She was starting to dislike all food. Finally it was time to return to her own compartment and pack the last of her belongings into her shoulder bag before they arrived in Calais.
As she glanced around her snug little cabin she never would have believed she would be wishing this journey to end, but that was how she felt. And it was all Connor Black’s fault.
Finally the train arrived and it was time to transfer from the gorgeous Orient Express, bursting with tradition, opulence and dignified pride, to a coach! How unglamorous was that?
Half a dozen VIP coaches were lined up waiting for them and at the bottom of each set of steps a busy, blue-suited VSOE hostess carried a clipboard and checked off names.
When Kelsie cast a lingering glance back at her previous transport Wolfgang was there lined up in front of the last carriage with the other staff, posing for pictures.
There was Max, looking very distinguished, and the head chef with his towering white chef’s hat, and the maître d’, black-suited and standing very straight, and Heath the waiter looking a little pink in the cheeks at all the attention, as passengers took photos of the staff.
Kelsie had to smile when she saw Winsome thrust her camera into ‘that man’s’ hands and hurry forward for a photo of her with the official entourage as she squeezed in between Wilhelm and Max. Then she remembered the older lady had said it was her last trip.
Symbolically the end of an era for Winsome—though hopefully it was the beginning of a new spring with her time with Max.
For Kelsie it was just the end of a train journey. She turned away.
Connor took the snap of his gran, and had to smile at her waving him on to take another. It was a good thing he didn’t have time to see which coach Kelsie was boarding. As he put the camera down his grandmother came up, beaming, beside him. At least they were coming to the end of this awful train journey where he’d just complicated the blazes out of his life, but despite everything he was truly glad to have seen his grandmother so happy.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he frowned. Un-expected phone calls rarely heralded good news‘Excuse me,’ he said to Winsome, and answered. Listened. ‘I’ll ring you back,’ he said, and ended the call.
‘Gran?’
Winsome gazed around like a kid in a lolly shop, soaking in the moment, a brightness to her eyes that could have been excitement or maybe the shine of tears, and reluctantly she drew her attention back to him.
‘I need to head straight to London as quickly as possible for the patients I told you about. The mother is bleeding and they’d like me to be there. Would you be all right if I left now and had you met at Victoria?’
He saw her blink and focus more fully on him. ‘Now?’
‘They’re sending a helicopter for me.’
She frowned. ‘Don’t like helicopters. I’ll take the train.’ She glanced at him coyly. ‘I can always find Kelsie and sit with her.’
Internal wince. ‘Or Lady Geraldine. She’d love your company.’ He resisted the impulse to warn her to stay away from Kelsie. But it would only encourage her. ‘Would you like me to find Lady G. and Charlotte?’
‘No. No. I’ll be fine.’
‘You’re sure?’ He looked at her. Her cheeks were overbright and yet the rest of her face was a little pale. It had been a huge twenty-four hours and she’d had a fair intake of food—and wine! Maybe he shouldn’t go?
‘Go,’ she shooed him. ‘Go to that poor woman. I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine for eighty years without you hovering at my elbow. I’ll be fine for the next six hours.’
He redialled the number but the whole time he waited for a connection he studied Winsome. She didn’t seem to be flagging. Lord, the woman had more energy than he did.
Harry Wilson picked up.
‘That’s fine. If you send the helicopter I’ll come now.’
Gran would be fine. He’d ask Max to find a hostess to watch out for her and arrange for someone to meet her at Victoria. And Nick, Charlotte’s fiancé, was a doctor so at least there was medical help on the train if needed.
The Wilsons were his last patients with a baby due this year. His next wasn’t due till February. So he could stay longer with Gran afterwards to make up for this.
He spoke to Wolfgang, who nodded, and his bag was identified and handed over and he was directed to a far corner of the car park where a large orange cross was painted on the bitumen.
Apparently it wasn’t unusual for passengers to skip the Channel crossing and take a helicopter to London from here.
He didn’t have to wait long before the beat of helicopter rotors could be heard, which only increased his respect for Harry Wilson’s business arm.