Night Over Water - Ken Follett [76]
The plane continued to lose height, as the coast of Ireland came rapidly nearer. Soon she could see emerald fields and brown bogs. This is where the Black family originated, she thought with a little thrill.
Immediately in front of her, Mervyn Lovesey’s head and shoulders began to move, as if he was struggling with the controls; and Nancy’s mood switched again, and she started to pray. She had been raised Catholic, but she had not gone to Mass since Sean was killed; in fact the last time she had been inside a church had been for his funeral. She did not really know whether she was a believer or not, but now she prayed hard, figuring that she had nothing to lose, anyway. She said the Our Father; then she asked God to save her so that she could be around at least until Hugh got married and settled down; and so that she might see her grandchildren; and because she wanted to turn the business around and continue to employ all those men and women and make good shoes for ordinary people; and because she wanted a little happiness for herself. Her life, she felt suddenly, had been all work for too long.
She could see the white tops of the waves now. The blur of the approaching coastline resolved into surf, beach, cliff and green field. She wondered, with a shiver of fear, whether she would be able to swim to shore if the plane came down in the water. She thought of herself as a strong swimmer, but stroking happily up and down a pool was very different from surviving in the turbulent sea. The water would be bonechillingly cold. What was the word used when people died of cold? Exposure. Mrs. Lenehan’s plane came down in the Irish Sea and she died of exposure, The Boston Globe would say. She shivered inside her cashmere coat.
If the plane crashed she probably would not live to feel the temperature of the water. She wondered how fast it was traveling. It cruised at about ninety miles per hour, Lovesey had told her; but it was losing speed now. Say it was down to fifty. Sean had crashed at fifty and he had died. No, there was no point in speculating how far she could swim.
The shore came nearer. Perhaps her prayers had been answered, she thought; perhaps the plane would make landfall after all. There had been no further deterioration in the engine sound: it went on at the same high, ragged roar, with an angry tone, like the vengeful buzzing of a wounded wasp. Now she began to worry about where they would land if they did make it. Could a plane come down on a sandy beach? What about a pebble beach? A plane could land in a field, if it were not too rough; but what about a peat bog?
She would know only too soon.
The coast was now about a quarter of a mile away. She could see that the shoreline was rocky and the surf was heavy. The beach looked awfully uneven, she saw with a sinking heart: it was littered with jagged boulders. There was a low cliff rising to a stretch of moorland with a few grazing sheep. She studied the moorland. It looked smooth. There were no hedges and few trees. Perhaps the plane could land there. She did not know whether to hope for that or try to prepare herself for death.
The yellow plane struggled bravely on, still losing height. The salty smell of the sea reached Nancy’s nose. It would surely be better to come down on the water, she thought fearfully, than to try to land on that beach. Those sharp stones would tear the flimsy little plane to pieces—and her, too.
She hoped she would die quickly.
When the shore was a hundred yards away, she realized the plane was not going to hit the beach: it was still too high. Lovesey was obviously aiming at the clifftop pasture. But would he get there? They now seemed almost on a level with the clifftop, and they were still losing height. They were going to smash into the cliff. She wanted to close her eyes, but she did not dare. Instead she stared hypnotically at the cliff rushing at her.
The engine howled like a sick animal. The wind blew sea spray into Nancy’s face. The sheep on the cliff were scattering in all directions as the plane