the end.
Even if Elizabeth went ahead and told Father, it was not certain that she would escape. She might be twenty-one and have her own money, but he was fearfully strong-willed and quite ruthless about getting his own way. If he could think of some means of stopping Elizabeth he would, Margaret felt sure. He might not mind her joining the Fascist side, in principle, but he would be furious that she was refusing to go along with his plans for the family.
Margaret had been in many such fights with Father. He had been furious when she learned to drive without his permission; and when he found out she had gone to hear a speech by Marie Stopes, the controversial pioneer of contraception, he had been apoplectic. But on those occasions she had succeeded only by going behind his back. She had never won in a direct conflict. He had refused to let her go on a camping holiday, at the age of sixteen, with her cousin Catherine and several of Catherine’s friends, even though the whole thing was supervised by a vicar and his wife: Father had objected because there would be boys as well as girls. Their biggest battle had been over going to school. She had begged and pleaded, screamed and sobbed and sulked, and he had been stonily implacable. “School is wasted on girls,” he had said. “They only grow up and get married.”
But he could not go on bullying and bossing his children forever, could he?
Margaret felt restless. She stood up and walked along the carriage, just for something to do. Most of the other Clipper passengers seemed to share her dual mood, half excited and half depressed. When they all joined the train at Waterloo Station,