Читать книгу Christmas with Her Ex - Fiona McArthur - Страница 9

KELSIE GLANCED AT her watch. Ten thirty-five and the train left at ten fifty-seven. She should find her carriage but seriously she wasn’t ready to sit down just yet.

Winsome and her grandson had boarded, and Kelsie carried her tiny overnight satchel—thank goodness for outrageously expensive wrinkle-free clothes—and she tried to slow her agitated feet to an inconspicuous amble.

She’d been almost the last to get her ticket, mainly because she’d wanted to stay well clear of Connor, and had walked up and down the platform ostensibly admiring the ornate carriages but really walking off her agitation at seeing him again.

Connor Black. She’d loved him like a brother since fifth grade when he’d moved from being annoying to mysteriously compelling. Not that all boys had been mysterious—just Connor.

For an only child, having Connor as her friend had seemed an impossible dream, until he’d come across her being bullied by a mean-streaked older boy who’d found the purse she’d lost one afternoon, late in the spring. She could almost smell the scent of falling orange blossoms, and blood, in the orchard where it had happened.

The ensuing bout of fisticuffs had left Connor with bruised knuckles and the other boy with a black eye and split lip, for which Connor had received a caning from the school principal the next day. The thought still made her cringe because it had been her fault.

But Connor had shrugged it off as no account and her hero-worship had been sealed.

She glanced into a window of the train and her reflection smiled ruefully back at her. He’d looked so heroic, his shirt torn, his eyes narrowed as he’d warned the other boy, his gentle grasp of her hand as he’d led her away.

For the rest of that year he’d taken to walking her home, the absolute best part of her day, and she’d never felt unprotected again, even when Connor had gone off to boarding school, because the letters between them had kept them close. Because home hadn’t been such a grand place, with her mother gone and her dad not much use at conversation unless it had been to give an order.

Her dad had expected her to follow the rules, and had been worse since Mum had finally rebelled and left. Although thankfully the fighting had stopped, her dad was so distant Kelsie had felt rudderless in the world until Connor. She’d wash up, do the housework and her homework, and take herself off to bed at dark, and dream of escaping to the city with Connor.

Except for Connor’s correspondence, hers had been a lonely existence, lightened when holidays had come around and Connor would find her and the two would slip away to dream together.

Connor had always been full of dreams. His real mother had drowned in a tragic accident when he’d been twelve and he was always going to be a doctor, always going to save the world. And Kelsie had believed him.

When Connor went to university they would marry. Elope, Connor said, because everyone would say they were too young.

But she was content to wait until Connor said it was time and she began to have dreams of her own. To be a nurse. To be free of her father’s dictatorship. Be with Connor and gladly follow him to the ends of the earth. He’d arrange everything because that’s what he liked to do, and it was easier to say yes.

Finally the day arrived. Her dad forbade her to leave, Connor had forbidden her to be late, and the similarities suddenly dawned on her. Had she been using her romance to escape her father’s control, only to fall into the same trap?

It was an uncomfortable thought that wouldn’t go away now that it had surfaced. It was all so confusing when Connor had been so good to her.

He’d secured rooms for them near his new university, the registry office was booked, and he’d bought her a short white dress for her to wear on the train when she travelled to meet him. He’d admonished her not to daydream and miss the train. Not to lose the ticket. As if by mentioning it he could influence the vagrancies of fate.

She thought about that. And then the doubts crept in just as the hands of the little watch Connor had bought her crept closer to the time they would meet.

She loved Connor. Could see the goodness in him. How much he cared about her. But was she ready to tie herself to another man who would run her life for her so completely? Was she always going to make Connor sigh when she needed rescuing?

Was that what she wanted?

If she was having these thoughts, was it fair to rush into this and maybe one day do what her mother had done and abandon ship?

Of course she didn’t want that but she knew if she tried to explain some of these thoughts to Connor, he’d brush them away as nerves.

But the seeds of doubt grew into full-grown wisdom trees on the train as she twisted the hem of the white dress between her fingers and watched the stations flash by.

Until, finally arriving, Kelsie hung back.

She loved him. The man was a serious hero. Too much of one to spoil his chance of the career he was destined for by dragging him back by her doubts. Or expect him to marry her just because he’d proposed in an impulsive moment. So she sent a note saying she was safe but she wasn’t coming.

They were both too young and she wasn’t able to contemplate being a burden on him. Plus there was the matter of her threatened independence. He deserved so much more but she hadn’t been brave enough to tell him.

She had already seen herself frustrate him when she lost things, seen his doubts after he’d impulsively proposed, knew how much easier it would be for him to realise his dreams of becoming a doctor unencumbered by a young, unskilled bride.

The next day, after a lonely night in a sleazy motel she ran to her only other relative, her mother’s much older unmarried sister, a midwife in Sydney, and that’s when her life really began to change.

She’d come a long way since then. A long way.

All the way to Venice.

Kelsie blinked at the reflection in the window—the face staring back at her wasn’t hers. A woman, eyebrows raised in disapproval at her invasion of privacy, stared back haughtily and Kelsie blinked. Wake up.

Her cheeks heated as she walked away. She’d been staring into the past—not the window. If she didn’t watch out she’d spoil her once-in-a-lifetime trip worrying about a man who had every right to hate her.

Because maybe she should have waited to find out if Connor had agreed with her reasons. Talked about it with him. But by then it had been too late, and she’d lost touch and the confidence that he would forgive her.

And her career had taken off until the serene, confident maternity unit manager she’d become barely resembled the young girl who’d run away instead of getting married. Except for the occasional misplaced item when she was tired.

Kelsie strode purposefully up to the immaculately presented, blue-suited guard, his quaint round porter’s hat stiff with its gold-trimmed peak, the whole confection jammed importantly on his head. She presented her ticket as he held out his white-gloved hand.

‘Welcome to the Orient Express, madam.’ He bowed, took her satchel, assisted her up the steps like precious cargo, and once she was safely aboard gestured for her to follow him up the narrow wood-panelled corridor.

Finally aboard the Orient Express, she could feel a smile plastered on her face.

‘Come this way, please.’

The air inside swirled pleasantly cool around her still-hot cheeks and hinted of different perfumes and metal polish and cedar oil and old wood. Kelsie couldn’t help glancing into the cabins as she followed him, interested in her fellow passengers, she assured herself, not nervously checking for Connor, and most of the passengers looked up and smiled back.

The cabin before hers held a young woman who seemed huddled in her coat, but the door was pulled shut as soon as she passed.

Kelsie winced. She was going to have a good time if it killed her or she had to kill somebody else—namely Connor Black for making her doubt herself.

The conductor stopped at her cabin and gestured grandly. ‘Your seat, madam.’

Kelsie obediently sat. Not quite sure what she was supposed to do as the conductor gently hung her satchel on a big brass hook.

He stepped back, facing her, and smiled, his teeth even and white, his blond hair crew cut around his ears. ‘Allow me to introduce myself.’ He bowed again. ‘I am Wolfgang. Your steward.’

Volfgang, she repeated to herself with an inner smile.

His English was precise and she guessed that, unlike herself, he was probably fluent in several languages. ‘I vill be caring for your needs, and those others also in this car, on our way to Calais. There you vill change for the Tunnel crossing.’ His precise English and accent matched his name and he suited the surroundings so appropriately, she had to smile, outwardly this time.

‘Thank you, Wolfgang.’ Kelsie perched on the long tapestry seat. The hanging neck pillows suspended by tapestry cords divided the seat into two. She realised she’d been lucky enough to face the direction they’d travel, thank goodness, and maybe she was even the single occupant for the next thirty-six hours. Hmm. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

No. It was a good thing. She would imagine Agatha Christie with her and breathed in as she replaced the smile on her face.

Everything was perfect.

The little cabin was perfect, even prettier from the inside than it had looked when she had peered through the windows, and she noted there was only one crystal champagne flute on the pristine embossed Orient Express coaster on her tiny table so she probably did have the cabin to herself.

She sat in solitary splendour, surrounded by the different-coloured woods of the parquetry wall panelling as they glowed with light, and she noted more brass hooks holding the deep blue silk bathrobes and velour slippers, one of which she could don should she wish to slip into something more comfortable. How decadent. Though perhaps not, especially at eleven in the morning.

‘Observe there is a sink for washing your face and hands if desired.’ Wolfgang pressed a lever and the tiny bench opposite transformed into a basin and taps. ‘There is a water closet at both ends of the car.’ He stared at a point at the top of the window to avoid meeting her eyes. ‘It is preferred that passengers refrain from use while the train is at a station.’

Good grief. Now, that’s a salubrious thought. She chewed her lip to hold in a laugh as she nodded. ‘Of course,’ she murmured.

He inclined his head. ‘Then excuse me. When our journey begins I will return with champagne and also to record your preference for the first or second dinner sitting.’

Kelsie was tempted to ask which sitting the Blacks were on so she could choose the other but contented herself with, ‘Thank you.’

She sat for a minute longer, trying to decide what to do when he left.

‘Acqua Panna.’ Kelsie sounded the words out on the complimentary water bottles on the bench of the washbasin hidey-hole. ‘Acqua has to be water.’ She picked one up, cracked the seal and took a sip as she surveyed the amenities.

Facecloths, a hand towel, a beautifully boxed cake of soap she might just keep to remind her of the journey, toothbrush and paste, an art deco folder holding postcards and embossed VSOE paper and envelopes.

Now she’d pretty well covered the contents of the cabin.

She put the bottle back and stared at the angled wooden divide opposite. They were really quite snug, these compartments, standing room only before the wall of the adjoining cabin. Someone coughed next door and she heard it quite plainly but couldn’t distinguish the voices.

At least she didn’t have an infectious companion locked in with her. She grinned to herself just as the train whistle shrieked a warning of departure.

Kelsie stood and reached hastily for the table to steady herself as the carriage jerked, and peered out the window. They were easing out of the station. Her grin was back and the excitement of finally fulfilling her dream made her want to laugh.

When she poked her head out of her cabin door other occupants had crammed into the corridor and were watching through the windows opposite as the world shifted, and she could imagine the wheels on the tracks below them begin to turn and pick up speed. They slipped past two bushy islands on their little spit of railway tracks on the way to the mainland of Italy.

With a sense of urgency to take just one last look at Venice, she squeezed past an older couple in the tiny corridor and walked to the far end of the carriage, where she was able to pull down the sash window on the door she’d entered the train by.

When she leaned out the cold wind blasted her face and she could see Santa Lucia station disappearing into the distance.

She looked the other way and a dark-haired man had his head out the window half a dozen carriages up. A very familiar face turned her way and Connor Black surveyed her coolly.

Only one thing to do. Kelsie waved.