A Night on the Orient Express (28 page)

Late in the afternoon, as the Orient Express drew closer to her final destination, an air of anticipation grew in the carriages. No one wanted to leave the cocoon of luxury they had grown used to, yet the glamour and allure of Venice were calling. Bags were packed; arrangements for travel were made. The barman distributed his final bills. Robert handed everyone back their passports and wished the inhabitants of his carriage all the best for the next leg of their adventure. He hated saying goodbye: he always felt as if he had made new friends.

He thought about everything that had gone on in his carriage over the past twenty-four hours. Riley’s proposal to Sylvie. The man who had come to reclaim his sweetheart. The Stone family, reconciled. And the girl with the beautiful hats. What would happen to her? he wondered. He would probably never find out.

They all still had Venice to continue their stories, he thought. Venice was a city that made things happen. It always had an effect. Venice made people wake up and open their eyes. Robert could already sense her magic as they drew near, onto the causeway that crossed the lagoon, steel-blue water rippling in the afternoon sunlight, luring the newcomers like a siren, weaving her spell. Venice changed people. It made them see the future for what it was.

I
t was astonishing, thought Adele later, how a seemingly successful and intelligent woman, who should have learned from her mistakes, could tell herself that something so intrinsically wrong was a good idea.

By February, Adele had convinced herself that she needed to go to Venice to replenish her stock – the gallery was doing surprisingly well. William needed no persuading. He was extremely proud of her.

‘Whatever you need to do to continue your success,’ he told her.

She was to go for nine days. She arranged for someone to sit in at the gallery in her absence – she had a small network of people who worked there on an ad hoc basis. If anyone wanted to buy a painting the prices were clear, or they could wait for her return.

She didn’t think about the consequences of what she was going to do. All she could think about was having Jack to herself, in a foreign country, for several nights. Having his undivided attention. Seeing him, feeling him, smelling him again at Christmas had reawakened her desire. She now missed him so much she ached, every part of her, her mind and her body and her soul. She didn’t chastise herself for undoing all the hard work she had achieved, surviving without him for all that time.

They arranged to travel down to Venice on the Orient Express. That in itself made the trip an adventure. Adele had never slept on a train before: it seemed such a romantic notion. To get to the Orient Express, they had to meet in Paris. Jack was already there, as he had several meetings set up. Adele made her way on her own, down the coast by train, then over the Channel by ferry, and then on a train again. She’d never travelled so far alone; she’d never been abroad on her own. Excitement and anxiety jostled for supremacy in her stomach, meaning she couldn’t face anything more substantial than a cup of strong coffee with plenty of sugar.

They were due to meet at the Gare de l’Est. The air was cold and full of mist. The Orient Express was waiting in the station, pulled by a steam engine, huge, majestic and determined. The station was busy, the air filled with foreign chatter as men and women swept back and forth, crossing her path while she searched for Jack. What would she do if he wasn’t there? She felt very far from home and rather fearful. If he chose to abandon her, she would have no idea what to do. Get on the train regardless? Make her way back home?

As she began to panic, she asked herself what kind of fool arranges to meet a man who’s not her husband at a foreign railway station? People were looking at her, and she felt vulnerable. She obviously had the air of someone who didn’t have a clue what she was doing. It would only be a matter of time before some criminal gang closed in on her and she was swept off to be sold into slavery . . .

Someone brushed up against her and she jumped, her nerves shredded. She heard a familiar laugh; an arm wrapped itself around her, and warm lips brushed her ear. Lack of food, worry and relief made her head spin.

Within minutes Jack had arranged for the porter to take her luggage and had swept her on board. It was as if she had been transformed into royalty. They were shown to their cabin with much pomp and circumstance. Adele was swept away by the magic of it. As they waited for the train to leave the station, she stood by the window as Jack held her tighter than he had ever held her before.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, and she knew he didn’t say those words lightly. It made her heart swell with love and longing.

The train journey was unforgettable. The feeling of freezing fog in her lungs when she leant out of the window, combined with the sharp scent of burning coal. The intermittent sound of the whistle as the train thundered along the track. The countryside flashing past; things she wanted to look at gone in an instant – farms, villages, churches, lakes, rivers, cattle. An endless supply of food and drink to their cabin, brought by the most charming white-gloved steward who couldn’t do enough for them.

But most of all she adored having Jack to herself. There were other guests on board, of course, but they didn’t know them, so it wasn’t the usual social whirl, with people crowding round him to get his attention, and for once Jack didn’t seem as desperate to forge new friendships as he usually did. He was content with her. She had him alone, all to herself, his undivided attention, and it was wonderful. Just Jack and Adele in their tiny cabin, tangled in each other’s arms. Drinking calvados straight from a bottle he had stashed in his luggage – it made her splutter but she loved the fire it lit inside her. Writing love letters on the Orient Express notepaper – she tucked one under his pillow for him to find at bedtime and he laughed when he read it, then sent her one back. Sitting on the end of the bench looking out at the snow-capped Dolomites, his chin resting on her head as she lay back against him, gazing at the wisps of cloud. Cold fingers on warm skin; even warmer lips.

Their lovemaking was fierce and intense, much more so than ever before. During it, they were the only people in the world. He looked down at her, and she felt as if she had been taken to a higher plane. It made her sob, for she had no control. She had no idea that a woman could feel like this. Maybe other women didn’t? Maybe it was just her? She certainly didn’t know how she could carry on a normal life again.

The train arrived in Venice. Adele thought at first that the city was a hallucination, a mirage brought on by the intensity of the train journey and her emotional state, something her fevered imagination had conjured up. How could this be real, this breathtaking city floating on water, the softness of the stone almost dissolving into the sea, a miasma of turquoise and terracotta and ochre topped with a froth of white cloud?

The private boat they took from the station drew up to the Cipriani, which was on Giudecca, the island from where so many of the iconic views of Venice had been painted. Adele held onto Jack’s hand and stepped onto the steps that led to the hotel reception. She felt like a princess, a goddess. The sun broke through the white clouds as she began to walk, bathing the hotel in a coral glow.

This was, she knew, the moment in her life when she was to be her happiest. Nothing else had or would ever come close.

She spent the days on her own while Jack had meetings, accompanying him on the boat that took guests over to the jetty by St Mark’s Square, then exploring the city with a guidebook, entirely overwhelmed, convinced she had stepped into a fairytale. She made a half-hearted attempt to look for the stock that was supposed to be her alibi, but she was too entranced by the city and the romance of her situation to be able to concentrate. She felt as if she had been bewitched. Her usual businesslike aura evaporated and she wandered the streets almost in a daze, until the evenings when they met up and took the boat back to the hotel. Jack laughed at her passion, her enthusiasm for this tiny city.

‘You’re under its spell,’ he told her. ‘But it’s not surprising. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t fall in love with it. How could you not?’

On the last day they spent the morning at the hotel. They were due to take lunch with a business contact of Jack’s. The Fantini family were marble merchants, and supplied many sculptors with stone, several of whom were Jack’s protégés, so they had much to discuss.

They sat by the window looking out over the sparkling water. Adele looked up to see a slight figure moving through the dining room, her arms outstretched and a wide smile on her face. Jack jumped to his feet and was immediately enveloped in a theatrical embrace.

‘Adele, this is Sabrina. Sabrina Fantini. They have sent their deadliest weapon to do business with me.’ He was grinning from ear to ear.

Adele had never seen anyone so beautiful in her life.

Sabrina wore a dress of black silk taffeta, with a full skirt that showed off her tiny waist. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, and her heels were high, yet she barely reached Jack’s shoulder.

Sabrina turned to greet her, exuding the same warmth she had to Jack, holding her close.

‘Adele. I’ve heard so much about you. Jack speaks of you all the time. And you are as beautiful as he described.’

Adele knew she was foolish to glow at these words, but she couldn’t help it. To know that Jack had talked about her to someone else meant so much. She felt validated, more secure in her position.

Throughout lunch Sabrina entertained them, regaling them with behind-the-scenes gossip from the Biennale, the infamous art festival which had been held the year before, and tales of her extended family. Adele was riveted: it was all so alien to her, so glamorous, so far removed from her parochial existence. She couldn’t keep her gaze off Sabrina. Her eyes, thick with liner and fringed with ridiculous lashes, flashed and sparkled as she spoke in a stream of heavily accented English interspersed with Italian exclamations. Adele gave up trying to understand what she was saying. Jack drank and listened and occasionally laughed.

Over coffee he excused himself for a moment. Adele felt awkward left alone with Sabrina, with no idea what to say or ask or do. But it was as if Sabrina had been waiting for this moment. She put a hand on her arm. Her fingers were the longest and most slender she had ever seen; the nails on the end dipped in blood-red lacquer.

‘How did you manage it?’ Her eyes gleamed with intrigue. ‘You have tamed the infamous Jack Molloy.’

Adele was puzzled.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Sabrina laughed. ‘You don’t need to pretend. Four years ago I was sitting in that chair you are sitting in right now, hoping, praying . . .’ she threw her hands up in a gesture of helplessness, rolling her eyes. ‘Wanting him to look at me the way he looks at you. I didn’t think he was capable of it . . .’

She trailed off, looking sad. Adele felt sick.

‘You love him?’ she asked, horrified.

‘No. Loved. Loved.’ Sabrina stroked her arm. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, carissima. I am no threat. I can see that.’ She gave a twisted smile. ‘Usually by now he would have come to find me. Lured me into his bed to have his wicked way. Not that I ever minded. But this time
. . .’

She shook her head.

Adele was astonished. To think that Jack would pass over this exotic creature in favour of her? Unless Sabrina was playing a game of double bluff? But Adele didn’t think so. She was quite genuine. There was no side to her. She was just being honest and frank about her feelings, in a way that Adele, with her small-town Shallowford mentality, wasn’t used to.

Adele looked into Sabrina’s eyes and she saw pain and longing that were only too familiar. She had seen those emotions in her own reflection so many times. She felt a sliver of fear enter her soul, even though, according to Sabrina, she had won the battle and captured Jack’s heart, against the odds. She was taken back, back to the Irish girl’s warning that night outside Simone’s, the night she had become Jack’s lover. The girl had warned her Jack was a monster, that he had no feelings for anyone, but Adele now knew for certain he did, that she had broken the spell. But what good had that done her? She couldn’t fool herself any longer. She felt impending doom, perhaps because she knew this dream had to come to an end. She wanted to remain here forever, with her lover, but how could she?

She had responsibilities. She could hardly abandon the gallery now it was doing so well. The boys were due home in a week’s time for the Easter holidays. She felt sad that the last time they had come home for half term they hadn’t seemed to need her so much. They were getting so big, so independent. But she was still their mother. She had bought them chocolate rabbits in a chocolate shop off St Mark’s Square the day before, only suddenly they seemed a bit babyish for them. It made her want to cry.

Adele picked up her coffee and drank. It was dark and bitter, like the feeling that was wrapping itself round her heart.

Later that afternoon the sun went from Venice. Jack went to see a dealer in the Dorsoduro and Adele continued her tour, but the warmth and colour had gone from the city. It was as if all the pigment had slipped from the stone and into the water, which became as muddy and dark as the water used to clean an artist’s brush. The little streets felt gloomy and claustrophobic, the canals forbidding; the sky above her pressed down, grey and unkind.

The two of them were quiet during dinner, knowing they were going to leave the next day.

‘We need to talk,’ said Adele.

‘No, we don’t,’ said Jack.

‘We can’t carry on like this forever.’

‘Why not?’