The Old Silent

was a put-on. No one really talks like that.'

44

Against the splendid backdrop of the brown and cream Pullman cars of the Orient Express, Vivian stood self- consciously smiling as Jury and Melrose took turns with the camera. Vivian alone; Vivian with Jury; Vivian with Melrose; Vivian with Trueblood's hands positioned bat-wing-like behind her head (of which, Vivian, smiling self- consciously, was unaware). Vivian with Agatha; Agatha alone; Agatha alone; Agatha alone-snap, snap, snap, snap.

Compared with Vivian's flawlessly cut and fluid creamy-wool dress and brimmed hat, her fellow travelers, walking by with chins high, pretending they weren't attracting attention, looked as if they'd been turned out by some of the Princess's favorite designers-Worth, Mme. Vionnet, Chanel, even Lady Duff Gordon, with their long draped skirts, printed velvets and silks, crepe-de-chines and low-slung waistlines, fluttering printed scarves, ropes of pearls, cloche hats and headbands. They might have been headed for a 'twenties bistro.

The gentlemen were no less dressed to the nines in peacock blue and salmon striped jackets, doeskin trousers, bottle-green waistcoats and double-breasted dark blue reefers aplenty. In the midst of them, Marshall Trueblood, who had turned up with Karla on his arm (or he on hers, given the difference in their heights) was absolutely the quintessence of taste amongst all of the (what he called) 'reefer madness.' He was wearing his new Armani jacket with its low-sloping shoulders and loose-cut sleeves. Armani's clothes always had that comfortable, broken-in look from the very moment one put them on. Melrose almost wished he'd bought more. Would he cut a swathe in the Jack and Hammer, looking comfortable and creased?

He heard his name barked. Agatha, again, positioned by the gold crest on the Pullman car, looked fairly broken- in herself after her sojourn in Wanstead, for which she said she'd never speak to them again. Unfortunately, she never kept her word and here she was yelling, 'Trueblood! Leave that person and come here for another picture.'

That person, Karla. who evinced no interest in the handsome people or the handsomely appointed train compartments-the little tables set for luncheon, the upholstery, the passengers in motley-wandered off to stand against the wall of the cafe and smoke the Eternal Cigarette. Given her marvelous shingled haircut and that same sheared-up dress that fell at odd angles, she was a natural for the present company. Karla stood, staring off across the tracks of Victoria Station as if she'd only been looking for a wall to hold up.

Melrose instructed Agatha (who'd put herself firmly in the middle of the camera's lens) to move away from Jury over to the end because given Jury's height (and her girth, he didn't add) she'd look like a toad. That moved her. Melrose carefully adjusted the camera's prospect to cut her out, although the ostrich feather in her hat managed to land in front of Trueblood's chin.

It was exactly ten-forty and the passengers were lining up in the reception area, and people bound for their second-class seats on other, less-colorful platforms flowed round this elite group, some smiling at the peacock clothes, some shaking their heads as if to dismiss this homage to rampant conspicuous consumption.

The Orient Express personnel, most in brown livery, wore smiles that betokened the most personal service this side of Charing Cross Hospital's intensive-care unit. They were presently seeing to the tickets and luggage.

Melrose spotted the tag on Vivian's single trunk. 'Good Lord, Vivian, is this all? The one trunk? What it holds wouldn't last Agatha a day in Harrogate.' Agatha was going, she said, straight back to Harrogate, was going to hail a cab ('No, Mr. Trueblood, I do not need your help!') and zip straight to Waterloo as soon as the Orient Express chugged out, spot on eleven. She had told Melrose that she had no intention of accompanying him back to Long Piddleton, not after last night. He must suffer the consequences of his tricks.

Trueblood folded his arms and pursed his lips, looking at the trunk. 'Oh, I don't know, Melrose. I think it'll do. It looks quite long enough. Heavy, of course, but that's just English soil. Vivian was out shoveling half the-'

Vivian, made even more beautiful by the bright flush rising to her cheeks, thrust her face so close to Trueblood's, he leaned back. He quickly pulled and wound his striped scarf about his neck, shrieking, in a mockery of fear, 'No closer! No closer!'

'Oh, shut up! I don't know if I dare have you to the wedding. God knows what you'll get up to.' Her fiery gaze included Melrose.

'Don't look at me! Have I said a word? No.'

'Keep it that way.' Then she turned to Jury. 'You're being very silent,' she said softly.

'I can't stand train stations.' He thought of Carole-anne. 'Or airports. Or partings.'

Agatha was too busy pulling at Melrose to bother with her nemesis, Marshall Trueblood. 'Who,' she demanded, pointing toward the station cafe, 'is that woman?'

'Karla. She's-it's-Trueblood's friend.'

'Not her. That person inside the cafe. She's been staring at us for the last half hour. At you, for some reason. I was watching her when you were taking my picture.'

Melrose looked, squinted, moved closer to the plate glass behind which a young woman in dark green was standing on the other side of the glass, as still as Karla on this side.

Melrose put on his spectacles, squinted through them… Ellen!

He loosened Agatha's viselike grip and pushed through the surge of passengers rushing for their trains.

Ellen immediately turned and sat down in one of the plastic-form chairs and sipped her cup of tea.

Melrose tapped and tapped on the pane. Finally, she turned round, giving him a speculative look. Where on earth had they met?

He motioned her outside with several furious waves.

When finally she emerged, both of them ignored by Karla, Melrose decided that the Princess was right. 'You look indescribable.' Actually, it was true. The dress was totally shapeless, except where Ellen lent it shape (and that considerable); it was a swampy green that did nothing whatever to light up her face. Ah, but the face was clean, the nails actually manicured, the hair combed and possibly Sassooned. And the legs and high heels visible. There was a view the Lido would have a hard time matching. Melrose reconsidered dying in a deck chair.

Holding her hand, he dragged her over to the train, where he smiled brilliantly at Jury, haltingly at Agatha (whose own mouth was agape), and uncertainly at Vivian, who was now in her compartment-barely two minutes to go-and who reached down her slim hand to take Ellen's.

She released it and grabbed at Melrose's and with the other hand for Jury. Trueblood was quick-walking beside the liveried porter who was pulling the luggage. Marshall held up a decal of the British flag, smiled and thwacked it on her trunk, taking his time pressing it in place. He waved the porter on and came running back. 'Viv-viv, darling! Watch those canals, be careful of the Giopinnos' cellar… ah, but, of course, he doesn't drink wine, does… owwww!' (Vivian had thrown her paperback book at him.) 'My dearest, darling, Viv. I shall neversay another word… Oh, God, it's moving, it's moving.'

Say another word, no. Melrose looked at the departing rack of luggage. There was the British flag! And right next to it was stuck the cut-out of Dracula swinging in his gondola. Melrose shut his eyes.

'Don't do anything foolish, Vivian!' was Agatha's last word. 'Mind those gondoliers! Have you any Italian at all?'

'Arrivederci, that's about it.' She was wiping away tears that trailed slowly down her face.

Still holding her hands, Melrose and Jury were half-running beside the train which finally gained so much speed, they had to release her.

Good-byes were shouted, cried, flung all down the line until the train heaved itself out into the sooty light of a London January day.

Jury stood there, unconscious of a pram that barked his shin and a couple of punks with mohawks who shoved him aside.

He dragged his eyes from the track when he heard Trueblood beside him. Karla had reengaged his arm. 'Come