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It’s a lie.
Perhaps that’s too harsh.
Perhaps “Lia” has a sister named Molly.
Lara does not.
The younger girl’s eyes stay on her plate, and her fingers return to her necklace.
“That’s an interesting chain,” the baron says to her. “It’s early Romanov. Are you traveling from Russia?”
“How did you know that?” Lara’s eyes fly to his, and she seems almost frightened. Interesting.
“I collect antiquities,” Esterhaus explains. “It’s one of my hobbies. Almost all of the Romanov collection was melted down following the revolution. Is it an imitation?”
“I don’t know,” Molly says without looking up. “It was a gift.”
“I’d love to examine it further if possible. You might stop by my stateroom—”
Just then the doors open and another traveler joins us. He captures all of our attention, an African-American gentleman dressed in a dark plum coat with thin grey pinstripes. He doesn’t speak to anyone, and goes to a table in the farthest corner of the room, turning his back on us.
I know Esterhaus well enough to know he won’t let this behavior pass. He presides over the dining car like a lord in his castle, but before he can launch his investigation, Ustinov returns with several additional waiters carrying our dinner.
The young porter directs them on who gets which items before going to the new guest. They speak quietly, and he exits behind the bar, I assume to get another serving.
For a little while we don’t speak. The Duck l’Orange is deliciously rich with a touch of sweetness. The dark-brown meat melts like butter in my mouth, and the corn and avocado provide the perfect accompaniment, crisp and fresh.
The bartender uncorks a bottle of Chardonnay and serves the baron and myself. The diners having the roast duck are given a light pinot. I notice Molly doesn’t eat her meat, sticking instead to the risotto and mushroom side. She also isn’t served wine.
Aleister is subdued, but I see him glancing at Lara. The women don’t speak during the meal. Lara takes several bites of everything on her plate, but she finishes none of it. She does, however, have a second glass of wine.
Our new guest in the back places a tablet on the table and appears to read while having his own serving of the roast duck and red wine.
When Ustinov and his crew return to collect our plates, the baron stands and joins me at the bar, taking out a fat cigar and clipping the end. He holds the leather pouch toward me, but I wave him away.
“Every year I offer, and every year you decline,” he chuckles.
“Never developed a taste for them.” I lean back as the bartender pours the old man a scotch.
“You prefer a pipe,” Esterhaus says, and I shake my head.
“No tobacco for me. Not worth the risk.”
“Life is all about risk,” the baron says.
“Life is about avoiding risk,” Aleister argues. “Detecting it early and doing everything you can to get out of its way.”
Ustinov returns for dessert orders. The other men and I decline. Lara holds up a hand in a no gesture, but indicates she’d like another glass of wine. Molly is the only one who does a little nod.
“I’d like the tiramisu,” she says.
“An excellent choice!” Ustinov exclaims, pleased someone is taking his offer. “The lady fingers are imported from Vienna, the espresso is made fresh, and the mascarpone is light as air.”
He oversells every item on the menu, but I don’t comment. Aleister rises from his seat and gestures to Lara. “Would you join us at the bar?”
She shakes her head, causing her silky brown hair to shimmer in the light. It smells like springtime if I remember correctly, or perhaps Lia prefers another scent. “The smoke gets in my eyes.”
“I’m so sorry,” the baron moves his cigar further toward the end of the bar away from her table.
