“So you haven’t slept for the past three nights,” she said.
“And it doesn’t look as if I will tonight either, my darling,” said George.
“I can’t pretend that this was how I expected to spend my first night with the man I love,” said Ruth. “But why don’t we…” she leaned across the table and whispered in George’s ear. He thought about her proposal for a moment, and then happily agreed.
A few minutes later, Ruth left the table. In their compartment she found that the seats had been converted into single beds. She undressed, hung up her clothes, washed her face in the little hand basin, climbed into bed, and switched off the light. George remained in the dining car, drinking black coffee. Only after the last remaining customer had departed did he return to the compartment.
He slid the door open quietly and slipped inside, then stood still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. He could see the outline of Ruth’s slim body under the sheet, and wanted to touch her. He took off his jacket, tie, trousers, shirt, and socks, and left them on the floor before climbing into bed. He wondered if Ruth was still awake.
“Good night, Mr. Mallory,” she said.
“Good night, Mrs. Mallory,” he replied. George slept soundly for the first time in three nights.
As George bent down to take his next shot, Turner said, “You wrote earlier in the week, Mallory, to say there was something of importance you wished to discuss with me.”
“Yes, indeed,” said George, as his cue ball disappeared into the nearest pocket.
“Another foul,” said Turner. He returned to the table and took his time piling up even more points, which only made George feel more and more inadequate.
“Yes, sir,” he finally managed, and then paused before adding, “I’m sure you must have noticed that I’ve been spending a lot of time with your daughter.”
“Which one?” asked Turner as George missed another shot. “Another foul. Are you hoping to score anything this evening, young man?”
“It was just, sir, just that…”
“You would like my blessing before you ask Ruth for her hand in marriage.”
“I’ve already asked her,” admitted George.
“I would hope so, Mallory. After all, you have already spent a night with her.”
When George had woken after that night it was pitch dark. He leaned forward and pushed the blind to one side to observe the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon: a joyful sight for any mountaineer.
He slipped quietly out of bed, felt around on the floor for his pants and slipped them on. Next he located the rest of his clothes. Not too difficult an exercise when you’re used to sleeping in a small tent with only a candle to see by. George quietly slid open the compartment door and stepped outside. He looked up and down the corridor, thankful that no one was in sight. He quickly did up his shirt, pulled on his trousers and socks, tied his tie, and slipped on his jacket. When he strolled into the dining car, the attendants laying the tables for breakfast were surprised to see a first-class passenger so early in the morning.
“Good morning, sir,” said a waiter who was staring at Mallory’s trousers, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Good morning,” said George, and two paces later realized his fly buttons were undone. He laughed, did them up, and hurried through the dining car in search of a morning paper.
It wasn’t until he reached carriage K that he came across the newspaper kiosk. The sign in the window read
He pointed to the pile of newspapers, and the assistant reluctantly unlocked the door.
“How many copies of that paper do you have?”
“Twenty, sir,” he replied.
“I’ll take all of them,” said George.
The assistant looked uncertain, but when George handed over the cash, he shrugged his shoulders and deposited the money in the till.
George was admiring a piece of jewelry in the display cabinet when the assistant handed back his change. “How much is that?” he asked, pointing to one of the velvet stands.
“Which currency, sir?”
“Pounds,” replied George, taking out his checkbook.
The young man ran his finger down a line of figures on a card attached to the back wall. “Thirty-two pounds, sir.”
George wrote out a check for next month’s salary, while the assistant wrapped the tiny gift.
George made his way back to the dining car with the papers under one arm, having put the gift in his jacket pocket. As he entered the next carriage, he glanced up and down the corridor again. Still no one around. He slipped into the nearest lavatory and spent the next few minutes tearing off the front page of every paper, except one, and considerably longer flushing them down the lavatory. The moment he’d seen the last headline disappear, he unlocked the door and stepped back into the corridor. As George continued on toward the dining car, he dropped a copy of the morning paper on the floor outside each stateroom.
“But, sir, I can explain how that happened,” protested George as the object ball bounced off the table and ran along the floor.
“Another foul,” said Turner, picking up the ball and placing it back on the baize. “I don’t require an explanation, Mallory, but what are your prospects?”
“As you know, sir, I’m on the teaching staff at Charterhouse, where my current salary is three hundred and seventy-five pounds a year.”
“That’s certainly not enough to keep one of my daughters in the style they’ve grown accustomed to,” said Turner. “Do you by any chance have a private income?”
“No, sir, I do not. My father is a parish priest who had four children to bring up.”
“Then I shall settle seven hundred and fifty pounds a year on Ruth, and give her a house as a wedding present. Should there be any offspring, I shall pay for their education.”
“I could never marry a girl who had a private income,” said George haughtily.
“You couldn’t marry Ruth if she
George sat alone and sipped his coffee while he waited for Ruth to join him. Was there really a beautiful woman asleep in compartment B11, or was he about to wake from his dream and find himself locked up in an Italian jail, with no Mr. Irving to rescue him?
Several other passengers had appeared and were enjoying their breakfast, although the waiters were unable to explain why their morning papers didn’t have a front page. When Ruth walked into the dining car, George had only one thought: I’m going to have breakfast with this woman every morning for the rest of my life.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mallory,” he said as he rose from his side of the table and took her in his arms. “Do you begin to know how much I love you?” he added before kissing her.
Ruth blushed at the disapproving stares from a few of the older passengers.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t kiss in public, George.”
“You were happy enough to kiss me yesterday in front of a policeman,” George reminded her as he sat back down.
“But only because I was trying to stop you being arrested.”
The waiter joined them and smiled ingratiatingly. After all, they were used to honeymoon couples on the Orient Express.
After the two of them had given their breakfast orders, George slid the front page of the morning paper across the table.
“Nice photograph, Mr. Mallory,” Ruth whispered once she’d read the headline. “And if it isn’t bad enough for a
