Flash observed, ‘It’s better if we keep your bag, Charlie . . . You wouldn’t want to be spotted with it.’
‘OK. What are we worth in English money?’
‘’Bout three grand, I expect. Used nearly-new notes. Perfect. You gonna do all right out of this yourself ?’
That was a thought. It was a question too many, but I told him the truth anyway.
‘I don’t know. We haven’t talked about my fee yet.’
Harry laughed derisively at me; the other guy grinned.
‘You can talk about it on the train tonight,’ Harry said. ‘You’ll need to find something to pass the time.’
When we reached the station he stretched over to take my hand. His coat fell open, and I glimpsed the pistol stuck in his belt. A different league.
I hadn’t told Doris that we were sharing a sleeper yet. It was all I’d been able to get at the last minute. Apparently the Friday night sleeper was always full of rich Jocks going home for the weekend. I hadn’t any realistic hopes of her – she’d told me, after all, hadn’t she? – but I anticipated she would pop on the upside-down smile when she found out. One way or another it was going to be an interesting night.
There was a neatly typed label on the door of our twin berth.
Doris was miffed because I hadn’t carried her suitcase – but I wasn’t their fucking native bearer.
She asked me, ‘Mr and Mrs Miller?’
‘Sentimental reasons, nothing to do with you. Trust me.’
‘Where do you sleep, Charlie?’
‘It’s actually a case of where do you sleep, honeybunch. I’m sleeping in there. You can too, if you like . . . or if you’d be more comfortable curled up on a seat between a couple of drunken Scots on their way home it’s up to you. This is all I could get.’
She was doing all she could to keep the lid on her temper. I liked that.
She hissed, ‘I’m paying for this, you bastard.’
‘And I’m truly grateful – but it doesn’t alter anything.’
‘George won’t like it when he finds out.’
We hadn’t discussed anything yet which George would like.
‘Maybe George won’t find out. It’s your choice again. See, I’m a proper gentleman – one of my finer points. I’ll always leave you options.’
‘You’re a bastard.’
‘That’s the second time you’ve said that. Actually I’m a hungry bastard, and I reserved a table for us at the first sitting for dinner.’ I opened the door of the small compartment. ‘Are you and your case coming in, or not? The bar’s open.’ I went in, and threw my small kitbag and the messenger bag on the bottom bunk. The door swung shut behind me. I started to whistle ‘The Music Goes Round and Round’, and got to the second chorus before the door banged open again, and Doris dragged her case in behind her.
‘The steward asked me if everything was OK,’ she said, ‘and I didn’t want to attract attention to us.’
I stepped forward until this was the closest we’d been. I placed my hands on either side of her perfect face, and told her, ‘Don’t worry about it, honey, you are so perfectly beautiful that you’ll attract attention wherever you are. For the rest of your life probably. Get used to it.’ Then I let her go.
Doris tried to slap me, but there wasn’t enough room – and she was laughing at the same time anyway. When she finished there was still a smile on her face. Maybe it was a worried smile. Or a scheming one. We shimmied around each other, and agreed to meet in the bar. I took the messenger bag with me, wondering if I had become its custodian. I found myself with a decent Glenmorangie in my hand. As I settled into a velvet-covered Pullman chair there was a long, haunting whistle outside, and almost imperceptibly the train began to move. She was called the Highland Queen, and her take-off was as smooth as a bobsleigh on the Cresta Run.
We ate a four-course meal in the dining car. I enjoyed the men watching Doris. I enjoyed watching Doris as well. You can tell a lot about people if you watch them eating. She tucked into her grub like a professional – perhaps her brand of American fasted on Thursdays, and made up for it on Fridays. She didn’t stop chewing in order to speak.
‘Did you plan this, Charlie?’
‘No. You and George have done all the planning so far. All I’ve done is mop up the little mess you made in London.’
‘I mean – to get me alone on a train to Finian’s Rainbow or somewhere romantic in your Scottish Highlands.’
‘Point one, Finian’s Rainbow was in Ireland – wrong country. You probably mean Brigadoon. Point two – ’ I dropped my voice – ‘we’re here now because, thanks to you, we are running away from the bloody police. Point three, the Highlands are far from romantic – I’ve been there before, remember, and you haven’t. It’s not romantic at all – it’s nothing like you’ve ever imagined – just a few people living in cattle sheds, and they’ll hate us.’
‘Why will they hate us? They haven’t met us yet.’
‘It’s a point of principle. They’ll hate us for not being Scottish.’
‘You didn’t answer my question, hon . . . the one about if you planned to get me on my own on this train.’
‘No, Doris. I didn’t plan to get you on your own, but now I have I’ll just have to put up with you until George catches up with us. Listen . . . do you want to finish this wine, or shall I?’
We split it, and chased it down with another whisky. Doris asked me to give her time to climb into her bunk before I returned.
‘How long?’
‘Twenty minutes should do it, I have a face to scrape off.’
‘If you thought of
