A Night on the Orient Express (26 page)

Stephanie’s life up to this point had been uncomplicated. She had really only ever been responsible for herself, emotionally. Even in her previous relationships, she had always felt able to make decisions without considering anyone else, because of the way she had organised her life. She had been an island. The island of Stephanie. Was she intrinsically selfish? she wondered. Was the burden of negotiating her way through this minefield going to prove too much?

She tried to put herself in Beth’s place. What would she have wanted at that age, had she been in the same predicament? A big hug, she decided, and unconditional reassurance that everything was going to be all right, whatever happened. Comfort, that’s what she would want. And a sense that she wasn’t in this on her own.

Did she have the right to give Beth that reassurance? She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t sure what her role was at all. But she was an adult, and one whom Beth had trusted enough to tell. She tried to quell the panic inside and slid her arms around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her in.

‘Whatever happens, I’m on your side,’ she told her. ‘You can trust me.’

Beth’s voice, buried against her, was muffled.

‘You must promise me not to tell Dad.’

Stephanie felt uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know if I can promise that,’ she replied. ‘We don’t keep secrets from each other, your dad and I. We agreed that right from the start.’

Beth pulled away. Her expression was stricken. ‘You mustn’t!’ Her voice was a keening mew that echoed around the bar. Stephanie’s eyes flickered towards the steward, but he didn’t look up. He was trained to turn a deaf ear, no doubt.

‘He’ll make me get rid of it. I know he will. And I don’t know if I want that. I couldn’t kill my own baby.’

‘I’m sure he won’t force you into anything you don’t want to do.’ Stephanie was confident this was true. Of course, Simon would be devastated by Beth’s predicament, like any dad, but he would respect her and support her. ‘And there’s no point in doing anything or making any decisions until we know for certain if you are pregnant.’

‘I am.’ Beth gazed at her. ‘I can feel it. I feel sort of . . .’ she waved her hands over her body and shrugged. ‘Full. A bit like I’m going to explode.’

Beth rubbed her face. Her hair was sticking out everywhere. She looked so young.

‘Look,’ Stephanie said. ‘Why don’t you go and snuggle back into bed and have a sleep? You look exhausted. You’ve obviously been awake all night worrying. It’s not even six yet. You can get another couple of hours’ sleep before breakfast. You might feel better.’

She walked her back to her cabin, then stood while Beth clambered back into her bunk and drew the sheets and blankets up round her. She made sure the blind was shut tight then turned out the light.

Beth sat up.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she said.

Stephanie sat on the edge of her bed. Simon would be wondering where she was, if he was awake. But she didn’t care. She sat by the bed stroking Beth’s hair as she drifted off. When she was certain she was fast asleep, she crept back to her cabin.

Simon was still out for the count. She looked at him for a moment, wondering about what Beth had told her. Should she tell him? No – it was too early yet. It might be a false alarm.

She wondered how he would react either way. She still felt uncomfortable about the way he had responded to Jamie’s news, which wasn’t nearly as controversial as Beth announcing she was pregnant. She watched him while he slept. He was still handsome, his salt-and-pepper hair cut close, his brow strong, his nose straight, his skin smooth. There were still those smile lines either side of his mouth, even in repose.

She wondered what was going on inside his head. She wondered what he was dreaming, what occupied his subconscious, what secrets lay just beneath. She wished she could reach inside his mind and scoop out his thoughts, then sift through him to discover who he really was.

She pulled her dressing gown around her. It wasn’t cold in the cabin, but she felt a slight chill on her skin. She decided she would get back into bed and try and get some sleep. It was far too early to wake, and she was going to need a clear head.

She was just climbing the bottom rung of the ladder when she felt a hand caress her ankle.

‘Hey,’ whispered Simon. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘It’s still really early. I just went to the loo. Go back to sleep.’

‘Come and keep me company.’

It was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to be alone to gather her thoughts. But she couldn’t refuse without arousing suspicion. She slid into the bunk beside him. He pulled the covers over them both and scooped her into him, cuddling her from behind as he drifted back to sleep.

She lay there wondering, about the man in whose arms she lay, what to do about Jamie, what to do about Beth, wondering just how on earth she fitted in to all of this.

E
mmie started awake. Her neck was stiff and she was cold. The blanket she had covered herself with had fallen to the floor, together with her book. She realised that she had fallen asleep and was still in Archie’s cabin. He was slumbering contentedly, out for the count.

She lifted up the blind and gasped. She couldn’t believe the scenery outside the window. Emerald-green mountains topped with wispy cloud stood out against a pale-blue early-morning sky. Chalets with pointed roofs hooked onto the hillsides in little clusters. Longhorn cattle grazed the slopes. She almost expected to see Heidi running down the mountainside, hair streaming behind her, milk pail in hand. It was beyond anything she could have imagined, and Emmie had a pretty vivid imagination.

She rewrapped her dressing gown around her and slipped out into the corridor, making her way up to the steward’s cabin at the end of the carriage where Robert was preparing breakfast trays for the earlier risers. The enticing scent of fresh coffee hit her and she realised that, despite last night’s dinner, she was hungry already.

‘I wondered,’ she asked, ‘if you had anything to ward off a hangover? I think my companion might be waking up with a bit of a headache.’

Robert grinned. ‘You’re not the first person ever to ask.’

Moments later, he produced a glass of water into which he dropped two Berocca, accompanied by a brace of painkillers.

‘Then I recommend breakfast as soon as possible. I’ll bring it to your cabin when I’ve delivered these. A couple of croissants and a decent coffee and he’ll be as right as rain.’

Emmie carried the cure carefully back to Archie’s cabin. She sat on the bed next to him and tickled his cheek. He started to wake, flapping his hand at her to stop.

‘What?’ he said, sitting bolt upright.

She laughed at his confusion when he saw her.

‘Hangover?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Never have ’em.’

She thought by the paleness of his face that he was protesting too much. She handed him the Berocca and two tablets regardless.

‘Take these,’ she said. ‘Breakfast is on its way. I didn’t want you to waste another moment of the journey.’

‘Quite right,’ agreed Archie. ‘But . . . what are you doing in here?’

‘I fell asleep in the chair,’ she told him. ‘I didn’t want to leave you on your own.’

‘You’re kidding?’ He ruffled his hair and it stuck up at all angles. ‘I’m so sorry. I was a total idiot, getting drunk like that. You really drew the short straw, getting me as your blind date. I’ll make it up to you somehow.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ said Emmie. ‘I had a great evening. It was only at the very end . . .’

Archie rummaged in his mind for what might have happened. He shook his head. There was no memory there.

‘When you sang Van Morrison to the whole of the bar,’ prompted Emmie.

‘Oh no . . .’

He shut his eyes, remembering.

‘I’ll go back to my cabin and get dressed,’ Emmie told him. ‘I won’t be long. Then we can have breakfast.’

A second later, she was gone. Archie slumped back onto his pillow.

‘Nice one, Archie,’ he told himself. ‘What a gent.’

J
amie was hovering by the steward’s door, wondering quite how he was going to broach the subject. He wished Robert would hurry up and come back. The longer he loitered here, the more likely it would be that one of his family would see him. He couldn’t carry out his plan unless he got his passport back, and they’d all handed over their passports when they got on the train. They were kept safely together, ready for inspection at any of the borders if necessary.

Thank God. Robert was coming back down the corridor. He saw Jamie and smiled.

‘Can I help?’

Jamie decided to go for it. Not make a big deal.

‘Uh, yeah. I need to get my passport back.’

Robert frowned. ‘They’re all with the train manager, I’m afraid. You’ll get them back just before we arrive in Venice.’

‘That’ll be too late.’ He was going to have to explain. ‘I’m getting off at Innsbruck. I’ve got to get back home. There’s been a bit of a crisis.’

‘Oh. Well, I’ll have to let the train manager know. We have to keep very strict lists of who’s on board.’

‘OK. But if you can get it back to me, that would be great.’ He paused. ‘But, um – if you could . . . not tell anyone else. None of my family.’

Robert looked at him. ‘Right.’

Jamie smiled, awkward. ‘It’s my mum. Back home. It’s all kicked off. She’s a bit . . .’ He waved his hands to indicate neurotic. ‘But I don’t want to tell my dad and spoil his trip. I’m just going to slip away. Go and sort her out.’

‘I see.’ Robert could see the lad was stressed. He was doing that classic thing of trying to be all cool and casual when underneath he was petrified. He could remember that feeling only too well. It was part and parcel of being that age. ‘Anything you want to talk about?’

Jamie put up his hands. ‘No thanks. It’s all cool. I just need my ID.’

‘OK. Give me half an hour and come back and get it.’

‘Cheers.’

Jamie walked off down the corridor. Robert watched him. He felt uncomfortable about the conversation. Something wasn’t quite right there.

Archie and Emmie were tucking into their breakfast. There was fresh fruit salad, and baskets of pastries, and creamy yogurt, and pots of tea and coffee, all served on white china at the table. The blinds were drawn up and outside, the mountain scenery grew ever more spectacular as the train pressed on through Switzerland, distant churches and castles peeping through the tree-laden slopes.

‘I’m more of a bacon-and-egg man myself,’ said Archie, eyeing up a tiny pain au raisin suspiciously.

‘This is just heaven for me,’ Emmie told him. ‘I’m lucky if I can find milk in the fridge.’

‘You’re not a homemaker, then?’ Archie slathered a roll in butter.

‘I don’t have time. I’m in my workshop from eight till eight most days. Then I have market stalls at the weekends – I have to get up at dawn to get there and set up. So I hardly ever cook.’

‘Me neither. I get force fed by my mother. She’s not happy unless she’s pushing food down people’s throats.’

‘You’re lucky.’

‘I should be the size of a house. But the farm keeps me fit. And the dogs.’

‘Oh yes – border terriers? Isn’t that what it said on your application?’

‘I don’t know. I have no idea what Jay wrote.’

Emmie smiled. ‘He made you sound wonderful.’

‘Oh dear.’ Archie spooned two sugars into his coffee. ‘You must be very disappointed.’

Emmie didn’t answer for a moment.

‘No, I’m not,’ she said eventually, and turned to look out of the window. ‘Look! We’re passing St Moritz. I’ve always wanted to go there. It sounds so glamorous. All film stars and fur coats and sleigh rides . . . I don’t suppose I ever will.’

She was babbling. She knew she was. So she took a bite out of an apricot croissant. At least if her mouth was full she couldn’t talk any more nonsense.

Sylvie was sitting cross-legged on the bottom bunk in Riley’s old pyjamas, sipping black coffee.

‘St Moritz,’ she said dreamily. ‘Do you remember that Christmas?’

Riley looked out of the window. There was still snow at this high altitude, though it was gradually melting, giving way to lush green grass which would soon be peppered with spring flowers. Of course he remembered. Riley wasn’t a big fan of Christmas, but that had been one of his favourites, when he and Sylvie had rented a chalet in the mountains. They didn’t always spend Christmas together, but he always loved it when they did. They’d been with a big group of friends. Riley wasn’t a keen skier – he was too scared about breaking a wrist and messing up his work to relax enough to be good – but Sylvie was fearless. She’d skied since she was three.

She wasn’t a show-off, though. Not like one of the other members of their party, Roger Bardem, a man who was an expert on everything and liked everyone to know it. All evening he had droned on about his skiing prowess. No one quite knew who had invited him, and he had a complete lack of self-awareness which meant he had no idea the entire chalet wished him smothered by an avalanche.

Sylvie couldn’t take it any longer.

‘We’ll have a race tomorrow, Roger, you and me. Yes?’ Sylvie had looked at him across the table. ‘The loser buys everyone lunch.’

Roger had raised his glass to her, smugly confident. ‘Done.’

Riley had been petrified on Sylvie’s behalf, but there was no stopping her now the challenge had been set. There was no point in trying to talk her out of it. In a white snowsuit, with black Courrèges sunglasses and a white fur hat, she had been defiantly certain that she would beat her competitor. And she had trounced him, swooping down the mountainside through the fresh powder with as much style and grace as speed. His fearless Sylvie. Riley had known she would win, but tortured himself nevertheless, imagining her coming to a terrible end, carted off by the blood wagons, just because of a dinner-table bet.

At lunch, Sylvie had made sure everyone ordered the most expensive wines. She relished watching Roger shrivel inside, pride stopping him from protesting as he totted up what this was costing. Just before the meal ended, Sylvie had slipped away and paid the bill. Her pleasure had come in making him squirm, not making him pay.