Night Over Water - Ken Follett [84]
She was getting jumpy. She tried to think of other things. She was looking forward to the seven-course dinner, for she enjoyed long, elegant meals. Climbing into bunk beds would be childishly thrilling, like going to sleep in a tent in the garden. And the dizzying towers of New York were waiting for her on the other side. But the excitement of a journey into the unknown had now turned into fear. She drained her glass and ordered more champagne, but it failed to calm her. She longed for the feel of firm ground under her feet again. She shivered, thinking how cold the sea must be. Nothing she did could take her mind off her fear. If she had been alone, she would have hidden her face in her hands and shut her eyes tight. She stared malevolently at Mark and Lulu, who were chatting cheerfully, oblivious to her torment. She was even tempted to make a scene, to burst into tears or have hysterics; but she swallowed hard and stayed calm. Soon the plane would come down at Foynes and she could get off and walk around on dry land.
But then she would have to board again for the long transatlantic flight.
Somehow she could not bear that idea.
I can hardly get through an hour like this, she thought. How can I do it all night? It will kill me.
But what else can I do?
Of course, no one was going to force her to get back on the plane at Foynes.
And if no one forced her, she did not think she could do it.
But what would I do?
I know what I’d do.
I would telephone Mervyn.
She could hardly believe that her bright dream should collapse like this; but she knew it was going to happen.
Mark was being eaten alive in front of her eyes by an older woman with dyed hair and too much makeup, and Diana was going to telephone Mervyn and say: I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I want to come home.
She knew he would forgive her. Feeling so sure of his reaction made her a little ashamed. She had wounded him, but he would still take her in his arms and be happy that she had returned.
But I don’t want that, she thought miserably. I want to go to America and marry Mark and live in California. I love him.
No, that was a foolish dream. She was Mrs. Mervyn Lovesey of Manchester, sister of Thea and Auntie Diana to the twins, the not-very-dangerous rebel of Manchester society. She would never live in a house with palm trees in the garden and a swimming pool. She was married to a loyal, grumpy man who was more interested in his business than in her; and most of the women she knew were in exactly the same situation, so it must be normal. They were all disappointed, but they were better off than the one or two who had married wastrels and drunks, so they commiserated with each other and agreed that it could be worse, and spent their husbands’ hard-earned money in department stores and hairdressing salons. But they never went to California.
The plane plunged into emptiness again, then righted itself as before. Diana had to concentrate hard not to throw up. But for some reason she was no longer scared. She knew what the future held. She felt safe.
She just wanted to cry.
CHAPTER TEN
Eddie Deakin, the flight engineer, thought of the Clipper as a giant soap bubble, beautiful and fragile, which he must carry carefully across the sea while the people inside made merry, oblivious of how thin the film between them and the howling night was.
The journey was more hazardous than they knew, for the technology of the aircraft was new, and the night sky over the Atlantic was uncharted territory, full of unexpected dangers. Nevertheless, Eddie always felt, proudly, that the skill of the captain, the dedication of the crew and the reliability of American engineering would take them safely home.
On this journey, however, he was sick with fear.
There was a Tom Luther on the passenger list. Eddie had kept looking out of the flight-deck windows as the passengers boarded, wondering