Night Over Water - Ken Follett [95]
“I don’t feel I can rely on you,” she said.
He looked angry. “When have I ever let you down?”
She could not think of an instance. “You will, though,” she said.
“Anyway, you want to leave all these things behind. You’re unhappy with your husband, your country’s at war, and you’re bored with your home and your friends—you told me that.”
“Bored, but not frightened.”
“There’s nothing to be frightened of. America is like England. People speak the same language, go to the same movies, listen to the same jazz bands. You’re going to love it. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
She wished she could believe him.
“And there’s another thing,” he went on. “Children.”
That shaft went home. She did so long to have a baby, and Mervyn was adamant that he would not. Mark would be such a good father, loving and happy and tender. Now she felt confused, and her determination weakened. Maybe she should give up everything, after all. What was home and security to her if she could not have a family?
But what if Mark were to abandon her halfway to California? Suppose another Lulu turned up in Reno, just after the divorce, and Mark went off with her? Diana would be stranded with no husband, no children, no money and no home.
She wished now that she had been slower to say yes to him. Instead of throwing her arms around him and agreeing to everything right away, she should have discussed the future carefully and thought of all the snags. She should have asked for some kind of security, even just the price of a ticket home, in case things went wrong. But that might have offended him, and anyway it was going to take more than a ticket to get across the Atlantic once the war started in earnest.
I don’t know what I should have done, she thought miserably, but it’s too late for regrets. I’ve made my decision and I won’t be talked out of it.
Mark took her hands in his own, and she was too sad to withdraw them. “You changed your mind once. Now change it back,” he said persuasively. “Come with me, and be my wife, and we’ll have children together. We’ll live in a house right on the beach, and take our toddlers paddling in the waves. They’ll be blond and suntanned, and grow up playing tennis and surfing and riding bicycles. How many kids would you like? Two? Three? Six?”
But her moment of weakness had passed. “It’s no good, Mark,” she said wistfully. “I’m going back home.”
She could see from his eyes that now he believed her. They looked at one another sadly. For a while neither of them spoke.
Then Mervyn walked in.
Diana could not believe her eyes. She stared at him as if he were a ghost. He could not be here. It was impossible!
“So there you are,” he said in his familiar baritone voice.
Diana was swamped by contrary emotions. She was appalled, thrilled, frightened, relieved, embarrassed and ashamed. She realized her husband was looking at her holding hands with another man. She snatched her hands out of Mark’s grasp.
Mark said: “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Mervyn came up to their table and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at them.
Mark said: “Who the hell is this jerk?”
“Mervyn,” Diana said weakly.
“Christ Jesus!”
Diana said: “Mervyn ... how did you get here?”
“Flew,” he said with his customary terseness.
She saw he was wearing a leather jacket and carrying a helmet. “But ... but how did you know where to find us?”
“Your letter said you were flying to America, and there’s only one way to do that,” he said with a note of triumph.
She could see that he was pleased with himself for having worked out where she was and intercepted her, somewhat against the odds. She had never imagined he could catch up with them in his own plane: it had simply never occurred to her. She found herself weak with gratitude to him for caring enough to chase after her this way.
He sat down opposite them. “Bring me a large Irish whiskey,” he called to the barmaid.
Mark picked up his beer glass