After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,70

rub my eyes and look again. Yes, it’s still there.

“Why is there a brass band and a welcoming committee waiting on the platform?” I ask faintly. “Just how important are you, Max?”

He laughs loudly, his whole face alight with mirth and glee. “Look closely,” he says.

I stare at the band and the men dressed in blue uniforms with gold piping and then past them to the train. I’m perplexed until one of Max’s long fingers taps my chin and directs my gaze towards the name on the train.

“Oh my fucking Lord,” I say faintly. “It’s the motherfucking Orient Express.”

“I do so adore your command of the English language,” he says happily. “Welcome to our home for the night.”

Chapter Fifteen

Felix

Max thrusts a handful of notes at the driver and steers me forward with a hand at my lower back. I try to ignore the heat and tingles it sends down my spine.

“What is happening?” I hiss out of the corner of my mouth and then smile at an attendant who offers me a glass of champagne. “How lovely. Thank you,” I say serenely to him—as though someone hands me champagne every minute of the day—and he nods, giving another glass to Max, who attempts not to laugh.

Before I can ask another question, a silver-haired man comes towards us, dressed in a blue-and-gold uniform. “Monsieur Travers?” Max nods, and the man smiles. “Your cabin is ready if you’d like to follow me. Your belongings have been put in there for you.”

“What belongings?” I whisper.

Max only shakes his head and offers that enigmatic smile, so I follow the man, Max’s hand still keeping me company at my back. We climb onto the train, and I feverishly take in details. The corridor has shiny walnut panelling and low lights. Sepia-coloured blinds adorn the windows. It smells expensive—like new carpet and old money.

“This is most definitely not the 10.59 to Basingstoke,” I whisper.

Max smiles. We follow the steward down the narrow corridor past open doors that offer glimpses of lavishly appointed cabins and snatches of happy chatter in several different languages. Finally, he fetches up at a door, which he opens and stands back to let us through.

I walk in and stand with my mouth agape. “This is so gorgeous,” I say breathlessly.

The steward gives Max some instructions and information about dinner reservations, so I feel free to explore and begin opening the little cupboards that line the walls.

The compartment is small and panelled with more of the polished walnut, this time with a delicate flower design etched into it. There’s a long banquette covered in a blue and pink patterned velvet, and a small table pulled up to it on which rests a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two long-stemmed flutes. I spot a door and open it to reveal a sink with shelves rising up on either side that are packed with everything you could need. There’s even a white leather wash bag. I unzip it to find an array of costly-looking products.

Max’s voice comes from behind me. “I’m going to presume that wash bag is vanishing into your luggage at some point, Felix.”

I jump guiltily and turn to find Max. The steward has left, the door to the room closed behind him.

“It’s monogrammed,” I whisper. “Of course, I’m taking it.”

“Ah, I’ve missed your kleptomaniac ways. It was a little like dating Fagin but without the irritating children and the garret home.”

Max looks both excited and nervous at the same time, as if he’s unsure of my reaction. No wonder, because even I’m unsure of it. Should I blow up at him for arranging things without consulting me, or just scream in excitement? I opt for a dignified sort of middle ground.

“Going to tell me what’s happening now?” I say, proud of my mild tone.

He sits down on the ornate banquette and says, “We’re taking the Orient Express to Venice.”

“What the hell?” I breathe, falling into the seat next to him. “Why?” I exhale noisily. “What the hell?” I repeat.

“You know, Felix, this is the first time I’ve ever known you to be speechless when you didn’t have my cock in your mouth.”

I glare at him. “And even then I still had enough spare room in there to have gargled champagne and recited the national anthem.”

He throws his head back to laugh and then he sketches a salute. “God save the Queen,” he says in a very solemn voice.

I can’t stop my smile. His laughter fades away, and he stares