Night Over Water - Ken Follett [58]
There was a world-famous American film star among the passengers, which partly accounted for the undertone of excitement. Her name was Lulu Bell. Percy was sitting with her now, talking to her as if he had known her all his life. Margaret herself had wanted to speak to her, but she did not have the cheek just to go up and engage her in conversation. Percy was bolder.
In the flesh Lulu Bell looked older than on the screen; Margaret guessed she was in her late thirties, although she still played debutantes and newlyweds. All the same she was pretty. Small and lively, she made Margaret think of a little bird, a sparrow or a wren.
Margaret smiled at her, and Lulu said: “Your kid brother has been keeping me entertained.”
“I hope he’s being polite,” Margaret replied.
“Oh, sure. He’s telling me all about your great-grandmother, Rachel Fishbein.” Lulu’s voice became solemn, as if she were speaking of tragic heroism. “She must have been a wonderful woman.”
Margaret was embarrassed. It was wicked of Percy to tell lies to total strangers. What on earth had he said to this poor woman? Feeling flustered, she smiled vaguely—a trick she had learned from Mother—and passed on.
Percy had always been mischievous, but lately he seemed to be getting bolder. He was growing taller, his voice was getting deeper, and his practical jokes were verging on dangerous. He was still afraid of Father, and would only go against parental authority if Margaret backed him up; but she had an idea that the day was coming when Percy would rebel openly. How would Father deal with that? Could he bully a boy as easily as he had bullied his girls? Margaret was not sure it would be quite the same.
At the far end of the carriage was a mysterious figure who seemed vaguely familiar to Margaret. A tall, intense-looking man with burning eyes, he stood out in this well-dressed, well-fed crowd because he was as thin as death and wore a shabby suit of thick, coarse cloth. His hair was cut painfully short, like a prisoner’s. He seemed worried and tense.
She looked at him now and he caught her eye, and suddenly she remembered him. They had never met, but she had seen his photograph in the newspapers. He was Carl Hartmann, the German socialist and scientist. Deciding to be bold like her brother, Margaret sat down opposite him and introduced herself. A longtime opponent of Hitler, Hartmann had become a hero to young people such as Margaret for his bravery. Then he had disappeared about a year ago, and everyone had feared the worst. Margaret assumed he had escaped from Germany. He looked like a man who had been through hell.
“The whole world has been wondering what happened to you,” Margaret said to him.
He replied in heavily accented but correct English, “I was placed under house arrest, but permitted to continue with my scientific work.”
“And then?”
“I have escaped,” he said simply. He introduced the man beside him. “Do you know my friend Baron Gabon?”
Margaret had heard of him. Philippe Gabon was a French banker who used his vast wealth to promote Jewish causes such as Zionism, which made him unpopular with the British government. He spent much of his time traveling the world trying to persuade countries to admit Jewish refugees from the Nazis. He was a small, rather plump man, with a neat beard, wearing a stylish black suit with a dove gray waistcoat and a silver tie. Margaret guessed he was paying for Hartmann’s ticket. She shook his hand and returned her attention to Hartmann.
“Your escape hasn’t been reported in