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An attendant passed through the lounge car, offering to refill her tea, but she declined. Hers had already gone cold, but she didn’t care about that either.
Her thoughts traveled back to this same train and the journey she’d taken three weeks earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago. Julia was a different person now from the girl who’d snuck out of her sleeping compartment to buy a cake. She was also a different person from the girl who’d arrived at Gare de l’Est five days later carrying only an evening gown, a wrap, a handbag, and a painting covered in a lavender sheet.
She felt tired and sad and... empty. Her heart still ached when memories of Provence and Luc entered her mind. So she worked to keep them out. She’d found if she just stared, she could spend hours this way, with no thoughts at all.
Colonel Weston took the seat on the other side of the table. He still had on the formal suit he’d worn to dinner. Julia hadn’t changed either, but she hadn’t put on the gown she’d worn last time she’d ridden the Orient Express, though it was by far the finer dress. It was another memory. “We are nearing the Igney-Avricourt station,” he said. “Fancy a cake?”
Julia could hear in his voice that he was worried about her, but she shook her head as the memory of that station three weeks earlier punched through her carefully created nothingness with a jolt of pain. “No, thank you.” She put on a happy smile but knew that it looked forced.
“My dear—”
“I am all right, Father. Just tired,” she said for the thousandth time. Seeing that he was not going to be content with that explanation, she turned toward him and made herself engage. “Dinner was very good, wasn’t it?”
“It certainly was. Don’t know if I’ve ever had such tender veal. And the sauce on the potatoes...” He made a smacking sound. “Delicious.”
“So delicious,” she said, trying to imitate his enthusiasm. She’d hardly tasted her meal, and if he had asked what was served, she would not have been able to tell him.
Her father indicated another table, the one he’d been at until joining her a few moments earlier. “Nice chaps, those,” he said.
She glanced at the group of men. They were all older—close to her father’s age—and Julia imagined Colonel Weston had been telling them about the Twilight Tour, an art tour of Europe led by one of his friends, Professor Haskins.
Her father leaned back in his chair. “Quite enjoyed playing cards with them.”
A thought struck Julia. “Do you know a man named Nicholas, Father?” she asked, not letting herself think of the other memories associated with the man. “I met him on my way to Paris. He seemed familiar, but I could not quite remember from whence I might recognize him. I thought perhaps he was an acquaintance of yours.”
Her father frowned. “Nicholas? Has he a surname?”
“I don’t know it. He introduced himself as just that.”
Colonel Weston shook his head. “I can think of only one Nicholas. Strange chap, might have been Prussian or perhaps Hungarian. Wore all black. Rather eccentric, I’d say. Met him years ago. On this line, actually. The Orient Express was still a few years from completion.” He leaned back in his seat, his eyes looking distant. “Introduced me to your mother.” The last words were spoken softly.
“You met mother on a train?”
He nodded. “Formally, yes. A rather funny story, actually.”
“You’ve never told it to me.”
His smile was sad. “I apologize, my dear. Sometimes memories...” He let out a sigh. “The pain never fully leaves, does it?”
Julia shook her head, feeling tears very near the surface.
“Claire was traveling home from Vienna with your grand-mère, and I from fighting the Ashantis in Africa.” He looked back at the darkened window. “I switched trains at the Igney-Avricourt station, and after living on military rations, Frau Spreitzer’s gugelhupf cake smelled too delicious to pass up. I purchased my cake and found a bench where I could eat it.”
Julia leaned forward.
“A young woman sat on the other end of the bench. She was so beautiful.” He sighed again. “I offered her some cake, apologizing that I had no fork or knife, and fully believed she would decline. She looked extremely proper, you see, hands folded politely... I still remember the blue gown she wore. Little flowers on the shoulders and a lacey bit here.” He motioned to his neck.
“Did she eat the cake?” Julia asked. The story enthralled her. Her father had rarely spoken of her mother before, and never in such a romantic manner.
“She certainly did.” He grinned. “Pulled off a white glove and broke off a piece with her fingers, then popped it straight into her mouth.”
“Oh my.” Julia opened her eyes wide. “Grand-mère must have been outraged.”
“Your grand-mère had encountered some former acquaintances at the station and was chatting with them. She didn’t even notice, fortunately for me. That woman frightened me more than all the warriors in the Ashanti nation.”
Julia laughed, trying to picture her father, young and handsome in his red-coated uniform offering cake to a refined young woman.
Colonel Weston’s smile softened again. “Claire did have such a mischievous streak.” He stared out the window for a moment before blinking and looking back at Julia. “But it is Nicholas you asked me about. Claire and I parted after our brief meeting, and I boarded the train, thinking I’d never see that lovely young woman again. I’d just entered the dining car when the man approached and introduced me to Claire and her mother. Imagine our surprise at being on the same train.” He looked at Julia, his eyes squinting. “The funniest thing... I remember he had an old-fashioned-looking pipe, and I could have sworn the tobacco smelled just like the gugelhupf cake. Funny how memories become muddled over time, isn’t it?”
