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Miles
The soup was far too salty for Miles's taste, so he was glad to set it aside and banter with Briers and his mother. Pretending to be an ardent admirer of an actress about whom he knew rather more than he'd let on wasn't going to be that difficult, and he looked forward to letting Briers know that he had been misled. But he was still very thirsty, and so was relieved when the steward approached.
He gave them an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Yes, of course I will bring water - but as you see we are full up, almost," he said, "so I wonder if you would be kind enough to share your table? We have two gentlemen to seat."
At the entrance to the dining car stood the two young men who had almost missed the train. The frankly enormous youth, with the tapered silhouette of an athlete, was eyeing the contents of a nearby table with a hungry expression that reminded Miles of the golden retriever owned by the game-keeper at the Siward country home in Shropshire. It wasn't until he shifted slightly that Miles spotted the other, older, slighter man behind.
"Why of course, we'd be delighted," Ma said.
"Thank you, I will fetch your water at the same time," the steward said and hurried away.
"So what have we got?" Briers asked. He could see perfectly well and make up his own mind but liked to hear Miles make snap assessments
"There's a very tall blond young man, mid twenties, would make an excellent fast bowler, and both from the cut of his suit and his accent - which I heard earlier - a Russian. And a somewhat older gentleman, early thirties perhaps, dressed in good tweeds but not British-made and not very new, possibly of African extraction but I think I heard an American twang when they boarded the train," Miles said.
Briers nodded approvingly, then his eyes sharpened.
Miles glanced along the gap between the rank of tables and saw the steward repeating his request to Ruby Aston and coterie. Jonah Rudd was answering in a short peremptory phrase that made Ruby's head come up. Her glare could have melted rocks, but Jonah waved a hand and carried on. A few moments later the Russian was being seated at Ruby Aston's table and the steward, bearing a tray with a water jug and four glasses, led the other man over to Miles’s party.
"If sir will be seated," he said, "I will bring another tray."
The dark-complexioned man gave them an apologetic smile. "Thank you so much for allowing me to join you."
"Nonsense," Ma said with a grin. "We're delighted to have you, please sit down."
Once they were all seated again, Ma slipped into hostess mode and took over the introductions. Their guest smiled and nodded, then said "I'm Arisitide Lacroix from New Orleans. I am a pianist."
"Oh I say," Miles said. "Do you play jazz and rag-time?"
"Madame," Lacroix shrugged, "I will play anything anyone will pay me to play. I have been in the house band at a large hotel in Athens, but am on my way to London to take up a position there."
"In London?" Ma smiled and offered to pour Lacroix some water. "I hope they treat you well. You must let us know where so we can come and hear you?"
A little more colour deepened the hue of Lacroix's cheeks and he muttered his thanks and began to relax as Ma exerted all her charm to put him at his ease.
Miles listened, letting Ma make the conversation, and after about ten minutes - once the steward had offered Lacroix soup and he, on their advice, turned it down - Miles caught Briers's eye and gave him the 'we need to talk' signal they had perfected. Lacroix seemed a very nice young man and his story was hanging together well, but there was something - Miles wasn't sure what - that made Miles feel that he wasn't what he seemed.
They continued to chat and eat - the rest of the meal was far better than the soup - and, as they toyed with post dinner coffee, a very unpleasant thought struck Miles. Could he be judging Lacroix more harshly because of his colour? After all he hadn't looked twice at the young Russian, but here was Mr Lacroix, talking so nicely to Ma and exchanging smiles so readily with Briers, and Miles was assuming he was up to something. Surely not everyone on the train could a representative of a foreign power?
A familiar name caught Miles's attention and he said, "I know some people at the Scala Theatre. The stage manager and wardrobe mistress. When you see them, please give them my regards."
"Mrs Carstairs, right?" Lacroix nodded. That odd feeling came back ten-fold. Lacroix's expression was as affable as ever but he had drawn in a little, as though expecting to be burned. "I'll certainly pass your message on."
"Where are you staying in Budapest?" Briers asked.
"I booked a through ticket," Lacroix said, "so I'll just catch the express at midnight. It's a pity because I've heard that the divine Miss Baker is playing in Budapest tonight. I would have loved to see her."
"Why not stop over?" Ma suggested. "Unless the Scala is expecting you soon."
"Well, I do have a week before I take up my new position." Lacroix considered. "It all depends on whether I'd be able to transfer my ticket."
"You could ask when we get to the station, surely?"
"You know, Lady Siward, I might just do that." Lacroix put his coffee cup aside and looked at his watch. "Now I must go - I have arrangements to go over. Got to be note perfect, haven't I?"
They shook hands and Briers stood to say goodbye, then Lacroix - well, 'fled' would be a bit of an exaggeration, but he didn't waste any time getting out of the dining car.
"Poor young chap," Ma said. "I hope I didn't embarrass him by quizzing him like that."
"No, he seemed happy enough," Briers said. "Unlike my lovely wife who, I believe, has something to say?"
"Really?" Ma's eyebrows rose. "About that nice young man?"
"Mr Lacroix may still be a very nice young man, but I don't believe that he's exactly who he says he is. Bet you - half a crown."
"Hah, I'll take that," Briers said with a grin. "I can't hear anything wrong with him."
"I've not studied American accents the way I have European ones, but there's an inflection in his voice and his word choices. If he hadn't stated otherwise I'd say he was trying to hide being English. But the big thing - "
"As if the accent wasn't enough."
"Shut up, Briers. The big thing is that the Scala is a cinema now. Rita and Jimmy have moved to the Adelphi. So unless he's going to play piano for silent films ..."
"Ah," Briers nodded. "Bet you a shilling he doesn't turn up at the Grand, but if he does the drinks are on you and you can ask him."
"But that would be horribly rude," Ma said. "Now, if you two young things have quite finished, I think Miles and I have a film star to lionise?"
#
Lionising Ruby was easier said than done. When Miles and Ma approached her and introduced themselves, she cut off their adulation by rising from her seat to welcome them.
"Why, I'm so pleased to meet you! I'm Ruby, and this is my good friend Janice. She really keeps me on the straight and narrow, you know." The two girls exchanged affectionate smiles before Ruby continued with the introductions. "Jonah here is my manager and this," she indicated the Russian, "is Nik - Nikolai Utkin, I should say, who joined us for lunch as we were just about finishing. He's from Russia and used to be in the ballet."
Utkin tried to stand but nudged the table and almost tipped his plate. "Charmed, madame and - er," he glanced at the ring on Miles hand, "madame," he said.
"You carry on with your lunch, Nik," Ruby advised. "Don't let it get cold. Say, rather than us standing here clutterin' up the dining car, how 'bout we go back to my compartment and we can have a proper visit?"
There was only one polite response to that suggestion and Miles and Ma made it. "We'd be delighted," Miles said. "I've always wondered just how you get your - what are they? Illusions? I mean, I don't suppose you actually build a whole castle or the souk in Marrakesh or Kingston, Jamaica."
"Oh I couldn't possibly give away secrets," Ruby said. "At least not in public. See ya later, Nik."
Nikolai, partway through a generous portion of goulash, sat to apply himself to his plate. Jonah, who had responded with the bare minimum of politeness, followed them as far as the door of Ruby's compartment, then made an excuse that he needed to get some fresh air.
"And good riddance," Janice murmured, so softly that Miles barely caught it. Ma followed Ruby and her helper into the compartment, then Miles stepped inside as well and closed the door.
"Please, make your selves at home," Ruby said, her accent suddenly a lot less folksy. "And thank you for coming to talk to us. Jonah is very choosy about who he lets us speak to and, I dunno, it's just nice to hear new voices."
"And nice not to pretend you're straight off the farm?" Miles suggested, and both girls laughed.
"Exactly that. I'm proud to admit I was brought up on a ranch - riding, shooting, roping cows and all the rest of it - but I shook the straw off my boots a good few years back. Tell me all about yourselves."
Miles and Ma exchanged smiles and Miles said, "There's not a lot to tell really. My husband, Brian - "
"The tall, dark, good-looking one in the Lovat tweeds," Ruby said. "We noticed him."
"Ah yes," Miles grinned, "well he works in Belgrade for a company that acts as a go-between for local businesses and suppliers in England. Heavy machinery, steel and tin plate, good quality steam coal, that sort of thing. Very necessary but not terribly romantic. So films like yours are a godsend."
"Not that we've seen the most recent one," Ma interjected. "Such a pity, because I do love pirates."
"Oh, so do I," Ruby said. "But we got horribly wet and cold filming the storm scenes and I wasn't too well afterward, so I got Jonah to negotiate with the studio to let me go on vacation. This is my first visit to Europe, and I'm enjoying it enormously."
"Where are you planning to go next?" Miles asked.
"Paris," Ruby smiled. "Doesn't every girl want to visit Paris? I want to see everything! The galleries, the nightlife. The museums."
"And shopping," Janice added. "Time to get a really classy wardrobe."
"Oh shopping!" Ma smiled and took up the conversation, leaving Miles to listen, glean information, and chip in the occasional comment when appealed to.
They were an attractive couple of girls, both a little younger than he was, and Ruby - stunning though she was - had an unstudied and very natural charm accentuated by the way she spoke. Miles had never heard anything quite like her soft and drawling accent. Janice's manner of speaking was very different from Ruby's, calm and clipped, with a much more British-sounding delivery. Miles paid close attention, making a mental note of it because he felt it was one he might be able to emulate if it was ever necessary for him to pretend to be an American.
The discussion of clothes slid easily into a discussion of film costumes, and from there to the films themselves. There was no denying that Ruby was a success, but Miles got the feeling that stardom meant little to her and she was much more interested in the acting.
"Have you ever done any stage work?" he asked.
Ruby and Janice glanced at each other and Ruby shook her head. "Not yet," she said. "Oh, but it's my ambition to be on Broadway or the West End - or somewhere like that. I've loved being in movies, but - well, once you've played one hard-shootin', darned tootin' damsel in distress that's all you seem to be offered. Different centuries, same character. Just for once I'd like to try something a bit meatier. Like Lady Macbeth."
"Portia," Janice said. "You'd make a great Portia."
"I've always thought Beatrice was a very satisfying role," Miles said, "though Benedick does tend to get the last word."
"Not in a well-regulated household," Ma said, and giggled.
#
They chatted for another quarter hour - Ruby did give away a few interesting cinematic secrets in exchange for the address of Ma's favourite Parisian milliner - then made their excuses.
"Well, she was actually a bit of a sweetheart," Ma said as she headed for their compartment. She paused to nod and smile to the enormous young Russian who gave her a beaming grin in response, then hurried to knock at the door of Ruby's compartment; Miles felt if he'd had a tail he'd have wagged it. Once past him, Ma continued. "One tends to assume those Hollywood types are going to be really superficial and demanding, but she seemed - I don't know - "
"Perfectly normal," Miles suggested. "I liked Janice, too, but that Rudd creature is the absolute limit."
"Indeed, the type of man our mothers warned us about."
"You never warned me, Ma."
Ma fizzed with laughter, then nodded to the compartment. "Look, our blinds are down. Poor Briers. Maybe we wore him out and he's having a nap?"
A strong sense of wrongness swept over Miles.
"Oh, Ma, I don't think - " He had no chance to say more; Ma had already thrown the door open and stepped inside. Miles reached for her, but a strong hand fastened on his wrist and yanked him off his feet. Miles stumbled into Ma, almost knocking her flying, and he heard the door slam. He turned, spreading his hands and using his shoulders to block access to his mother.
One of the businessmen who had been at a nearby table leaned against the door with a heavy pistol in his hand, trained on Miles face.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Miles demanded. "How dare you!"
"Be quiet," the man said. "No trouble and you won't be hurt."
"Who are you?" Miles said, his voice mingling with his mother's anxious, "Don't shoot. Please. Don't hurt ... her."
"You will not be hurt if you do as I say," the man said. He gestured with the pistol. "Sit down and put your hands on your heads."
"Don't be so ridiculous," Miles said, raising his voice a little to see if he'd get away with it.
"Sit down and do as you're told."
"M-Millie please," Ma whispered. "Let's see what he wants. I'm sure this must be some kind of misunderstanding."
"I'm sure you're right," Miles said, and reluctantly took a seat. It was not a good position from which to launch an attack. Miles shifted to get his feet under him, hoping that his movement might be put down to nervousness.
The armed man edged back until his head was level with the door jamb and he reached behind him to crack the door open and peer out. "Your protector is engaged elsewhere," he said. "So be still. Soon the train will slow, there is a crossing and a curve. You will jump."
"We will do no such thing," Ma said, her voice breaking to an anxious squeak. "Even at ten miles an hour we could break a leg - or our necks. It's a ridiculous idea."
Slowly the man lowered the muzzle of his gun to point at Miles's knee. "Not ridiculous, a chance worth taking, or would you prefer I cripple your young lady now and make you jump after?"
"My husband will be back at any moment."
"But he will not be expecting me. Or my gun. Do you care at all for him, or are you happy for him to be shot?"
"You'll have to put a bullet through me first," Miles spat. "And that would give him time to break your neck."
"And then people will hear the bang," Ma added, "and come to see what's happened!"
"Ladies, you disappoint me. I thought you would have more sense than that."
Miles had been listening closely, weighing the emphases the man put on his words, the vowel sounds, the slight buzz on the 'th', and so he replied in French. "We have sense. We know, do we not, Maman, other people will be confused and not wish to believe what they heard? They will ask each other, 'was that a gunshot?' and meanwhile this imbecile, here, will have forced you off the train."
The French agent scowled, stepping forward, and the barrel of his gun wavered as he changed his point of aim again. It would have to do. Miles lashed out a hand, flicking the barrel of the weapon up to the ceiling, then forcing his thumb in behind the trigger. He closed his fist over barrel and hand, resisting the efforts to shake him off, and followed up with an attack, long practiced, of knee to crotch and bunched fingers to the hollow below the Adam's apple. The man's stiff collar protected his throat and he began to fight back. Ma shrieked for help in three different languages. Miles lost his breath as a fist caught him under the ribs and the heavier body began to bear him down. Briers always said that Miles would be outmatched hand-to-hand.
"Basically, my darling, you don't have the reach or the weight," Briers had said, helping him up for the third time. "In other words, you don't take a ballerina to a barn dance. Keep out of range and do your best to shoot the bastards."
Briers had hurt him worse than this while sparring. Miles spat out a word that well-bred young ladies didn't normally admit to knowing, butted at his opponent's chin hoping he might have a glass jaw, grabbed for his balls and wrenched.
The man let out an anguished croak and hit Miles again, this time so hard that he lost his breath and felt his knees begin to give, but he didn't let go of the gun. Dimly he was aware of the door opening and a fast-moving figure darting in and interposing himself between the gun and Ma.
"Put the gun down. Oh Christ, no, don't shoot. No," someone shouted, a familiar voice but not ... there was something wrong with it. Miles caught his breath and tried to get his priorities straight. He kneed his attacker again and dodged a blow to the face that would probably have broken his jaw.
There was a loud crack and the fellow went limp, his weight tearing the gun out of Miles's grasp and nearly dislocating his thumb.
"Ow, damnation," Miles said, cradling his hand and hunching over his sore ribs.
Ma was crouched in the corner, barely visible behind Mr Lacroix and the elderly priest peered at the French spy around edge of the book of sermons he had hit him with.
"Language, Mi-Millie." Ma, as ever, rose magnificently to the occasion. "Thank you so much, M Lacroix, Father."
"My pleasure, ma'am," Lacroix said. He let out shuddery breath and nodded to the prone man. "Shall I get some help to deal with this?"
"Oh, if you would, dear boy," the priest said, and waited until Lacroix had gone before directing a sidelong and anything but fatherly grin in Miles direction. He raised an eyebrow and said, "And you, gnädige frau, it's a pleasure to see you again."
"Oh my goodness," Miles breathed, suddenly even more nervous. "Falk?"