Night Over Water - Ken Follett [64]
There was a doorway in the fuselage just under the word AMERICAN in PAN AMERICAN AIRWAYS SYSTEM. Margaret ducked her head and stepped through the door.
There were three steps down to the floor of the plane.
Margaret found herself in a room about twelve feet square with a luxurious terra-cotta carpet, beige walls and blue chairs with a gay pattern of stars on the upholstery. There were dome lights in the ceiling and large square windows with venetian blinds. The walls and ceiling were straight, instead of curving with the fuselage: it was more like entering a house than boarding a plane.
Two doorways led from this room. Some passengers were directed toward the rear of the plane. Looking that way, Margaret could see that there was a series of lounges, all luxuriously carpeted and decorated in soft tans and greens. But the Oxenfords were seated forward. A small, rather plump steward in a white jacket introduced himself as Nicky and showed them into the next compartment.
This was a little smaller than the other room, and was decorated in a different color scheme: turquoise carpet, pale green walls and beige upholstery. To Margaret’s right were two large three-seater divans, facing one another, with a small table between them under the window. To her left, on the other side of the aisle, was another pair of divans, these a little smaller, seating two.
Nicky directed them to the larger seats on the right. Father and Mother sat by the window, and Margaret and Percy sat next to the aisle, leaving two empty seats between them and four empty seats on the other side of the aisle. Margaret wondered who would be sitting with them. The beautiful woman in the dotted dress would be interesting. So would Lulu Bell, especially if she wanted to talk about Grandma Fishbein ! Best of all would be Carl Hartmann.
She could feel the plane moving up and down with the slight rise and fall of the water. The movement was not much: just enough to remind her that she was at sea. The plane was like a magic carpet, she decided. It was impossible to grasp how mere engines could make it fly: much easier to believe that it would be borne through the air by the power of an ancient enchantment.
Percy stood up. “I’m going to look around,” he said.
“Stay here,” Father said. “You’ll get in everyone’s way if you start running around.”
Percy sat down promptly. Father had not lost all his authority.
Mother powdered her nose. She had stopped crying. She was feeling better, Margaret decided.
She heard an American voice say: “I’d really rather sit facing forward.” She looked up. Nicky the steward was showing a man to a seat on the other side of the compartment. Margaret could not tell who it was—he had his back to her. He had blond hair and wore a blue suit.
The steward said: “That’s fine, Mr. Vandenpost—take the opposite seat.”
The man turned around. Margaret looked at him with curiosity, and their eyes met.
She was astonished to recognize him.
He was not American and his name was not Mr. Vandenpost.
His blue eyes flashed her a warning but he was too late.
“Good grief!” she blurted out. “It’s Harry Marks!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Moments such as this brought out the best in Harry Marks.
Jumping bail, traveling on a stolen passport, using a false name, and pretending to be American, he had the incredibly bad luck to run into a girl who knew he was a thief, had heard him speak in different accents, and loudly called him by his real name.
For an instant he was possessed by blind panic.
A horrid vision of all he was running from appeared before his eyes: a trial, prison and then the wretched life of a squaddie in the British army.
Then he remembered that he was lucky, and he smiled.
The girl looked totally bewildered. He waited for her name to come back to him.
Margaret. Lady Margaret Oxenford.
She stared at him in amazement,