Spy limit

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I know the best place to pick up a dashing macquereau for the evening."

"And Antonio?" Emma asked, not liking the sound of this plan at all.

"Who?" Joan asked. "Oh, him! He's all right for the voyage. Not much to choose from on the Pride of Liverpool, is there! But here there's men with real style. Only make sure they don't get you to lie down. If you do it standing up, you're safe." "Is that what you've come ashore for?" Emma asked, scandalized.

"Why not? The men all do. Only they have to pay for it. We get paid for."

Emma felt sick. She just wanted to turn and run by now. "You mean ... do it ... for money?" she asked, colour rising to her cheeks.

"No!" Joan was angrily scornful. "But you can get a dance, a visit to the theatre, a slap-up supper, all the drink you can hold, and a hansom or a jitney back to the Fallen Angels. And presents, too. That's where this came from." She passed her elegant fingers through the feather boa she was wearing. Then, clutching Emma's arm again with a gushing bonhomie, she said, "Stick by me, kid, and I'll show you the ropes. Have no fear."

In a daze of apprehension Emma allowed herself to be hastened the last block to the Oyster House. Joan must still have felt unsure of her for, just before they caught up with the other four, she said, "You don't know what pleasure is until you've done it with a macquereau you've never met before and are never going to set eyes on again. Come on, Emma! Men have been doing it for thousands of years. We're just catching up, that's all. Cotton on!"

To lull the woman's suspicions, Emma pretended to "cotton on." But even as she smiled and chatted, and tried not to blush at certain remarks Joan made about the oysters they were wolfing down, she was desperately casting around for some excuse to make good her escape. They had just started on the clam chowder when she overheard one of the waiters telling a lady at the next table that there wasn't one and she'd have to go over to Grand Central. It seemed heaven-sent.

She waited until near the end of the meal, for it really was very good, and then asked the same question as the lady - getting, of course, the same answer. She told the others she didn't want any sorbet and she'd meet them outside in ten minutes; she paid for her own meal as she left.

From their table there was a clear view across Forty-Second Street to the tower that bore the legend NEW YORK & HARLEM R.R. So she had no choice but to cross the road and go inside - by which time, indeed, she was ready to use the "sweet pea garden," as the waiter had called it. She was just crossing the concourse when she heard a familiar voice asking a passing conductor, "Does that train call at New Haven?"

FROM THE UNION DEPOT in New Haven it was a pleasant ride out past Fort Wooster to Fife, just over a mile beyond the town line - especially on an early August evening, and even more especially if you are the captain of the finest liner in the world, about to relax for an entire day and night in the bosom of an adoring family before setting out on a voyage that will surely secure the most coveted trophy in the business. 

Frank stretched himself luxuriously in the gig and puffed a contented "seegar," as the shop by Grand Central had spelled it. The danger - or, as he saw it, excitement - of exposure and disgrace was such a common companion to him by now that he hardly noticed its presence any longer. The days when he had to stop himself from looking over his shoulder every time someone this side of the Atlantic called Teresa "Mrs Charles" were long since gone.

Teresa, who had not truly expected him to arrive until the following day, was overjoyed to see him at the gate; she came skipping down the path, tearing off her pinafore and patting her hair and smoothing her blouse and shucking off her house shoes to run the faster. She almost bowled him over in the deluge of her welcome.

"I planned dinner for tomorrow night," she complained as soon as she had her breath back. "I felt sure you'd come tomorrow."

He put his arm round her and walked her back to the house, leaving Noah, the help, to bring his bags. "Aren't you going to pay the man?" she asked. "He'll collect me tomorrow. I have to leave at three, I'm afraid."

"Oh," she said bleakly.

"I don't really want much to eat," he added. "We had a sort of celebration banquet last night and ..." He patted his stomach gingerly.

"It doesn't stop you smoking cigars, I see. Oh dear, I wanted to ask Ignatius and Concepta over, and Father Hines. Can't you stay until evening?"

They went indoors, where Jemima, the nursemaid, was holding the seven-month-old Anthony Francis ready for a spell of doting admiration. Transferred to his father's arms, he lay there a moment gazing uncertainly up into his eyes; then he noticed the mutton-chop whiskers and gave one of them a delighted tug, accompanied by an equally joyous laugh. Frank pulled a sorrowful face and pretended to cry. The baby's face creased in sympathy and soon real tears flowed down his cheeks, with sounds to match.

"Serve me right," Frank said as he handed the boy back to his nurse.

"Can't you?" Teresa repeated as soon as they were at peace again. "Come here." He held out his arms. "Let me just hold you."

For a long minute there was no need for words. "Oh Frank," she murmured as they broke their kiss, "let's go to bed now?"