Abby couldn’t wait to be with her friends again. They’d Skyped and phoned each other—sent emails—but it would be great to do things together in person.
Once in graduate school she’d become a teaching assistant in the humanities department and had worked hard. Specializing in the romance writers of the early nineteenth century, she’d received her doctorate, after which she’d been given more classes to teach. That’s when she’d met Nigel. In hindsight, what a disaster that meeting had turned out to be!
But she’d learned she wasn’t the only one who’d been burned in a relationship. One of the girls, Zoe, had just come out of a bitter divorce because her husband had been unfaithful. She’d insisted she would never want anything to do with a man again. Abby didn’t need to get inside Zoe’s skin to understand how she felt.
The pain of putting your trust in the man you loved only to discover he hadn’t loved you or believed in the sanctity of marriage had been too devastating. Abby felt like her heart had been murdered. How could she ever trust anyone again?
As for Ginger, she’d lost her husband recently to cancer and needed to get away from the pain. In a short time the three of them had developed a special camaraderie, and all three of them were ready to play.
Being in an especially good mood, Abby gave the driver a nice tip and walked inside the train station with her suitcase. Since she had fifteen minutes before she needed to board her train, she headed directly for her favorite food kiosk. She’d eaten here every time she’d needed to take the train someplace.
After making her selection of six small quiches, two for herself and two for each her friends, she bought a second-class ticket and boarded the crowded train.
She found a compartment and sat down across from a priest and a couple of teenagers speaking German. They started to listen to rock music, but their earphones didn’t block the sound all that much. Abby didn’t mind. Not so the priest, who finally got up and left the compartment. She decided she would wait to eat until she met the girls at the village of St. Saphorin, an hour and a half or so and a quick change of trains away.
The quiet, efficient train ran alongside Lake Geneva, the famous croissant-shaped lake called lac Léman by the locals. Abby settled back, almost preening like a cat in the sun because she was so happy to be free of responsibilities. The train glided from one picturesque village to another in a gentle rhythm.
The surroundings that included the sapphire-blue lake with the snow-crested French Alps in the distance mesmerized her. Before long she had to change trains and it wasn’t long after that that St. Saphorin appeared, wedged between the water and terraced rows of vineyards that ran up the steep hillsides.
When the train came to a stop, she reached for her suitcase and left the compartment. Several other passengers had already descended. Finally, she was going to see her friends. Abby was eager to be with them and on vacation.
Yesterday Zoe had flown to Venice, Italy, from Athens, Greece, to meet up with Ginger who’d been doing research in Italy. The two of them had boarded the night train to Switzerland. They’d planned to get off in Montreux to pick up the rental car and drive the few kilometers to St. Saphorin.
Relieved to be here, Abby walked around to the front of the station. There was no sign of the girls yet. She sat down and took in the sight of the Jura Mountains in the distance while she waited. After twenty minutes, she phoned Ginger and had to leave a message. Then she called Zoe, who answered.
“Abby? Are you in St. Saphorin?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“The rental car we were promised isn’t ready yet. Too many tourists were booked. Ginger is dealing with them now. It may be a while, so I phoned the château where we’ll be staying. Someone will come for you soon. I gave them a description of you. Just stay put. We can’t wait to see you!”
“Same here,” Abby said before hanging up.
Someone was coming to get her, but it could be a while. She reached for a quiche and savored every bite. In the distance, she took in the vision of gray stone walls and steep inclines covered by the famous Lavaux vineyards of the region. They were riddled with hiking trails, a sport the Swiss adored. So, did Abby. She loved the yellowish colors of the homes spotting the landscape.
How lucky she and the girls were to be the recipients of their boss’s largesse! Magda Collier, one of the most acclaimed female film directors in Hollywood had hired the three of them to do research for a movie being produced by a revered mogul friend of hers.
After the New Year, Magda had brought Abby and the girls together in Los Angeles for a week with some writers who were working on an important script. She wanted to create a historically authentic film that accentuated the positive aspects of the colorful life of Lord Byron, the famous British romantic poet and satirist.
They’d been thrilled about the project and had become friends.
Magda had assigned each of them a different area in Europe to do research, and Abby had been sent to Switzerland. Now, because of their “great work”—Magda’s words after they’d turned in their information—she’d delighted them with a reward. It turned out to be a vacation at a château and vineyard called the Clos de la Floraison on the shores of Lake Geneva. Nothing could have pleased them more.
Magda explained she had a permanent arrangement with the old
