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“Yes. I’m surprised you remember, Max. Emre would only have been twelve.”
Max pulls me forward to Tanik. “This is my partner, Cressida Taylor.”
Tanik bows over my hand. As he straightens, Yavuz gives him a little push. “We are taking the Eurostar to Paris. On business. And as we are arriving at St. Pancras, there you are, with your lovely family.”
The luggage has been loaded on a cart and I look over at Brian, who stands on the station forecourt, waving frantically. Faintly, I hear him call out, “Come on. The train is already boarding.”
“I hope your business in Paris goes well. We’re off to Scotland for a few days.” Max sounds politely distant.
“I’m sure you will enjoy being at home. Come, Tanik. We must not miss our train.”
Max and JL watch until the brothers disappear into the maw of St. Pancras. JL turns to Max to ask “What are you thinking?”
Max runs his fingers through his hair, distracted. “Nothing. Wool-gathering.” He leans down and picks up his bag and mine, then grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”
I’ve only been to Scotland once, for the Edinburgh festival when I was at Oxford. Hills had suggested it. Her then-boyfriend was performing. I had moved from my digs at Somerville to share a flat with Kev and he was keen to go. We were in the honeymoon phase and the trip seemed magical.
My gaze drifts to Max and I feel real magic run through me. Magic a million times stronger than anything I ever felt with Kev. An almost visible current of electricity.
My time with Kev reminds me of cheap sleight of hand ineptly performed by an amateur. Even more so after the confrontation outside the RAF Club. I shiver at the reminder.
* * *
When we planned this trip, I wanted to take the Caledonian Sleeper. Ever since I saw the seriesGreat Railway Journeyson public television, I’ve been in love with the romance of the rails. Max, not so much. When we discussed the trip, January was in full swing. Max had moved the big armchair to face the windows so we could cuddle and watch the snow fall.
“Have you ever been on a sleeper?” He sounded incredulous.
I bristled. “Yes. Have you?”
His grimace said it all. “What was your trip like?’
“Hell,” I told him.
“Then why go on another?”
“Romance.” I stared at him, my eyes clouded with desire.
He laughed. “Tell me about the trip from hell.”
“Micki, Paul, and I took a trip to Russia right after college. Part of the tour was the chance to visit not only Moscow and St. Petersburg, but also Georgia. It was an adventure, a train ride from Sochi to Tbilisi. We had these big compartments with two sets of bunk beds. Our guide drilled us to say ‘Nyet komnaty’ because people not in our group kept trying to push into our cabins.”
Max smiled. “No room, huh?”
“It was summer, and the air conditioning wasn’t working. After two hours, the toilets weren’t either. We had sack dinners, but I didn’t eat. The tea lady came around every hour, but without working toilets, I wasn’t drinking either.” I scrunched up my face, thinking of the smell permeating the car from the nonfunctional but still used toilets.
“How long was the trip?” Max’s query brought me back.
Reflexively I rubbed my nose. “About eighteen hours. We were on the milk train, so we stopped at every station. I remember when we pulled into Stalin’s birthplace, Gori, a huge oil painting of him hung on the platform.”
“And you still want to take a sleeper?” Disbelief flooded his face.
“I want to take a luxury train this time.“ My voice climbed to an insistent whine as I grabbed for his hand. “Tell me about your trip.”
“It was unfortunate.” His dismissive tone doesn’t make me stop .
“Why was it unfortunate?”
“For reasons best left unexplored, I took the night train from Istanbul to Ankara.”
