A Night on the Orient Express (18 page)

‘So – this is all yours for the journey. Your home from home,’ smiled Robert proudly. He showed them a bell. ‘Anything you want, just call me. I can bring you whatever you like. You’re booked into the first sitting for dinner, which is at seven o’clock, so you can have drinks in the bar car beforehand – or I can bring cocktails to your cabin.’

He made his way over to a curved cabinet. He pulled open the doors with a flourish, revealing a tiny white porcelain sink surrounded by chrome accessories: soap dishes, tooth mugs, a towel rail adorned with bright white towels bearing the Orient Express crest, and a shining mirror.

‘There’s toothpaste, soap – everything you need. And these,’ he held up two pairs of monogrammed slippers with a twinkle. ‘Then while you are at dinner I’ll transform your cabin into a bedchamber.’ He patted the bench seat. ‘This turns into two bunks – there’s a ladder for whoever wants to take the top. They might look small but they are very comfy, though some people find the rocking motion of the train takes a bit of getting used to.’

‘It’ll be wonderful,’ said Stephanie. ‘It’s so cosy.’

Simon nodded. ‘It’s such incredible craftsmanship.’ He ran his fingers over the inlay on the bathroom cabinet. ‘Made in the days when people really cared about what they were doing.’

Robert unfurled a map, laying it out on the table, then traced with his finger the route the train was going to take. ‘We’re travelling down towards Paris, which we’ll reach later this evening. Then tonight we’ll go through the rest of France and into Switzerland, reaching Lake Zurich first thing in the morning. We’ll stop at Innsbruck tomorrow just before lunch, then down through Italy until we finally arrive in Venice.’

He laid the map on the table by the window, then went to open the bottle of champagne.

Simon took it out of his hands.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll do that.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

Robert knew he had been dismissed. He left the cabin with a bow and a smile. He had an instinct for when passengers wanted to be left alone.

Simon unpeeled the foil and eased the cork from the bottle. ‘This is even more amazing than I thought it would be.’

‘It’s fantastic. Look at it. It’s tiny, but they’ve thought of everything.’ Stephanie’s eyes were shining as she took a glass of champagne from Simon.

‘Well, we’re prisoners for the next twenty-four hours,’ said Simon. ‘And rightly so. If I hadn’t taken you away, you’d still be running round that café. And I’d still be at work reading through cases.’

Stephanie gave a contented sigh.

‘A whole twenty-four hours being waited on for a change. It’s going to be bliss.’

A whistle blew and the train started to move. Stephanie came to stand by Simon at the window as they drew out of the station.

‘I still can’t believe how lucky I am,’ she murmured.

‘Neither can I.’ He slipped an arm round her waist.

‘I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.’

He frowned. ‘Repay me?’

‘All of this. I mean, what can I do in return? Supply you with a lifetime of flapjacks?’

‘I wouldn’t care if you never brought another cake, pie or biscuit into the house again,’ said Simon. ‘This isn’t a
deal
. I did this because I wanted to. I love you for you. I don’t want anything back.’

She took in his smiling eyes, the laughter lines by his mouth, the kindness of his face. She lifted a hand and smoothed back his hair. He looked at her questioningly.

‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘there’s one thing I could do . . .’

She slid a finger down his shirt-front, and with a wicked smile started to undo the buttons. Wordlessly, Simon stepped backwards and flipped the lock on the door, his eyes never leaving hers until he came back to her.

Next door, Jamie had chucked his bag into the luggage rack and was already lounging on his seat, feet up on a stool. The cabin was super-cool, he decided. He’d like a room like this: everything hidden away. He leant his head back against the cushion and shut his eyes, trying to relax. But he couldn’t.

The thorny issue hadn’t gone away. It was sitting there, right in the middle of his brain, and he knew it wouldn’t leave until he dealt with it. But when was going to be the right time to approach Dad?

He looked up as the interconnecting door to the next cabin opened and Beth’s face peered in at him. His instinct was to tell her to go away and leave him alone, but actually, he quite fancied some company to take his mind off his problem.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You OK?’

She lifted her shoulder in an apathetic gesture. Honestly, Beth wouldn’t be happy anywhere. You could stick her in a penthouse suite at the best hotel in the world and she’d still find something to moan about. She stood in the doorway, glaring at him moodily.

‘Aren’t you drinking your champagne?’ He lifted up his glass. Maybe he’d just get quietly trolleyed.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t fancy it.’

Beth? Who could tank down seven WKDs in a row without blinking?

Jamie shrugged. ‘I’ll have yours then.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We won’t be able to have a cigarette till we get to Paris. Unless we hang out of the window?’

‘We can’t do that. They’d probably stop the train.’

Jamie levered off his shoes with his toes, and swung his feet up onto the seat so he was stretched out. He put his hands behind his head and gazed out of the window. Beth came and sat over his legs, bending her knees so her feet were resting on the edge of the seat. They sat like that in companionable silence, as they had done so many times, in front of the TV, or in each other’s rooms. They fought, the two of them, of course they did, but underneath it all they were still close. Throughout all the turmoil of their parents’ break-up they had clung to each other.

Jamie didn’t know where it had all gone wrong with Mum and Dad. Of course, they were both control freaks. Dad had strong ideas about how he wanted things to be, and he made sure they were, quietly. And Mum – if things didn’t go
her
way, she completely lost it. They were two strong personalities who constantly went head to head, even over the most trivial thing.

Maybe after a while that became too tiring to maintain? Maybe you reached a point in your life where the person you married was no longer the person you needed, and you went for the opposite? The guy Mum had run off with, Keith, was so laid back he was almost horizontal. Maybe she found that a relief after Dad, who was always on it, always on the case.

And Stephanie was as unlike Mum as you could get. She was quiet, calm, organised, sensible, low-maintenance . . . But quite a laugh, thought Jamie, in a way. She certainly wasn’t boring. He’d thought at first she was a bit mousy, but once she’d got to know them, she had strong opinions. Different opinions entirely from Mum’s. She’d certainly made Beth stop and think a few times, about how she presented herself, about what she aspired to. When you compared the two of them, all Mum was any good at was spending Dad’s money, while Stephanie had built that café up from nothing. You had to admire her for it.

Beth was chewing her thumbnail as if it held the only nourishment she was likely to get for the next few days. Jamie patted her shoulder. Beth and Mum were close, even though they rowed all the time.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ he told her. ‘Stephanie’s sound. She’s not wicked-stepmother material.’

‘I know. She’s cool. Mostly,’ said Beth. ‘But it is weird. It’s like, now Stephanie’s moved in, and we’re all going on holiday together, that’s it. Mum won’t ever come back.’

‘She won’t come back anyway.’ Jamie was sure of that. ‘And look on the bright side – at least Stephanie can cook.’

They both laughed. Their mother’s ineptitude in the kitchen was legendary. She simply had no interest in food and its journey from the kitchen to the table. Stephanie, however, could make even beans on toast a gastronomic adventure. She served them on sourdough bread rubbed with garlic, with oven-roasted tomatoes on the side, and melted Taleggio cheese over the top.

Mind you, their mum knew she was useless.

‘I’m a terrible role model for you, darling,’ she used to tell Beth, though she never looked sorry. ‘All those other mums at school, with their online jewellery businesses and their organic-baby-clothing emporiums – I must be such a disappointment to you.’

The problem was, Mum was lazy and had the attention span of a gnat. She was good fun, though, far more fun than most people’s mothers, and Dad’s work ethic more than made up for her lack in that department.

Which brought Jamie back to the hoop he still had to jump through. He’d put it off long enough – after all, he’d known about it for more than three days now. He was going to have to confront it tonight.

R
iley felt as if he was coming home whenever he stepped back on board the Orient Express. It almost seemed to embrace him. The knowledge that he didn’t have to lift a finger throughout the whole journey was a luxury that he still appreciated, even though he had been on the train more times than he could count. He knew every inch of it backwards, yet it delighted him anew every time.

Even at his age, life was still frenetic, and although his assistant tried to keep control of his diary and his commitments, he worked flat out. It was gratifying to be in demand, as he knew it was tough for all but the very best photographers. He brought some quality, some mystery, some magic to his pictures that editors still wanted, that the younger generation, despite their unarguable talent, hadn’t been able to provide. Whether it was technical brilliance or simply an injection of raw genius no one could ever say, but a Riley picture stood out.

As he started to make himself at home, Riley knew he wouldn’t be able to fully relax until Sylvie was on board. Their cabin felt cavernous without her presence, and he longed for her arrival. Ever since his accident he had been carrying with him a sense of foreboding. He knew it was fanciful, and he didn’t know exactly what it was he feared, but he knew he wouldn’t settle until he had her in his arms.

She would have flown over as soon as she heard about the accident – of course she would – but Riley hadn’t told her about it. At the time, she’d been working on a film in Paris, a romantic comedy that oozed Gallic charm and wit and was bound to sweep the board at the Cannes Film Festival. Riley knew Sylvie found filming gruelling these days, although she would rather die than admit it, but he had seen the shadows under her eyes after a long day on set. Gone were the days where she flitted through a scene with little preparation. She didn’t need anything else to worry about, so he had kept the accident a secret from her. Luckily the press hadn’t cottoned on to it, so it had been easy to keep up the subterfuge.

As he settled into his seat, Robert arrived with a tray of afternoon tea. Riley didn’t want to drink champagne yet. Those days were also gone, when he could drink from dawn until dusk without missing a beat. He got to his feet and shook Robert’s hand; the lad had looked after him and Sylvie a number of times now. That was one of the great things about the train: the staff rarely changed. They felt almost like family.

‘Robert,’ Riley said. ‘I need your help. Correction, I need your advice.’

‘Anything I can do. You know that,’ replied Robert as he laid out the tea things.

‘We’re going to have to engage in a little bit of subterfuge,’ Riley told him, and brought out a tiny box from his pocket.

‘Oh,’ said Robert, and his eyes opened wider as Riley snapped the box open. ‘Wow. Is that real? I mean, I’ve seen some sparklers on here, but . . .’

Riley looked anxious. ‘Do you think it’s too much? Do you think it’s vulgar?’

‘If anyone can carry it off, it’s Sylvie. And I’ve never heard a woman complain that a diamond is too big.’ He looked up at Riley. ‘Is this her birthday present?’

Robert knew they always came on board for Sylvie’s birthday. It was Robert who organised the celebratory dessert, liaising with the chef for something special to be brought to the table.

‘Well, I shall give it to her even if she turns me down.’

Robert grinned. ‘You’re going to ask her to marry you.’

It was the first time Riley had heard the suggestion spoken out loud. It suddenly made it seem real.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’

A
rchie and Emmie decided to have cocktails in the bar car before dinner. It seemed the only way to kick off the evening in style.

‘It’ll take me ages to get ready,’ Emmie warned as they conferred in the corridor outside their adjoining cabins. ‘It’s one of my more annoying traits.’

‘It’ll take me five minutes, if that,’ admitted Archie. ‘But that’s OK. You take your time.’

He got changed swiftly, examining himself in the mirror as he put the finishing touches to his bow-tie and adjusted his collar. He gave a nod of satisfaction. He didn’t look too bad: his dinner jacket inky black, his dress-shirt pristine, his gold cufflinks just visible. Somehow, getting changed had lightened his mood and given him a sense of expectation that dispelled his ill-humour of earlier. He decided to take a wander up and down the train while he waited. Darkness had fallen outside, and the blinds had been drawn, giving an even greater sense of being locked away from the rest of the world.

It took a little while to get accustomed to the sway of the train as he walked along. Quite a few people had their cabin doors hooked open, and he found it fascinating glimpsing inside, seeing their belongings strewn about, how they chose to spend their time: reading, dozing, chatting, drinking. The interiors of each carriage were different, but all equally inviting.

There was a wonderful sense of people preparing for the evening ahead. He watched a man fumble with the catch of his wife’s necklace, her skin glowing gold in the evening lamplight. She turned to her husband with a smile, warmth in her eyes, and they embraced. Music drifted out of another cabin – smoky, sultry jazz. A young girl shimmied past him, and he caught the drift of her scent: violets, he thought, or perhaps roses.

Eventually Archie ended up in the boutique, which was crammed with a plethora of mementos, from photo frames to a pair of crystal glasses emblazoned with the Orient Express crest, to a diamond brooch. He thought he should get Emmie something, to make up for being so curmudgeonly. She was probably dreading having to sit through dinner with him. And he felt sure this was the sort of gesture Jay would have made. He tried to get into his friend’s mindset, to imagine what he would buy; Archie considered himself to have little imagination when it came to this sort of thing. Jay had been a present person.