In the Shadow of Lakecrest(6)

“We’ll be off before long,” Matthew said. “Care for a drink?”

“Yes, thanks. It’s so beastly hot.”

“Isn’t it? I was just making sure we had enough ice on board. Charles, two gin fizzes!” He opened the first door off the narrow hallway and ushered me inside. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

The compartment was clearly meant for female passengers, with floral wallpaper and a serene cream color scheme.

“It’s lovely,” I said. I wondered whom the room had been designed for, and if other women who weren’t part of the Lemont family had stayed here before me. “How many people can you sleep on board?”

“Twelve, if we’re all packed in. There are four sleeping compartments. Mine’s at the other end.”

Matthew shot me a quick, meaningful look. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure me that he’d stay as far away as possible or signaling that I was welcome to visit him there. I wasn’t sure which of those underlying messages I wanted to hear. I leaned against the doorjamb and gave him a shy smile. Matthew reached a hand toward my face, and my stomach twisted with anticipation. I hadn’t expected him to be so forward, so soon.

“May I?” he asked, and I realized he was offering to take my hat. I pulled it off and ran my fingers through the damp hair around my ears while he hung it on a hook.

“Good,” he announced. “Here’s Charles with the drinks.”

Matthew led me on a tour, and any apprehension I’d felt in my sleeping compartment was quickly soothed by the easy flow of conversation. A dining room and parlor filled the center of the car, and it was there that we settled onto settees upholstered in red velvet. By the time the train pulled out of the station, it felt like we were friendly acquaintances exchanging gossip from the Franconia, and the discussion became even livelier when Charles brought us each a second cocktail. I’d been worried Matthew and I wouldn’t have enough in common to fill the hours ahead, but he seemed interested in my travels around England, just as I prodded him to tell me all about Chicago and which sights I mustn’t miss. By the time Charles announced dinner, I felt pleasantly tipsy. I wasn’t used to drinking alcohol, but Prohibition didn’t seem to apply to families like the Lemonts.

After pulling out a chair for me in the dining room and then taking his own place, Matthew looked me straight on and spoke with a forthrightness that caught me off guard.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this. I’ve had my mind on nothing but business for weeks. Talking to you is a very welcome change.”

I tried not to show how much the compliment thrilled me. “You must have some time for fun.”

“What some consider fun isn’t always worth the effort. Not for me.”

Before I could ask Matthew what he meant, Charles arrived with a silver tureen and served a chilled vegetable soup; he was followed by another steward carrying a bottle of white wine and two goblets. The food distracted us for a few minutes, but when we leaned back in our seats, glasses in hand, an expectant hush settled over the table, as each of us waited for the other to determine the way forward.

“So, what do you consider fun?” I asked at last.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said.

“How sad!” I took a sip of wine, telling myself to keep the conversation light. I’d ruin the mood by revealing too much too soon. “I’m having a great deal of fun right now.”

“Yet I suspect you know exactly what I mean,” said Matthew. “You’ve got spirit, but you’re no flapper.”

“Not like the other girls you know?” I teased.

“My sister, her friends . . . they’re always off to some party or another, looking for the next good time. You strike me as more serious than that.”

“I was a very serious little girl,” I said. “Always had my nose in a book.”

“Let me guess. You imagined you were Alice, disappearing down the rabbit hole. Then, when you were older, you devoured The Sheik and dreamed of being carried off by a dark, mysterious stranger.”

“Close enough. I did use books as an escape.”

“Escape from what?”

Best to stick close to the truth. Tell Matthew the facts, but not the terrible stories behind them. “My father died when I was very young,” I said. “My mother didn’t have an easy time of it after that. She worked very hard so I could afford to go to good schools. It was a rather lonely childhood.”

“What sort of work did your mother do?”

I looked at him directly, my gaze posing a challenge. “She’s a housekeeper, in Cleveland.”

He didn’t flinch. If anything, my revelation seemed to impress him. “She must be very proud of you.”

“Yes, she is.”

“We’re not that different, you know.”

I had to laugh. “You must be joking.”

“Do you want the world to judge you based on what your mother does?”

I shook my head. If Matthew knew half of what my mother had done, I wouldn’t have been sitting at the table.

“Then don’t I deserve the same chance?” he asked. “How about this. Tell me everything you think you know about me, and then I’ll tell you the truth.”