Page 10 of The Secret Christmas Library
By the time she returned to the main section of the carriage, a table had been set up, also with more white linen. Theo was already there, and she noticed he was wearing a suit and tie.
‘You’re dressed for dinner?’
‘Of course,’ he said with some surprise.
Mirren glanced down at her dirty shirt that she’d been wearing all day and rubbed her tear-stained face. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Give me five minutes.’
She unpacked her suitcase on one of the pristine white-counterpaned beds, steadying herself as the train swayed along the tracks. To be inside both a house and a train at the same time was a discombobulating but enchanting experience. She stared out of the window in the dark, seeing, briefly, a lit-up platform, with ‘Watford’ just visible as it flashed past. This was not at all the way she normally thought of the signage for Watford. She wondered what people thought when they saw the carriage. Or perhaps they didn’t think a thing about it, didn’t even notice. Perhaps there were private trains travelling all over the railway network all the time. The royal family had had one, she knew. Maybe lots of people did, making their own way in the dead of night. The room had a faded tartan carpet on the floor and dull green walls; the same lowlight brass wall lamps, and real dark red curtains with tassels on them. Goodness, Mirren thought, looking longingly at the bed. She could get used to this.
She washed quickly and redid her make-up and pulled out the only dress she had brought, a lovely brick-red one, which she had figured could work for a Christmas event or a formalbusiness meeting depending on what exactly was required. She pulled down her curly hair and added a bit of lipstick, then crossly took it off again. She wasn’t putting it on for this guy, who last year had been absolutely charming, absolutely as interested in books as she was – and then had walked off without a second glance, back to his rich family and cosseted life.
There was a wonderful smell when she re-entered the main salon, the train jolting quietly along. She found herself wondering how the drunk lads’ party was going on, then found she didn’t care, because, here, tinkling music was playing and the table was laid with white linen and it was all so very lovely she could cry, again, but for different reasons from how her evening had started out.
The barman, who was clearly, in fact, a butler, drew out her chair. ‘Madam.’
She glanced at Theo, half-grinning, but his face was fairly straight; no doubt he was a bit more used to this kind of thing. Because he was an entitled doughnut, she told herself sternly. She had just forgotten what great hair the entitled doughnut had: a bit too long, sticking up here and there, little sideburns which might be out of fashion but she couldn’t help liking them anyway. Argh. She had to stop this.
‘Some wine, madam?’ said the butler, uncorking a crystal decanter.
Well, that was well known to help her make good decisions, Mirren thought with a sigh.
‘Yes, please.’
The delicious smell turned out to be French onion soup.
‘You can have another course if you want it,’ said Theo, ‘but it’s after nine.’
‘No, no, this is fine,’ said Mirren, taking in the delicious smell. It was covered in toasted French bread with melted Emmental and masses of black pepper. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she sighed. ‘This is so good.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Theo. ‘It’s basically a late-night cheese-on-toast delivery system.’
She smiled. The butler came and refilled their glasses and set the decanter down between them.
‘There is cranachan in the fridge, and help yourself to anything, of course,’ he said, indicating the bar area. ‘But if there’s nothing further?’
‘Thank you,’ they both said, and watched as he left the carriage, back into the main section of the train. For a moment, as the door opened, there was a noisy rattling sound of the wind, then all was sealed and quiet again.
They looked at one another.
‘Did he just . . . completely vanish?’ said Mirren.
‘Oh, yeah, I think, every time they have one of these journeys, the butler has to throw himself off the moving train rather than get in the way.’
‘Oh, stop it,’ said Mirren, smiling despite herself.
She finished the soup, which was warming, with a good slug of brandy in it, and found herself scouring the bowl with the very good bread. Theo looked at her, smiling.
‘You were hungry.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not, usually, this time of night. But I’ve had a tough day.’
She explained about the mugging and Theo made sympathetic noises in all the right places, even though Mirren was still thinking,Well,that guy stole my phone from me. You stole my self-confidence, my faith in myself as someone worth dating.
‘So,’ she said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Tell me about this missing book.’
‘Absolutely not,’ he said, sipping his wine with an amused expression on his face. There was a rattle at the windows and Mirren glanced over. Hail.
‘How can you lose a book in your own house?’
