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Briers
When Lady Siward returned from the bedroom sporting the clean linen that Bassett had provided, both Briers and Bassett took some pains to compliment her on her appearance. She was dressed with her usual elegant restraint, but Briers knew that she had expected to be at her own house in London by now. When Miles reappeared, cool in Navy blue linen, trimmed and buttoned in white, that no longer showed an indecent amount of leg, they both continued the praise, because it was clear that Miles was on edge.
"I had to borrow a pair of your socks," he said and cast a glance down at the curve of - yes, he actually was sporting a bit more bosom. "Now fashion's changed for a more 'nipped in at the waist' look it's going to be harder to pass myself off without more padding."
"Or maybe a corset?" Briers suggested and they all laughed. But Briers had to admit that the mental image of Miles, wasp-waisted and flushed, was something to be cherished. Not that it would happen, more's the pity, because he knew how careful Miles was to keep his times as Millie separate from his trysts with Briers, and Briers loved his little prude far too much to insist. Of more immediate concern was Bassett's open admiration.
"Why, Siward, you do dress up nice," he said. "I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. But we need to get a move on now."
He escorted the 'ladies' downstairs while Briers carried most of the bags, but Briers got his own back by making Bassett load up the car while he and Miles saw Lady Siward into the back of it and then stood by making helpful comments.
"This is the only drawback to your disguise," Briers muttered to Miles. "Me having to do all the heavy work. Honest, Bassett, I know it's hard to believe, but Siward is perfectly capable of shifting all this on his own. Don't let the silk stockings fool you."
"It would be breaking character for me to carry my own bags," Miles said with a smile. "Besides, we are being watched." He inclined his head towards the windows to the concierge's office, where the curtain was twitching.
"Oh, don't worry," Briers said. "You can handle all the bags when we get to London. Fair's fair."
With Bassett at the wheel, and pushing the pace a little, they reached the station in good time, found a place to park and obtained a porter with a trolley. Briers linked arms with Miles and allowed Bassett to accompany Lady Siward into the station as the porter cleared their way. As usual, while out and about with Millie, he felt excitement mingled with just a little apprehension. Miles was good, better even that when Briers had first got to know him, but discovery was always a possibility. Miles, too, was looking around, possibly disliking the press of passengers making their way along the platform, perhaps finding the pace set by the porter a bit much while wearing unaccustomed heels. Briers patted his hand, and Millie squeezed Briers's arm and smiled up at him. It was an intimate, teasing smile, very appropriate for a young couple much in love, and Briers's heart melted.
"Perhaps we could do this again some time," Miles murmured. "Only for fun, rather than work. I really enjoy train travel."
Briers chuckled. "So do I. Private compartment, lockable door. We'd have to come up with things to do to while away the time."
"Crossword puzzles?" Miles suggested and grinned as he heard Briers's indrawn breath.
"I think we could do better than that," Briers assured him.
With the porters help, it didn't take them long to reach their carriage and lift the cases onto the train. Bassett helped them heave them along to their compartment and lift the cases on racks and set Lady Siward’s dressing-case to hand, then they went back to the door of the carriage with Bassett to say goodbye.
"It's a long old journey but you should be comfortable enough," Bassett said. "And you were right about Pritchard. I spoke to him myself and I've never heard a gentleman's gentleman sound less perturbed. He'll see you in Budapest."
"Thank you for everything," Lady Siward said shaking Bassett's hand, "and please pass on my regards to Timmy."
"Timmy?" Bassett's eyes goggled. "Who the heck's Timmy?"
"Your Mr Pennington. I believe he is head of your office?"
"Timmy!" Bassett and Briers breathed the name in unison.
"Yes, Lady Siward," Bassett's smile was beatific, "I'll be sure to pass on your greetings. Ooh, there's the whistle. Take care, now."
"Take care, Bassett." Miles smiled and shook his hand as well. "Oh look out."
Behind Bassett the crowd parted as two young men hared towards the train yelling for someone to open the door. Each carried a suitcase, between them they carried a large steamer trunk, and both were laughing. Bassett darted aside and Miles threw the door open. "Quick," he shouted.
Briers put him aside and reached out to grab a case, tucked it inside, then a handle of the trunk. As the train pulled away both young men piled inside, collapsing onto their luggage. One was massive, at least six foot three, with rather long blond hair falling over his large guileless blue eyes. The other, smaller and calmer - though he, too, seemed amused - was a slim dark-skinned man with evening wear under his overcoat.
"Thank you, thank you," called the blond in heavily accented English. Russian then, very well dressed though perhaps just a little shabby.
"Yeah, that was most kind of you." The American grinned, teeth white against mahogany skin, and tipped his hat to Miles and Lady Siward. "Ma'am. C'mon, Nik. Let's find our compartment."
"So much energy," Lady Siward murmured peering out of the window once the two had passed. "Oh, and there goes Mr Bassett. He's such a helpful young man."
"I'll be sure to tell him that next time I see him," Briers promised as they made their way back to their compartment. "But for now I'm quite excited to hear that the Old Man is a Timmy. He doesn't look like a Timmy!"
Miles glanced back over his shoulder, eyes alight with amusement and Briers reached out to take his hand, delighted to be able to do so.
"He did when I knew him," Lady Siward slid back the door of their compartment and prodded the seat before sitting down. "One of those terribly earnest young pink and white sub-lieutenants, terribly afraid of giving offence but quite proud of his new insignia. He was almost as adorable as you were at the same age."
"How mortifying for him," Miles said, taking the seat beside Briers. From his tone, he was heartily sick of being accused of being adorable - although, in Briers eyes, he was. "What does he look like now, Brian?"
It was easy to fall back into the habit of using their old false names now they were out and about with the passports and papers of Brian and Millie Carstairs in their pockets.
"He looks like a man who had a good war and made it through to be one of our youngest section heads," Briers said. "Less of the pink and white and more wind burned and battered. I think the Navy does that to you. Bobbin' on the oggin and all that, and let's not even mention torpedoes."
Lady Siward grimaced. "No, let's not."
#
The compartment was fairly standard for European rail travel with bench seats on either side, a door with shutters onto the corridor, and opposite that another door with a window that could be let down. Their cases were small enough to fit on the netted racks overhead, which just was as well; Briers knew from experience that one never knew what might happen, and it was good to keep necessities close to hand. Both Miles and Lady Siward were experienced travellers and had packed essentials in Lady S’s dressing-case, and Briers could make do - at a pinch - with what he carried about his person. Not least of these was the loaded Browning with a spare cylinder holstered under his left arm. Miles was armed too - the handbag Bassett had procured for him seemed remarkably heavy for its size - but they'd had words on previous occasions about keeping one's weapon loaded; Briers decided to take the first opportunity to find out. For the moment, though, they needed to amuse Lady Siward, so Miles produced a deck of cards and suggested a game of whist.
"A pity we haven't a fourth," Miles's mother said. "I'd love to polish up my bridge skills. The French Ambassador and his wife are lethal and it doesn't do to be too easy to beat."
"Maybe when we reach the hotel?" Briers suggested. "But for now ..." He took another trick, and Miles groaned.
"You're sharps, the pair of you," he said. Briers grinned at him - sitting so primly, ankles crossed, one cool blonde strand of hair sweeping his cheek. Miles eyed him sidelong and put down exactly the card Briers had been wanting.
Cards palled after a while and Lady Siward requested a moment to attend to personal needs. Miles offered to accompany her as far as the convenience and Briers decided that, while they were occupied, a walk through the train would be in order. There were two first class carriages, each with separate compartments linked by a long corridor at the end of which were toilets; Briers hoped for Lady Siward's sake that these were in good condition. Behind the two carriages was a dining car, and Briers headed for it. Beyond that would be the baggage and guard's vans: a familiar layout. Briers felt sorry for the third class ticket holders, who would be packed together on wooden benches close to the engine with smuts and smoke whirling in through the windows.
Their compartment was situated close to the front of the second first class carriage; Briers strolled along the corridor making a show of not peering into the compartments he passed, while being very aware of who was in there. The compartment next door contained the two men who had so nearly missed the train and a clergyman. Several officers of the Serbian army were in another compartment, one dozing over a book, one sound asleep wrapped in his greatcoat and two more sharing a paper. There were business men reading their papers, and another group with a bulky fellow giving dictation to a secretary while another cast in the same mould made notes beside the columns of an account book. There was a family of six complete with nanny, packed in with babies on knees and Papa reading a story. There was another compartment with blinds partially-drawn and two women inside, one of whom was sleeping while the other set stitches in the hem of something glittery. The sleeping girl had a mass of violently red hair and a profile that Briers recognised, but he wasn't sure where from. He walked on, frowning, because it wasn't often his memory let him down, and emerged into the open area at the end of the car. There he paused to open the window and light his pipe, needing the comfort of the smoke but unwilling to subject Lady Siward to it. Miles claimed to enjoy the scent of pipe smoke, but then Miles claimed to enjoy a lot of things that made Briers happy. Briers had made a list of the wholehearted ones and the one or two that didn't quite ring true. In this case he thought Miles's enjoyment was genuine, but mostly - and Briers made no apology for the considerable feeling of smugness that swept over him - because it was Briers's pipe and choice of tobacco, smoked by Briers and a powerful sensory confirmation that they were together again. Briers had a very similar reaction to Miles's choice of cologne, whichever it happened to be that day, and to Miles's soft humming when he was concentrating on something.
The smoke of the pipe whipped away as he puffed, and he moved aside as a man stepped from the other carriage, paused to size him up and gave him a nod. He was medium sized, with dark hair greased to a mirror finish, dressed in the extreme of fashion Miles usually described as 'lounge lizard' but with a sharper than usual edge, and his Fairbanks moustache did little to camouflage a mouth like a knife cut. I bet myself ten bob he's American, Briers thought, raising his eyebrows at the stark black and white perfection of his shoes.
"The train is pretty full," the man said, his Serbian fluent but strongly tinged with an American accent. "Unless you want lunch at three you'd best book your table."
"Thanks for the advice," Briers said and moved up a little as the American took out a cigar case and matchbox.
With the cigar lit - a sniff suggested that they were first class tobacco - the man tossed the match aside and said, "Business or pleasure?" This time he said it in English, which suggested he was just as capable of reading a style as Briers.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Travelling?" The fellow's eyes had lit up in amusement. "Are you on vacation?"
"Oh? Oh, no." Briers gestured with his pipe. "I work in Belgrade, but my wife and mother-in-law want a week in London to do some shopping."
"Gotta keep the ladies happy." The man took another deep drag on his cigar then offered his hand. "Jonah Rudd," he said, "theatrical agent. I'm working. One of my clients has been on tour with a new film."
"A film?" The missing piece of information about the red-headed woman slotted into place. "Good grief, Ruby Aston?"
"You spotted her, huh? That red hair is hard to miss."
"I've only ever seen her on screen," Briers admitted. "I was thinking more of her nose. Remarkably pretty girl."
"She is indeed. And has an extremely active fan club in Belgrade."
"Fan club?" Briers waved his hand in front of his face.
Rudd rolled his eyes. "They're big in Hollywood. People who enjoy movies get together to talk about their favourite stars, and buy magazines and watch newsreels."
"Oh, like people who enjoy rugger or cricket!"
"Yes, sorta," Rudd gestured with his cigar. "But at the most elevated level, if you know what I mean, and since we were in Europe anyway I thought why not have a little detour to get some 'crowned heads of Europe' publicity, maybe even with a hint of romantic attachment."
"Oh, I see." Briers grinned. "I suppose that must - um - generate interest at home."
"We hope so." Rudd flicked ash down onto the tracks. "Any publicity is good publicity."
"Do you really think so?" There was something about Rudd that was raising Briers’s hackles. "I'd have thought excellent acting skills and really good movies were more important."
"You think?" Rudd inclined his head. "Maybe in your profession the goods are the most important thing, but I'm selling a dream."
Briers feigned a laugh. "Nobody cares if our stuff was hand-whittled under a new moon by virgins or not. They just want it on time and in the quantities ordered and of the expected quality. No dreams involved, other than that of getting the best possible exchange rate."
Rudd's thin red lips curved into a smile that was almost an insult and Briers beamed back at him before knocking his pipe out on the edge of the window.
"Well I had better go and book my table, hadn't I? I'll tell the missus that Ruby Aston is on the train. She'll be aux anges!"
#
"Who?" Miles said, when Briers got back to their compartment.
"Oh Millie, you're such a blue-stocking, darling!" Lady Siward had obviously been practising their mother/'daughter' relationship. "Ruby Aston is that pretty young film-star who specialises in wholesome, chaste yet spirited heroines. The one with all the hair. She was in - let me see - Cimarron Rose? No? I know you saw her in The Outlaw of Nottingham because we saw it together last time I was home."
"Oh, that one with all the hair! The one I said was a redhead. Is she, Brian?"
"Stridently," Briers plunked himself down on the seat next to Miles and stretched out his legs. "With the freckles to match. They must white them out or something, because I'd never noticed them before. "
"So, you're smitten then?" Miles eyebrows rose.
"Not to any great extent," Briers said, "but I lost my head for a moment and suggested that you are. I believe the term is 'fan'. A bit of blushing adoration and a request for an autograph might go down very well."
Miles poked him sharply in the side with a knuckle. "You're the giddy limit. Ma, you'll have to tell me what I should mention as being of particular note. So Outlaw of Northampton and... "
"Nottingham! Oh, don't mention that. It's an old one. Her true fans would gush over the latest offering." Lady S considered for a moment. "And I have no idea what that is."
"I'll just have to be star struck and tongue-tied then," Miles said and practiced clasping his hands under his chin and fluttering his eye-lashes in a way that made Briers want to turn him over his knee. "Is there anything else you've committed me to that I need to know about?"
"No, just that." Briers smiled at them both and added, "But the rather better news is that I have booked us a table for lunch. Twelve thirty, the first sitting, so everything should be good and fresh."
"Good for you," Lady Siward said. "And then I'll have a nap. Never let it be said that age doesn't have a few privileges."
#
They made their way to the dining car at twelve twenty-eight precisely and Briers took some trouble to seat his charges in such a way that he could keep an eye on them both and get a good view of the dining car. Lady Siward sat opposite him by the window, and Miles on the aisle side. A brief shared glance full of meaning made it clear that Miles had grasped that his job was to monitor the part of the car out of Briers's view.
The dining car was busy and Briers regretted more than ever that he hadn't simply put Lady Siward and Miles in one of Paladin's fleet of motors and driven them out of the city to an aerodrome that wasn't fogged up. By now they could be in Turin - not that he'd have been happy taking either of them onto the ground of that particular regime - and caught a plane there to take them to London. Instead he was bottled up in this crowded space with no end of possible threats.
Over the soup, which wasn't that good but certainly not the worst thing he'd ever eaten, he contemplated the bunch of Serbian officers, who were sharing a couple of bottles of wine and appeared to be in excellent spirits. There was a stocky, blue-jowled businessman in a dark suit whom he had caught out in rapt contemplation of Miles's ankles as they walked in. Not that Briers blamed him for that, but the man had continued to stare once Miles was seated and had flushed and looked away when Briers made eye-contact with him. He didn't seem a likely candidate to be an international assassin - much too bulky and slow moving - but then maybe that would make him more successful. Even he was surely more likely than the grey-haired priest in the floor length cassock, who was eating his soup in small precise sips whilst reading from a massive leather-bound book.
"I say, Brian." Miles reached across to touch his wrist. "Is it my imagination, or is this soup incredibly salty?"
"Now you come to mention it ... I'll ask for some water." Briers looked along the car to summon the steward. Instead he caught the eye of Jonah Rudd, who nodded politely then pointed Briers out to the pretty red headed girl. "Ah, don't look now but Miss Aston and entourage have arrived. I think it might be good to show a reaction."
"I'll show you a reaction," Miles said, pretty blue eyes narrowed, but turned his head to look and gave a delightful performance of fluttery and flustered excitement. Lady Siward chuckled and joined in.
"Remember," she said, "Cimarron Rose and Outlaw of Nottingham - oh, I just remembered, her latest tour de force, acclaimed by critics both sides of the Atlantic, is The Lady and the Pirate."
"But it hasn't played at our local cinema so we have a good reason not to have seen it, while still looking forward to it enormously," Miles finished and beamed at his mother. "I think we can work with that, don't you, Brian?"
"Don't ask me," Briers said. "I'm a William Haines fan, myself."