have another play or two on the go, and my publisher wants a second mystery story at some point, so there’s plenty to keep me busy.’ She did not admit it to Elspeth, but there was another reason why her heart was no longer in the play that had made her name: that business last year with Elliott Vintner had soured the whole experience for her. The voice of reason inside her head told her time and time again that she was not to blame for the court case or its repercussions, but the thought that a man had taken his own life because of her success filled her with a coldness that no amount of rational argument could eradicate.
Fortunately, before Josephine could go further down that road, a restaurant attendant passed through the carriages to announce the next sitting for lunch. ‘Let’s go and have something to eat,’ she 8
suggested to Elspeth, conscious that the young woman’s enthusiasm for her work was beginning to wear a little thin with everyone else in the compartment. ‘It’s been a long morning.’
The train’s delay had created a healthy appetite in its passengers.
The dining car was almost full when they arrived, but a waiter showed them to the last vacant table. ‘Gosh – how lovely,’ said Elspeth, looking round at the bronze lamps, plush carpets and walnut veneer panelling, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anywhere as luxurious as this before.’ She removed her hat, then looked round anxiously for somewhere to put it before the waiter came to her rescue and took it from her with a wink. ‘I’m not used to first class,’ she admitted, picking up a silver butter knife to admire the railway crest on the handle. ‘The ticket was a present. Will you order for us – I’m sure it’s all delicious.’
Josephine smiled at her. ‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘Inverness isn’t exactly overrun with top restaurants so I think we should just treat it as a posh cafe and have what we like. I’m going for the sole –
how about you?’ Elspeth studied the menu and, when the waiter arrived, chose a no-nonsense steak and kidney pudding. ‘A glass of wine, miss?’ he asked.
‘I’d love one, but I wouldn’t know where to start,’ Elspeth said, looking at Josephine.
‘The Burgundy would go well with your lunch, so let’s both have that,’ she said and watched, amused, as the waiter unfolded Elspeth’s napkin and slid a silver vase of flowers closer to her with another wink that brought a flush to her cheeks.
‘I’d love to know more about the cast,’ Elspeth said, as their drinks arrived. ‘Tell me – are John Terry and Lydia Beaumont as close off stage as they are on? I won’t tell anyone if it’s a secret, but they make such a good couple as Richard and Anne.’
Josephine smiled to herself, imagining how pleased Terry would be to perpetuate the rumour of a romance with his glamorous leading lady, but she had to crush Elspeth’s hopes. ‘No, they’re both . . . well, they’re just good friends,’ she said. ‘I suppose it would be difficult to work together if they were involved and they’ve got another joint project lined up with my next play.’
9
‘Am I allowed to ask what it is?’
‘Of course you are. It’s a play about Mary Queen of Scots. In fact, I wrote it for Lydia. She’s always wanted to play her.’
‘How special to have a play written for you! She must be so pleased. I can’t wait to see her in it.’
‘You’ll see her sooner than that, actually. She should be meeting me at King’s Cross if this train arrives before she has to be at the theatre,’ Josephine explained, tucking in to her meal and encouraging Elspeth to do the same. ‘I’ll introduce you if you’d like to meet her.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful. You know, I can’t wait to tell Uncle Frank about all this. He’s seen
‘Is that who you’re staying with?’
‘Yes, I always do when I’m in London. He and my Aunty Betty have a shop in Hammersmith – shoes and knitwear, that sort of thing.’
‘Do you come down often?’
‘About once a month. I bring the hats and help out in the shop a bit. It’s a family business, so we all chip in. But Uncle Frank’s passionate about theatre. He collects memorabilia and drives Aunty Betty mad because there’s only a small flat above the shop and he packs it with stuff. When I’m down, we spend as much time as we can in the West End. He’ll be so thrilled when I tell him about my journey. I don’t suppose you could sign a copy of the programme for him and leave it at stage door, could you? Would it be too much trouble?’
‘Of course not, and I’ll sign your magazine as well if you like.’
She thought for a moment, then said: ‘Do you have your tickets for the show yet? I’ve got some reserved for the week and you’d be most welcome to join me one evening.’ It was unlike her to encourage intimacy in this way but, for some reason, she felt protective towards the young woman in front of her. Much to her surprise, the response to her question was a pink tide which began at Elspeth’s neck and rose slowly upwards.
‘Actually, I’m going with someone tomorrow night and he’s got us top price seats,’ she explained. ‘We’ve been out a few times and 10
he’s lovely. It’s his first job in theatre and he doesn’t get much time off, so I suppose the last thing he needs is to sit through it all again,’ she added, and instantly looked horrified. ‘Not that he doesn’t love the play, of course, it’s just . . .’
She tailed off, at a loss as to how to redeem herself, and Josephine came to her rescue. ‘Please don’t worry – if I could choose between another night with
As Elspeth blushed again and excused herself for a moment, Josephine asked for the bill. She looked on, amused, as the waiter transferred his attentions from Elspeth to another table, where he spent more time than was strictly necessary polishing a crystal glass for a young woman dining alone. This girl was more receptive, and she watched while the couple circled round each other, wondering what the outcome would be. When Elspeth reappeared, Josephine shook off her insistence that the bill should be halved and they headed back to their compartment.
At last, the carriages began snaking through the outskirts of the capital. How England’s cities were changing, Josephine thought, looking out at the small, modern houses and giant cine-mas which seemed to have sprung up everywhere. As the train slowed its speed still further and ran into a deep cutting, the dwindling daylight vanished altogether. When it returned, it gave form to the dark bulk of St Pancras and the Midland Grand, an edifice which would have looked more at home in a gothic tale of terror than it did next to the ordinary contours of King’s Cross.
