A Night on the Orient Express Read Free

crossly. ‘Jack was an error of judgement. Everyone’s allowed to make mistakes.’
    This she believed firmly. You had to get things wrong, in order to get things right. And in the end, she had got things right . . .
    She dragged her mind back to the present. That was enough self-flagellation. She had plans to put into place. She was going to make some big changes, all for the better. She looked around the morning room, the room where she had made most of her important decisions. She loved its high ceilings and the sash windows looking over the river. In fact, she loved every square inch of Bridge House. Perfectly symmetrical, in a soft red brick, it sat, not surprisingly, by the bridge in Shallowford, quite the prettiest house in the little market town. Nicky, the estate agent and Imogen’s best friend, had told her it would be snapped up, probably before they had time to print the glossy brochures that showed off its perfect proportions, the walled garden, the dark-red front door with the arched fan light . . .
    For a moment, Adele felt doubt in her plan. She would miss this house terribly. She suffered a stab of resentment at having to give it up. She reminded herself that it was better to make difficult decisions while you were still in control, and before events overtook you. Determined, she unscrewed the lid from her fountain pen and pulled a pad of paper towards her. Adele was far from computer-phobic, but she still found writing things down focused her mind so much better.
    As she worked through her list, part of her conversation with Jack kept floating back.
    The Orient Express. It still ran from London to Venice; she knew that. An iconic journey. Possibly the most famous journey in the world. A plan began to form in her mind. She did a search on her computer, found the website she wanted, and browsed through the information. Before she had time to change her mind, she picked up the phone.
    ‘Hello? Yes, I’d like to book a ticket. A single to Venice, please . . .’
    As she waited to be connected to the right person, her gaze fell once more on the painting that hung over her desk. Jack was right – she hadn’t been much older than Imogen the day she’d bought it. The day it had all begun. It seemed like only yesterday . . .

Two
    B ridge House was ominous with silence. A silence that mocked and taunted, and made Adele turn on the wireless, the gramophone, even the television, although the received wisdom was that one only turned it on for the evening news, if one had any standards. But none of the voices filled the gaping hole left by two small but noisy boys who had been packed off to prep school for the first time.
    There was no thump of the football hitting the side of the house. No thundering up the stairs. No flushing of the loo in the downstairs cloakroom – not that they always remembered to flush. No high-pitched gleeful voices, no sudden wails when an injury or injustice occurred. No laughter.
    Worse, there was no momentum to the day. For seven years the twins had given her life traction. Not that she had spent her days hovering over them, by any means, but they had always been there. Even when they were at the village school, they’d come tearing home for lunch, so Adele had never spent any great amount of time on her own. She never resented their presence for a moment, unlike so many of her friends, who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when their offspring were despatched.
    If Adele had had her way, the boys would have stayed on at the village school and then gone on to the grammar in Filbury at eleven, but that was a battle she was never going to win. Tony and Tim were destined for the same schools their father William had been to, in the time-honoured tradition of the British upper-middle classes.
    So, she had known the day was coming, she had dreaded it, and now it had been and gone it was even worse than she had thought it would be. She didn’t spend the days lying on her bed sobbing, but