Night Over Water - Ken Follett [81]
She studied the two men on the other side of the compartment. They were both looking out of the windows. Nearest her was a handsome young man in a rather flashy suit. He was broad-shouldered, like an athlete, and wore several rings. His dark coloring led Diana to wonder whether he was South American. Opposite him was a man who looked rather out of place. His suit was too big and his shirt collar was worn. He did not look as if he could afford the price of a Clipper ticket. He was also as bald as a lightbulb. The two men did not speak or look at one another, but all the same Diana was sure they were together.
She wondered what Mervyn was doing right now. He had almost certainly read her note. He might be crying, she thought guiltily. No, that was not like him. He was more likely to be raging. But who would he rage at? His poor employees, perhaps. She wished her note had been kinder, or at least more enlightening, but she had been too distraught to do better. He would probably phone her sister, Thea, she guessed. He would think Thea might know where she had gone. Well, Thea didn’t. She would be shocked. What would she tell the twins? The thought upset Diana. She was going to miss her little nieces.
Davy came back with their drinks. Mark raised his glass to Lulu, and then to Diana—almost as an afterthought, she said to herself sourly. She tasted her martini and nearly spat it out. “Ugh!” she said. “It tastes like neat gin!”
Everyone laughed at her. “It is mostly gin, honey,” said Mark. “Haven’t you had a martini before?”
Diana felt humiliated. She had not known what she was ordering, like a schoolgirl in a bar. All these cosmopolitan people now thought she was an ignorant provincial.
Davy said: “Let me bring you something else, ma’am.”
“A glass of champagne, then,” she said sulkily.
“Right away.”
Diana spoke crossly to Mark. “I haven’t had a martini before. I just thought I’d try it. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Of course not, honey,” he said, and patted her knee.
Princess Lavinia said: “This brandy is disgusting, young man. Bring me some tea instead.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
Diana decided to go to the ladies’ room. She stood up, said, “Excuse me,” and went out through the arched doorway that led rearward.
She passed through another passenger compartment just like the one she had left, then found herself at the back of the plane. On one side was a small compartment with just two people in it, and on the other side, a door marked LADIES’ POWDER ROOM. She went in.
The powder room cheered her up. It really was very pretty. There was a neat dressing table with two stools upholstered in turquoise leather, and the walls were covered with beige fabric. Diana sat in front of the mirror to repair her makeup. Mark called it rewriting her face. Paper tissues and cold cream were laid out neatly in front of her.
But when she looked at herself, she saw an unhappy woman. Lulu Bell had come like a cloud blocking the sun. She had taken Mark’s attention away and made him treat Diana like a slight inconvenience. Of course, Lulu was nearer to Mark’s age: he was thirty-nine, and she had to be past forty. Diana was only thirty-four. Did Mark realize how old Lulu was? Men could be stupid about things like that.
The real trouble was that Lulu and Mark had so much in common: both in show business, both American, both veterans of the early days of radio. Diana had not done any of that sort of thing. If you wanted to be harsh, you could say that she had not done anything except be a socialite in a provincial city.
Would it always be this way with Mark? She was going to his country. From now on he would know everything, but all would be unfamiliar to her. They would be mixing with his friends, for she had none in America. How many more times would she be laughed at for not knowing what everyone else knew, like the fact that a dry martini tasted of nothing but cold gin?