Christmas with Her Ex. Fiona McArthur

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      All the way to Venice.

      Kelsie blinked at the reflection in the window—the face staring back at her wasn’t hers. A woman, eyebrows raised in disapproval at her invasion of privacy, stared back haughtily and Kelsie blinked. Wake up.

      Her cheeks heated as she walked away. She’d been staring into the past—not the window. If she didn’t watch out she’d spoil her once-in-a-lifetime trip worrying about a man who had every right to hate her.

      Because maybe she should have waited to find out if Connor had agreed with her reasons. Talked about it with him. But by then it had been too late, and she’d lost touch and the confidence that he would forgive her.

      And her career had taken off until the serene, confident maternity unit manager she’d become barely resembled the young girl who’d run away instead of getting married. Except for the occasional misplaced item when she was tired.

      Kelsie strode purposefully up to the immaculately presented, blue-suited guard, his quaint round porter’s hat stiff with its gold-trimmed peak, the whole confection jammed importantly on his head. She presented her ticket as he held out his white-gloved hand.

      ‘Welcome to the Orient Express, madam.’ He bowed, took her satchel, assisted her up the steps like precious cargo, and once she was safely aboard gestured for her to follow him up the narrow wood-panelled corridor.

      Finally aboard the Orient Express, she could feel a smile plastered on her face.

      ‘Come this way, please.’

      The air inside swirled pleasantly cool around her still-hot cheeks and hinted of different perfumes and metal polish and cedar oil and old wood. Kelsie couldn’t help glancing into the cabins as she followed him, interested in her fellow passengers, she assured herself, not nervously checking for Connor, and most of the passengers looked up and smiled back.

      The cabin before hers held a young woman who seemed huddled in her coat, but the door was pulled shut as soon as she passed.

      Kelsie winced. She was going to have a good time if it killed her or she had to kill somebody else—namely Connor Black for making her doubt herself.

      The conductor stopped at her cabin and gestured grandly. ‘Your seat, madam.’

      Kelsie obediently sat. Not quite sure what she was supposed to do as the conductor gently hung her satchel on a big brass hook.

      He stepped back, facing her, and smiled, his teeth even and white, his blond hair crew cut around his ears. ‘Allow me to introduce myself.’ He bowed again. ‘I am Wolfgang. Your steward.’

      Volfgang, she repeated to herself with an inner smile.

      His English was precise and she guessed that, unlike herself, he was probably fluent in several languages. ‘I vill be caring for your needs, and those others also in this car, on our way to Calais. There you vill change for the Tunnel crossing.’ His precise English and accent matched his name and he suited the surroundings so appropriately, she had to smile, outwardly this time.

      ‘Thank you, Wolfgang.’ Kelsie perched on the long tapestry seat. The hanging neck pillows suspended by tapestry cords divided the seat into two. She realised she’d been lucky enough to face the direction they’d travel, thank goodness, and maybe she was even the single occupant for the next thirty-six hours. Hmm. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

      No. It was a good thing. She would imagine Agatha Christie with her and breathed in as she replaced the smile on her face.

      Everything was perfect.

      The little cabin was perfect, even prettier from the inside than it had looked when she had peered through the windows, and she noted there was only one crystal champagne flute on the pristine embossed Orient Express coaster on her tiny table so she probably did have the cabin to herself.

      She sat in solitary splendour, surrounded by the different-coloured woods of the parquetry wall panelling as they glowed with light, and she noted more brass hooks holding the deep blue silk bathrobes and velour slippers, one of which she could don should she wish to slip into something more comfortable. How decadent. Though perhaps not, especially at eleven in the morning.

      ‘Observe there is a sink for washing your face and hands if desired.’ Wolfgang pressed a lever and the tiny bench opposite transformed into a basin and taps. ‘There is a water closet at both ends of the car.’ He stared at a point at the top of the window to avoid meeting her eyes. ‘It is preferred that passengers refrain from use while the train is at a station.’

      Good grief. Now, that’s a salubrious thought. She chewed her lip to hold in a laugh as she nodded. ‘Of course,’ she murmured.

      He inclined his head. ‘Then excuse me. When our journey begins I will return with champagne and also to record your preference for the first or second dinner sitting.’

      Kelsie was tempted to ask which sitting the Blacks were on so she could choose the other but contented herself with, ‘Thank you.’

      She sat for a minute longer, trying to decide what to do when he left.

      ‘Acqua Panna.’ Kelsie sounded the words out on the complimentary water bottles on the bench of the washbasin hidey-hole. ‘Acqua has to be water.’ She picked one up, cracked the seal and took a sip as she surveyed the amenities.

      Facecloths, a hand towel, a beautifully boxed cake of soap she might just keep to remind her of the journey, toothbrush and paste, an art deco folder holding postcards and embossed VSOE paper and envelopes.

      Now she’d pretty well covered the contents of the cabin.

      She put the bottle back and stared at the angled wooden divide opposite. They were really quite snug, these compartments, standing room only before the wall of the adjoining cabin. Someone coughed next door and she heard it quite plainly but couldn’t distinguish the voices.

      At least she didn’t have an infectious companion locked in with her. She grinned to herself just as the train whistle shrieked a warning of departure.

      Kelsie stood and reached hastily for the table to steady herself as the carriage jerked, and peered out the window. They were easing out of the station. Her grin was back and the excitement of finally fulfilling her dream made her want to laugh.

      When she poked her head out of her cabin door other occupants had crammed into the corridor and were watching through the windows opposite as the world shifted, and she could imagine the wheels on the tracks below them begin to turn and pick up speed. They slipped past two bushy islands on their little spit of railway tracks on the way to the mainland of Italy.

      With a sense of urgency to take just one last look at Venice, she squeezed past an older couple in the tiny corridor and walked to the far end of the carriage, where she was able to pull down the sash window on the door she’d entered the train by.

      When she leaned out the cold wind blasted her face and she could see Santa Lucia station disappearing into the distance.

      She looked the other way and a dark-haired man had his head out the window half a dozen carriages up. A very familiar face turned her way and Connor Black surveyed her coolly.

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