The Night Manager

She has begun to work out who visits him and when. It is an advantage of the rituals that control her that the smallest irregular movement on the ship is her concern; she knows by instinct whether the pretty Filipino stewardess has slept with the captain or the bosun or ― as happened briefly one afternoon while Caroline was sunbathing on the afterdeck ― with Sandy Langbourne. She has observed that it is Roper's three trusties ― Frisky, Tabby and Gus ― who sleep in the cabin above the private stairway to what she now believes is Jonathan's cell. And that the German-Argentineans across the gangway may suspect but do not share the secret. And that Corkoran ― the new, puffed up, officious Corkoran ― makes the journey twice a day at least, setting out with an air of circumstance and returning churlish.

"Corky," she beseeches him, trading on past friendship. "Corks, darling, please ― for God's sake ― how is he? Is he ill? Does he know I'm here?"

But Corkoran's face is shaded by the darkness he has visited. "I warned you, Jed. I gave you every chance," he retorts huffily. "You wouldn't hear me. You were wilful." And goes his way like an offended beadle.

Sandy Langbourne is also an occasional visitor. His chosen hour is after dinner during his evening prowl of the decks in search of more diverting company than his wife.

"You bastard, Sandy," she whispers at him as he saunters past her. "You utter spoilt bloody shit."

Langbourne remains unaffected by this onslaught. He is too beautiful and bored to care.

And she knows that Jonathan's other visitor is Roper, because Roper is unusually pensive when he returns from the forward area. Even if she has not seen him go there, she can tell by his manner when he reappears. Like Langbourne, he favours evenings. First stroll on deck, chat to the skipper or call one of the many stockbrokers, currency dealers and bankers round the globe: how about taking a flier on Deutschies, Bill? Swissies, Jack? the yen, the pound, the escudo, Malaysian rubber, Rus-diamonds, Canadian gold? Then gradually, by these and staging posts, he is drawn as if by magnetic attraction the forward part of the boat. And vanishes. When he reappears, his expression is overcast.

But Jed knows better than to beg or weep or scream or make a scene. If there is one thing that makes Roper dangerous it is a scene. It is the unwarranted invasion of his self-esteem. It is bloody women snivelling at his feet.

And she knows, or thinks she knows, that Jonathan is doing what he tried to do in Ireland. He is killing himself with his own courage.

* * *

It was better than Herr Meister's cellar, but it was also far, far worse. There was no going round and round the black walls. But that was because he was chained to them. He was not neglected; his presence was known to a succession of attentive people. But these same people had stuffed his mouth with chamois leather and taped it with adhesive, and although there was an understanding that they would remove these inconveniences whenever he gave the signal that he wished to talk, they had already demonstrated to him that if he gave the signal frivolously there would be consequences. Since then, he had developed a firm policy not to talk at all, not even a "good morning" or "hullo," because his terror was that ― since he was somebody who tended on occasion to confide, if only in his character as hotelier ― this tendency would become his undoing, and "hullo" would turn into "I sent Rooke the numbers of the containers and the name of the boat," or whatever other stray confession sprang to mind in the agony of the moment.

Yet what confession did they want from him? What more did they need to know that they didn't know already? They knew he was a plant and that most of the stories about him were invention. If they did not know how much he had betrayed, they knew enough to change or abort their plans before it was too late. So why the urgency? Why the frustration? Then gradually, as the sessions grew more ferocious, Jonathan came to recognise that his confession was something they felt that they were owed by right. He was their spy. They had unmasked him. Their pride demanded a contrite statement from the gallows.