It took him nearly ten minutes to locate Mark Beeney's Marmon. It was parked right against the rivet-studded wall of the ship's side, and for Harry that was perfect. The explosion would have maximum effect, so close to the plates of the hull, and would probably blast the ship open so wide that nobody would be able to staunch the flow of seawater in time. The Arcadia would sink to the bottom of the Atlantic like a brick.
Dennis had been right; it wasn't difficult to open the Marmon's trunk. All Harry needed was a short length of bent wire, and a wide-bladed screwdriver (which he had found conveniently lying on the dashboard of a nearby Minerva Laundaulet). There was an odd springing noise, and the trunk dropped down flat, banging loudly on to its hinges. Alarmed by the bang, Harry crouched where he was for almost half a minute, listening. But the hold was silent, except for the vibration of the ship's engines. Harry sniffed. His nose always used to run when he was excited.
He took the clock which regulated his bomb out of the Marmon's trunk, and peered at it carefully in the lamplight. Then he wound a up, turn by turn, until the spring was as tight as it could go. He set it for twelve o'clock noon. He was just about to put it back when he heard a sound a little way away from him, a scuffling sound, like a football. He quickly raised his head and froze.
For almost a minute, there was nothing. But then he heard a high-pitched sneeze, and he gradually stood up, the bomb's clock mechanism still held in his hand. His chest was constricted with fear, and his heart seemed to be running and tumbling at three times its normal rate.
"Who's there?" he said, hoarsely.
There was another long, aching silence. Then, hesitantly, one foot in front of the other, Lucille Foster appeared from behind the rear mudguard of a Rolls-Royce, dressed in a yellow summer frock and wearing a white straw hat with yellow flowers around it.
"Lucille?" asked Harry. "What are you doing down here?"
Lucille didn't appear to be at all abashed. "I was just coming out from breakfast with Mrs. Hall. I saw you running off down the stairs and I went after you."
"But why?"
"I don't know," she said. 'You look peculiar, that's all. I thought you might need me."
"You should still be in bed."
"I'm all right now. Honestly. Even Dr. Fields said I was all right. I was only suffering from shock."
"But won't Mrs. Hall be looking for you? She'll be worried."
Lucille came closer and stood demurely with her white-gloved hands in front of her, dangling a small yellow purse with a gold clasp. "Of course she'll be looking for me. But that's not the point. The point is, I came to see what was the matter with you."
"There's nothing the matter with me."
"Then what are you doing with that clock?"
"Clock?"
"The one you're holding in your hand."
"Ah, this clock. Well, this clock—this clock is a present."
"A present? For whom? Is it someone's birthday?"
"'Sort of. One of the people I met in first-class last night... well, he was so generous to me. I decided to make him a gift."
"But why are you putting it in his car?"
Harry couldn't think why Lucille was asking him all these appalling questions. But then he thought: calm down, she's only a child. She's just curious. She likes me, she feels indebted to me. Naturally she wants to know what I'm doing in such blatantly odd circumstances. She's not trying to trick me or trap me. At least I hope to hell that she isn't.
"I, er—well, I was embarrassed," said Harry.
"Why were you embarrassed?"
"Well, it's a pretty cheap dock. I couldn't afford anything else. I didn't have the nerve to give it to him face to face. So I decided to hide it in the trunk of his car, and write a note on it, saying thanks. He might keep it, he might decide to throw it away. But at least he won't have the embarrassment of having to pretend that he likes it... and that's what would happen if I gave it to him in person."
Lucille smiled. "For a Communist, you know, you're a very considerate person."
"Well, that's what Communism is all about. Being considerate to other people. At least, that's what it's ideally all about. It doesn't often seem that way."
"That's because you're only considerate to poor people. You don't think that wealthy people might have feelings as well."
"You're wrong," said Harry. "I believe that everybody has feelings."
"Mother would have said that you're deceiving yourself."
"Maybe she would. Everybody deceives themselves sometimes. Some people deceive themselves pretty much all of the time."
Lucille came forward and took Harry's arm. She looked up at him a eyes were as clear and as confident as two flawless sapphires. "You don't deceive me, you know," she told him. "Not for a single minute."
He was uncomfortably conscious of the timing mechanism ticking away in his hand. "I don't?" he asked her.
"Not for a single minute," she said, shaking her head. "I knew when a met you that you were the sort of person who could never hurt anybody. Mother used to know lots of men who hurt her. She was always saying, "Oh, Friedrich, you have hurt me so badly." Or, "Oh, Jean, what you have done to me." But you're not that type of man. I know you're not. Otherwise you wouldn't have climbed all the way up that crane and rescued me."
Harry looked away. "Well," he said, "I only did that because I like you."
"You would have done it for anybody. You're one of those very, very, very kind people. I know you are."
Harry looked at Lucille for a long speechless moment. She was smiling at him with such brightness and trust that he could scarcely speak. She always acted so sophisticated; she talked and walked and behaved with all the blase manners of the rich; and yet beneath her act she was utterly innocent, utterly uncritical of him, and she had invested in him all of her confidence, and so much of her affection. Perhaps such trust in the world and the people in it was the greatest a that the rich could give to their children; a gift which the workers could never afford. Freedom from fear, freedom from want, and freedom from uncertainty. Always to feel safe, always to feel content, and always to be quite sure of the future—what a child's mind couldn't do if it was blessed with those three reassurances right from the beginning! Most working-class children could never hope to raise their minds above the plain relentless demands of having to earn their own living.
The thought gave Harry a sharp taste in his mouth, of defeat and regret, and of bitter jealousy. Yet he was so touched by Lucille's obvious trust in him that he was brought, by surprise, to the very brink of changing his mind about sinking the Arcadia.
"You're not unhappy about something, are you, not still?' asked Lucille.
Harry shook his head. "No. You couldn't call it unhappy."
"I am fond of you, you know."
"Yes, I'm beginning to realise that."
"When I was stuck up that crane, I didn't want anybody but you. Not anybody. Especially not Mrs. Hall."
"No, I know you didn't. And I'm flattered. I'm pleased, too."
Lucille looked around. "Are you going to stay down here, or are you going to come upstairs for elevenses? There's going to be a Punch-and-Judy for the children."
"Punch-and-Judy? I haven't seen a Punch-and-Judy for years."
"This is going to be a super one. With music."
Harry said, "Why don't you go on ahead of me? I won't be a minute. I just have to wrap up this clock nicely, and write a note, and close up the car's trunk."
"This is Mr. Beeney's car, isn't it?"
'You know it?'
"Of course. It's been in all the magazines. Was it Mr. Beeney who was so nice to you?"