A Night on the Orient Express (27 page)

Riley had adored her more than ever for it. She was laughing now, remembering it.

‘Roger Bardem. You remember? His face when we ordered the Chassagne-Montrachet?’

‘You were evil,’ he told her.

‘He was a boor,’ she said. ‘A boor and a bore. He deserved everything he got.’

Riley looked at her. ‘Don’t ever change,’ he said.

She gave him a quizzical look, a croissant in one hand. ‘Why would I change?’ she said. ‘You know exactly what you’ve let yourself in for.’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘I do indeed.’

Robert tussled with his conscience for half an hour before deciding that actually, intervention was the right thing. He imagined he would get into more trouble for keeping Jamie’s plan quiet than he would for revealing it.

He went to find Jamie’s father. He and his girlfriend were in the bar, where they were drinking coffee and taking photos of the scenery outside the window. They were passing the ancient fortified town of Bludenz, and the gradients were getting steeper and steeper.

‘I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you,’ Robert said, ‘and I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you this, but your son’s planning to get off at Innsbruck. He asked me to give him his passport back.’

Stephanie looked shocked. ‘Jamie, you mean?’

‘Yeah. He asked me not to tell you.’

Stephanie’s face filled with consternation. Simon merely frowned. ‘Have you given it to him?’

‘I couldn’t really refuse.’

‘Well, thank you for letting us know.’ Simon looked back down at his camera, adjusting the settings.

Robert walked away, not sure if he had done the right thing or not.

Stephanie looked at Simon. ‘What are we going to do?’

Simon shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do.’

‘Aren’t you going to stop him?’

‘I can’t stop him. He’s eighteen. He can do what he likes.’ He fiddled with his settings. ‘If I set this at 1/250 . . .’

‘You can’t just let him go! Aren’t you bothered?’

Simon sighed.

‘Of course I’m bothered. I’m deeply upset that it’s come to this. But my intervention isn’t going to change anything. In fact, it’ll probably make it worse. I don’t want a
scene
on board the Orient Express, thank you very much.’

‘But it’s your intervention that’s brought this about. You telling him he couldn’t—’

‘Give up university to go messing about with his mates?’ Simon interrupted her. ‘None of whom, I might point out, are giving up the same kind of opportunity.’

‘So that’s it? You’re not even going to say goodbye?’

Simon sighed again. ‘It’s lose-lose as far as I’m concerned. Whatever I do will be wrong. I can’t stop Jamie going. He wants to prove a point. And I am not going to be manipulated into backing down. End of.’

Stephanie was absolutely floored. How could Simon be so hard-hearted? Poor Jamie – of course he was being a bit silly, but all he probably wanted was his dad to intervene and put his foot down. What could she do?

She sat back in her chair, drained.

Outside the window, the track ahead was tortuous, winding dramatically so the front of the train could be seen snaking ahead.

‘Spectacular,’ said Simon, pressing his lens to the glass and snapping several photographs in quick succession.

Stephanie’s mouth was dry. How could he just sit there and do nothing? Couldn’t he see he was playing right into Tanya’s hands?

It had taken a woman to create this toxic situation. Maybe it would take a woman to get them out of it. What was more, Simon was blissfully unaware that Jamie was the least of his problems. He’d need his family round him, not fractured.

She stood up.

‘If you won’t go and talk to him, then I will.’

J
amie was in Beth’s cabin. He’d packed his bag and he had his passport. He’d checked his bank account on his phone and there was plenty of money in there. He’d been good about saving half of what he’d earned as a barman during his gap year, and now thanked God he hadn’t blown it all on stuff for the band.

Beth was lying on her bunk looking sulky, but what was new?

‘I’m going home,’ he told her. ‘I’m getting off at Innsbruck.’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she replied.

‘I’m not being an idiot! If Dad can’t respect my decision-making, then I don’t see why I should hang around.’

Beth sat up. ‘So you’re going to spoil the whole trip? What about Stephanie?’

‘Like she cares?’

‘Yes. I think she probably does.’

Jamie scowled. He’d expected Beth’s support. In fact, he’d been going to suggest that she should come with him. Let the grown-ups enjoy their holiday in peace.

‘He’s a control freak.’

‘Jamie – all dads are control freaks. It’s part of the job description.’

‘No one else’s dad has told them it’s a bad idea. Everyone else has got their family’s support.’

Beth rolled onto her side and rested her head in her hand.

‘That’s because they’re all losers. Half of them were only going to go and do music technology at the local college. Not exactly a big sacrifice.’

Jamie stared at her.

‘You’ve been brainwashed.’

‘Jamie. I’ll be honest. The band isn’t even that good.’

His mouth dropped open in outrage.

‘You said they were great. You said you
loved
them.’

‘I was being
supportive
.’ She gave the word rabbit ears. ‘I didn’t want to tell you they were rubbish before, but now you’re going to go and ruin your life, I might as well. They’re boring. Seen it and heard it all before. Yawn.’

‘You
bitch
.’

Beth flopped onto her back. ‘Don’t go, Jamie.’

‘I’m going. And when I’ve got a deal, and a limo, and I’m playing Glastonbury, don’t come whining to me for backstage passes.’

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the cabin. He stood outside in the corridor. Switzerland was whizzing past in all its perfection, making him dizzy. He felt like crying. He didn’t know what to think. He knew he was being an idiot, like Beth said, but he was angry.

He saw Stephanie coming down the corridor towards him. Her face was concerned. She saw he had his bag over his shoulder.

‘Jamie,’ she began.

‘Save it,’ he said rudely. ‘You’re all right. If you play your cards right, you’ll probably get a ring on it by the end of the trip. You’ve got Dad right where you want him, haven’t you?’

He didn’t want to look at her face. He couldn’t believe the bile that was coming out of his mouth. None of this was Stephanie’s fault. But all he really wanted was his mum to be here. Back with his dad.

‘Have you got money?’ she asked, her voice very quiet and calm.

‘Yep,’ he said. ‘That’s one thing we’re not short of in this family. But trust me, it doesn’t make you happy. In case that’s what you were thinking.’

He turned away from her. Tears were stinging his eyes. How could he have said that? Stephanie was just being kind.

The train plunged into the Arlberg tunnel. Jamie suddenly sensed everything close in on him. He felt claustrophobic, panicky, but there was no way out. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to yet. Damn the lot of them. Damn Beth. Her words rang in his ears, and the confidence he had felt earlier drained away. The band was no good.

‘Jamie . . .’ Stephanie was talking to him, her voice gentle. He set his jaw and turned to face her. ‘Listen. I know things are tough at the moment, but you don’t know how lucky you are. When I was your age I didn’t have any choice about what I could do with my life. We didn’t have any money. It didn’t even occur to my parents that I could have gone to university. I had to leave and get a job. It wasn’t a career . . . just a job. It took me over ten years to realise that I could have a dream. And now I’ve got it, but it was tough. Very tough. No doors were opened for me, because I had nothing to prove my worth. No qualifications. No degree. So I know you think it’s boring, and toeing the line, and uncool, but please – don’t turn your back on the opportunity you’ve been given. I would have loved the chance to go to university. I’m telling you this as one who knows how tough it is without the advantage it gives you . . .’

She trailed off. Jamie was staring past her, a muscle in his cheek ticking, his fists clenched.

‘You think I’m a spoilt brat,’ he said eventually.

Stephanie hesitated. ‘Yep,’ she said. ‘But you’re allowed to be. You’re eighteen years old. You’ve had a tough time lately. And we’re all clichés, in our own way.’

He darted a glance at her. He didn’t like being called a cliché.

‘So – you could do the predictable thing and tell your dad to stuff it. Get off at Innsbruck. Mess your life up.’

He put his head on one side. ‘Or?’

‘Admit you were wrong?’

Jamie chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about what Stephanie had said. Despite himself, he knew she was making sense. He respected her. He didn’t like to admit it, but he probably respected her opinion more than Mum’s. What had Mum ever done with her life, after all?

‘Hey. Come here.’ Stephanie held out her arms to give him a hug. ‘You know what, the bad news is life doesn’t get any easier. But you need to listen to the people around you who’ve got experience.’

The train came out of the tunnel and into the open countryside, and Jamie felt his spirits lift just a tiny bit. Bright blue sky and coruscating sun dazzled him. He blinked, to keep out the light. He wasn’t going to cry. There was nothing to cry about.

He walked up the train and into the bar, where his dad was changing the lens on his camera. He flumped into the seat opposite him.

‘I’ve been a dickhead,’ he said.

Simon put his lens away carefully in its case. Then he put out a hand and touched Jamie’s shoulder. Just for a second.

‘Let’s have a beer,’ he said.

Stephanie stood in the doorway watching them. One crisis averted, she thought, at least for the time being.

A
t Innsbruck, the train stopped for half an hour to change engines. The sky was bright, the air was crisp and most of the passengers got off to stroll up and down the platform underneath the Olympic ski jump that towered above them.

Emmie had dressed for their arrival in Venice in an eau-de-nil tea dress. A wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with a swathe of chiffon and a diamante brooch gave her the look of a romantic bohemian – Merchant Ivory meets Bloomsbury by way of Downton Abbey. She made everyone else look as if they hadn’t bothered, thought Archie, with a touch of pride.

‘Oh my God,’ said Emmie. ‘Don’t look – at least, don’t stare – but I swear that is Sylvie Chagall.’

Archie saw a diminutive blonde swathed in caramel cashmere and tobacco-brown suede trousers sitting on a bench, raising her face up to the sun.

He shook his head. ‘Sylvie Chagall? Never heard of her.’

‘You must have.’

‘I’m totally clueless when it comes to celeb-spotting. Jay was always pointing people out when we were in London.’ He indicated with his hand that it went straight over his head. ‘So who is she?’

‘She’s a French film star. An icon. They’ve even named a handbag after her.’

Archie was flummoxed. ‘Why would you want a handbag named after you?’

‘You know, like a Hermès bag? A Birkin, or an Alexa?’

Archie struggled with the concept. ‘I’d like a beer named after me, I suppose. Or maybe a sports car.’

Emmie was staring. ‘It is definitely her. Oh my God, I would so love to go and talk to her. I love her films. You must have seen
Fascination
?’

‘Nope.’

Emmie looked at him in astonishment. ‘It was filmed in Venice. There was that famous scene, where she jumps off the bridge into the canal?’ She pointed at him. ‘I’m going to send you a box set of her films. You mustn’t leave the house until you’ve watched every single one of them.’ She burrowed in her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m going to ask for her autograph. I know it’s a terrible thing to do, but she’s one of my idols. And how often do you get the chance to meet one of your idols?’

Archie watched as Emmie strode up the platform and sat herself down on the bench next to the woman. He couldn’t imagine asking for someone’s autograph, not in a million years. But as he watched, he saw the woman laugh, and the two of them engaged in animated conversation. He had to admire Emmie’s cheek. He’d never met anyone like her before – confident, but not aggressive. Positive, but not grating. Everything seemed so simple to her.

Five minutes later, she came back. She was bubbling with excitement.

‘You won’t believe it.’

‘What?’

‘She told me she loved my hat. I told her I’d made it, and that I was a milliner . . .’

She trailed off.

‘And?’

‘She wants me to make her a hat for her wedding. She’s getting married, Archie. She wants
me
to make her a hat.’

She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes shining.

‘This could be my lucky break, Archie. It’ll be in all the magazines. She’s a legend. A legend, and she’ll be wearing one of my hats.’

‘That’s pretty amazing.’

Emmie put her arms around his neck, drew him to her and whispered in his ear. ‘She’s marrying Riley. The photographer? They’ve been lovers for over fifty years, and he finally proposed to her last night, in the dining car next to ours. Isn’t that just the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?’

After Innsbruck, the train left the Alpine perfection of Switzerland and forged its way through Italy, passing through vineyards full of twisted, stumpy vines. The lush green pastures were replaced by rich red earth. Pink buildings with red roofs clung to the mountainside, ruled over by the square towers of the campaniles in each village.

The journey was slipping away. The passengers felt a mixture of regret that it was coming to an end, combined with the excitement of arriving in Venice. The restaurant cars were alive with buzz and chatter at lunchtime, as waiters brought them bream, and carpaccio of scallops, served with potato blinis as light as air and finger-lime caviar: tiny citrus pearls that burst in the mouth in an explosion of zest. Then raspberry macaroons, with Szechuan pepper ice-cream, a melting pool of unctuous spice.