Night Over Water (32 page)

This is what it must be like, she thought, when the man you have been married to for twenty years tells you he’s having an affair with his secretary and he doesn’t love you anymore.

She felt dizzy, as if she had banged her head. It was going to take a while to adjust to this.

Peter was not merely being foolish, or mean, or spiteful. He was actually doing himself harm in order to ruin his sister. That was pure hatred.

He had to be at least a little bit crazy.

She needed to think. She decided to leave this hot, smoky bar and get some air. She stood up and left them without saying goodbye.

As soon as she stepped outside she felt a little better. There was a cool breeze blowing in off the estuary. She crossed the road and walked along the dockside, listening to the seagulls cry.

The Clipper was out in midchannel. It was bigger than she had imagined: the men refueling it looked tiny. She found its huge engines and enormous propellers reassuring. She would not feel nervous on this plane, she thought, not after surviving a trip across the Irish Sea in a single-engined Tiger Moth.

But what would she do when she got home? Peter, would never be talked out of his plan. There were too many years of hidden anger behind his behavior. She felt sorry for him, in a way: he had been so unhappy all this time. But she was not going to give in to him. There might still be a way to save her birthright.

Danny Riley was the weak link. A man who could be bribed by one side could be bribed by the other. Perhaps Nancy could think of something else to offer him, something that would tempt him to change sides. But that would be tough. Peter’s bribe, a chunk of General Textiles’s law business, was hard to top.

Maybe she could threaten him. It would be cheaper. But how? She could take away some family and personal business from his firm, but that would not amount to much, nothing compared to the new business he would get from General Textiles. What Danny would like best would be straight cash, of course, but her fortune was mostly tied up in Black’s Boots. She could lay her hands on a few thousand dollars without much trouble, but Danny would want more, maybe a hundred grand. She could not get hold of that much cash in time.

While she was deep in thought, her name was called. She turned around to see the fresh young Pan American employee waving at her. “There’s a telephone call for you,” he shouted. “A Mr. MacBride from Boston.”

She felt suddenly hopeful. Maybe Mac could think of a way out of this. He knew Danny Riley. Both men were like her father, second-generation Irish who spent all their time with other Irishmen and were suspicious of Protestants even if they were Irish. Mac was honest and Danny was not, but otherwise they were alike. Pa had been honest, but he had been willing to turn a blind eye to a little sharp practice, especially if it would help a buddy from the old country.

Pa had saved Danny from ruin once, she recalled, as she hurried back along the dock. It was just a few years ago, not long before Pa died. Danny had been losing a big and important case, and in desperation he had approached the judge at their golf club and tried to bribe him. The judge had not been bribable, and he had told Danny to retire or be disbarred. Pa had intervened with the judge and persuaded him that it was a momentary lapse. Nancy knew all about it: Pa had confided in her a lot toward the end of his life.

That was Danny: slippery, unreliable, rather foolish, easily swayed. Surely she could win him back to her own side.

But she only had two days.

She went into the building, and the young man showed her the phone. She put the earpiece to her ear and picked up the stand. It was good to hear Mac’s familiar, affectionate voice. “So you caught up with the Clipper,” he said jubilantly. “Attagirl!”

“I’ll be at the board meeting—but the bad news is that Peter says he’s got Danny’s vote tied up.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes. General Textiles is giving Danny a chunk of corporate business.”

Mac’s voice became despondent. “Are you sure it’s true?”

“Nat Ridgeway is here with him.”

“That snake!”

Mac had never liked Nat, and had hated him when he started dating Nancy. Even though Mac was happily married, he was jealous of anyone who showed a romantic interest in Nancy.

“I pity General Textiles, having Danny do their law work,” Mac added.

“I guess they’ll give him the low-grade stuff. Mac, is it legal for them to offer him this incentive?”

“Probably not, but the violation would be hard to prove.”

“Then I’m in trouble.”

“I guess so. I’m sorry, Nancy.”

“Thanks, old friend. You warned me not to let Peter be the boss.”

“I sure did.”

That was enough crying over spilled milk, Nancy decided. She adopted a brisker tone. “Listen, if we were relying on Danny, we’d be worried, right?”

“You bet we would—”

“Worried that he’d change sides, worried that the opposition would make him a better offer. So what do we think his price is?”

“Hmm.” There was silence on the line for a few moments, then Mac said: “Nothing springs to mind.”

Nancy was thinking about Danny trying to bribe a judge. “Do you remember that time Pa got Danny out of a hole? It was the Jersey Rubber case.”

“I sure do. No details on the phone, okay?”

“Yes. Can we use that case somehow?”

“I don’t see how.”

“To threaten him?”

“With exposure, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Do we have proof?”

“Not unless there’s something in Pa’s old papers.”

“You have all those papers, Nancy.”

There were several cartons of Pa’s personal records in the cellar of Nancy’s house in Boston. “I’ve never looked through them.”

“And there’s no time for that now.”

“But we could pretend,” she said thoughtfully.

“I’m not following you.”

“I’m just thinking aloud. Bear with me for a minute. We could pretend to Danny that there is something, or might be something, in Pa’s old papers—something that would bring that whole business out into the open.”

“I don’t see how that—”

“No, listen to me, Mac. This is an idea,” Nancy said, her voice rising with excitement as she began to see possibilities. “Suppose the Bar Association, or whoever it is, decided to open an inquiry into the Jersey Rubber case.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Someone could tell them it was fishy.”

“All right, what then?”

Nancy began to feel she might have the makings of a workable plan. “Suppose they heard that there was crucial evidence among Pa’s stuff?”

“They would ask you if they could examine the papers.”

“Would it be up to me whether I let them?”

“In a simple bar inquiry, yes. If there was a criminal inquiry, you could be subpoenaed, and then of course you’d have no choice.”

A scheme was forming in Nancy’s mind faster than she could explain it aloud. She hardly dared to hope that it might work. “Listen, I want you to call Danny,” she said urgently. “Ask him the following question—”

“Let me pick up a pencil. Okay, go ahead.”

“Ask him this. If there were a bar inquiry into the Jersey Rubber case, would he want me to hand over Pa’s papers?”

Mac was puzzled. “You think he’ll say no.”

“I think he’ll panic, Mac! He’ll be scared to death. He doesn’t know what’s there—notes, diaries, letters, could be anything.”

“I’m beginning to see how this might work,” Mac said, and Nancy could hear hope creeping into his voice. “Danny would think you have something he wants—”

“He’ll ask me to protect him, as Pa did. He’ll ask me to refuse the bar permission to look at the papers. And I’ll agree—on the condition he votes with me against the merger with General Textiles.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t open the champagne yet. Danny may be venal but he’s not stupid. Won’t he suspect that we’ve cooked this whole thing up to pressure him?”

“Of course he will,” Nancy said. “But he won’t be sure. And he won’t have long to think about it.”

“Yeah. And right now it’s our only chance.”

“Want to give it a try?”

“Okay.”

Nancy was feeling much better: full of hope and the will to win. “Call me at our next stop.”

“Where’s that?”

“Botwood, Newfoundland. We should be there in seventeen hours.”

“Do they have phones there?”

“They must, if there’s an airport. You should book the call in advance.”

“Okay. Enjoy the flight.”

“ ’Bye, Mac.”

She put the earpiece on the hook. Her spirits were high. There was no telling whether Danny would fall for it, but she felt immensely cheered up just to have a ploy.

It was twenty past four, time to board the plane. She left the room and passed through an office in which Mervyn Lovesey was speaking on another telephone. He put out his hand to stop her as she went by. Through the window she could see the passengers on the dockside boarding the launch, but she paused for a moment. He said into the phone: “I can’t be bothered with that now. Give the buggers the rate they’re asking for, and get on with the job.”

She was surprised. She recalled that there had been some kind of industrial dispute at his factory. He sounded as if he was giving in, which did not seem characteristic of him.

The person he was talking to seemed to be surprised too, for after a moment Mervyn said: “Yes, I do bloody well mean it. I’m too busy to argue with toolmakers. Goodbye!” He hung up the earpiece. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said to Nancy.

“Were you successful?” she asked him. “Did you persuade your wife to come back?”

“No. But I didn’t put it to her right.”

“That’s too bad. Is she out there now?”

He looked through the window. “That’s her in the red coat.” Nancy saw a blond woman in her early thirties. “Mervyn, she’s beautiful!” she said. She was surprised. Somehow she had imagined Mervyn’s wife as a tougher, less cute type: Bette Davis rather than Lana Turner. “I can see why you don’t want to lose her.” The woman was holding on to the arm of a man in a blue blazer, presumably the boyfriend. He was not nearly as handsome as Mervyn. He was a little below average height and his hair was beginning to recede. But he had a pleasant, easygoing look about him. Nancy could see instantly that the woman had gone for Mervyn’s opposite. She felt sympathy for Mervyn. “I’m sorry, Mervyn,” she said.

“I haven’t given up,” he said. “I’m coming to New York.”

Nancy smiled. This was more like Mervyn. “Why not?” she said. “She looks like the kind of woman a man might chase all the way across the Atlantic.”

“The thing is, it’s up to you,” he said. “The plane is full.”

“Of course. So how can you come? Why is it up to me?”

“You own the only remaining seat. You’ve taken the honeymoon suite. It seats two. I’m asking you to sell me the spare seat.”

She laughed. “Mervyn, I can’t share a honeymoon suite with a man. I’m a respectable widow, not a chorus girl!”

“You owe me a favor,” he said insistently.

“I owe you a favor, not my reputation!”

His handsome face took on an obstinate expression. “You didn’t think about your reputation when you wanted to fly across the Irish Sea with me.”

“That didn’t involve our spending the night together!” She wished she could help him: there was something touching about his determination to get his beautiful wife back. “I’m sorry. I really am,” she said. “But I can’t be involved in a public scandal at my age.”

“Listen. I’ve inquired about this honeymoon suite, and it’s not that much different from the rest of the plane. There’s two separate bunk beds. If we leave the door open at night, we’ll be in exactly the same situation as two total strangers who happen to be allocated adjoining bunks.”

“But think what people would say!”

“Who are you worried about? You’ve no husband to get offended, and your parents aren’t alive. Who cares what you do?”

He could be extremely blunt when he wanted something, she thought. “I’ve got two sons in their early twenties,” she protested.

“They’ll think it’s a lark, I bet.”

They probably would, she thought ruefully. “I’m also worried about the whole of Boston society. Something like this would be sure to get around.”

“Look. You were desperate when you came to me on that airfield. You were in trouble and I saved your bacon. Now I’m desperate—you can see that, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can.”

“I’m in trouble and I’m appealing to you. This is my last chance to save my marriage. You can do it. I saved you, and you can save me. All it will cost you is a whiff of scandal. That never killed anybody. Please, Nancy.”

She thought about that “whiff” of scandal. Did it really matter if a widow was faintly indiscreet on her fortieth birthday? It would not kill her, as he said, and it probably would not even damage her reputation. The matrons of Beacon Hill would think her “fast,” but people of her own age would probably admire her nerve. It’s not as if I’m supposed to be a virgin, she thought.

She looked at his hurt, stubborn face, and her heart went out to him. To hell with Boston society, she thought; this is a man in pain. He helped me when I needed it. Without him I wouldn’t be here. He’s right. I owe him.

“Will you help me, Nancy?” he begged. “Please?”

Nancy took a deep breath. “Hell, yes,” she said.

 

 

 

 

H
arry Marks’s last sight of Europe was a white lighthouse, standing proud on the north bank of the mouth of the Shannon, while the Atlantic Ocean angrily lashed the foot of the cliff below. A few minutes later there was no land in sight: whichever way he looked he saw nothing but the endless sea.

When I get to America I’m going to be rich, he thought.