'They're boarding,' Emil said. 'When the train departs, our passengers will all come here for the champagne.' He bustled about with champagne flutes and ice and showed me how to fold a napkin round the neck of a bottle and how to pour without drips. He seemed to have forgotten about only letting me loose on water.
There were voices outside as the train came alive. I put my head out of the rear door of the dining car and, looking forward, saw all the passengers climbing upwards into the sleeping cars, with porters following after with their bags. Several people were embarking also into the car behind the dining car, into the car which comprised three bedrooms, a bar, a large lounge area and an upstairs glass-domed observation deck, the whole lot known, I'd discovered, as the dome car.
Forward by the gate through which the passengers were crowding, Nell was doing her stuff with bandages on the convincing bloodiness of Ricky. The little scene concluded, she walked aft, looking inward through the windows, searching for someone, who in fact turned out to be me.
'I wanted to tell you,' she said, 'the Conductor- he's like the captain of a ship-knows that you're our security guard, sort of, and he's agreed to help you with anything you want, and to let you go everywhere in the train without question, including the engines, as long as the two engineers-they're the train-drivers-permit it, which he says they will once he's talked to them. Say you are Tommy, when you see him.'
I gazed at her with admiration. 'You're marvellous,' I said.
'Yes, aren't I?' She smiled. 'Bill Baudelaire did ask about you. I said you were here and you'd boarded early. He seemed satisfied. Now I've got to sort out all the people who persist in putting themselves into the wrong bedrooms…' She had gone before she'd finished the sentence, climbing into the sleeping car forward of the kitchen and vanishing from view.
Filmer's bedroom was in that car.
It had been easy to get myself moved away from sleeping next door to him: it had happened naturally with my demotion to crew. However much I might want to keep tabs on him, bumping into him several times a day in the corridor hardly seemed the best route to anonymously.
People started coming into the dining room and sitting at the tables regardless of the fact that we were still in the station.
'Where do we sit?' a pleasant faced woman asked Emil, and he said, 'Anywhere, madam.' The man with her demanded a double Scotch on the rocks and Emil told him that alcohol was available only after departure. Emil was courteous and helpful. I listened, and I learned.
Mercer Lorrimore came through into the dining car followed by his wife, who looked displeased.
'Where do we sit?' Lorrimore said to me, and I answered 'Anywhere, sir,' in best Emil fashion, which drew a fast appreciative grin from Emil himself.
Mercer and Bambi chose a centrally located table and were soon joined by their less than happy offspring, Sheridan audibly saying, 'I don't see why we have to sit in here when we have our own private car.'
Both mother and daughter looked as if they agreed with him but Mercer, smiling round clenched molars, said with surprising bitterness, 'You will do what I ask or accept the consequences.' And Sheridan looked furious but also afraid.
They had spoken as if I weren't there, which in a way I wasn't, as other passengers were moving round me, all asking the same questions. 'Anywhere, madam. Anywhere, sir,' I said, and 'I'm afraid we can't serve alcohol before departure.'
Departure came from one instant to the next, without any whistles blowing, horns sounding or general ballyhoo. One moment we were stationary, the next sliding forward smoothly, the transition from rest to motion of a quarter of a mile of metal achieved as if on silk.
We emerged from the shadow of the station into the bright light of noon, and Daffodil Quentin under her sunburst of curls made an entrance from the dome car end, looking about her as if accustomed to people leaping up to help.
'Where do we sit?' she asked, not quite looking at me, and I said, 'Anywhere, madam. Wherever you like.'
She found two seats free not far from the Lorrimores and, putting herself on one chair and her handbag on the other, said with bonhomie to the elderly couple already occupying the table, 'I'm Daffodil Quentin. Isn't this fun?' They agreed with her warmly. They knew who she was: she was yesterday's winner. They started talking with animation, like almost everyone else in the car. There was no cool period here of waiting for the ice to break. Any ice left after the previous day's racing had been broken conclusively in the scenes out in the station, and the party had already gelled and was in full swing.
Emil beckoned me towards the kitchen end, and I went up there into the small lobby with a serving counter, a space that made a needed gap between the hot glittering galley and the actual dining area. The lobby led on the left to the kitchen and on the right to the corridor to the rest of the train, along which desultory passengers were appearing, swaying gently now to the movement of gathering speed.
Behind the counter, Emil was opening bottles of Pol Roger. Oliver and Cathy were still taking glasses from a cardboard container and arranging them on small trays.
'Would you mind polishing some of these smeary glasses?' Emil said to me, pointing at a trayful. 'It would be of great help.'
'Just tell me,' I said.
'Polish them,' he said.
'That's better.'
They all laughed. I picked up a cloth and began polishing the tall flutes, and Filmer emerged from the corridor and crossed into the dining room without glancing our way.
I watched him walk towards Daffodil, who was waving to him vigorously, and take the place saved by her handbag. He had his back to me, for which I was grateful. Prepared for the closeness of him, I was still unprepared, still missing a breath. It wouldn't do, I thought. It was time for a bit of bottle, nor for knocking knees.
Every seat in the dining car filled up and still people were coming. Nell, arriving, took it in her stride. 'Bound to happen. All the actors are here. Give everyone champagne.' She went on down the car, clipboard hugged to her chest, answering questions, nodding and smiling, keeping the class in order.
Emil gave me a tray of glasses. 'Put four on each table. Oliver will follow you to fill them. Start at the far end and work back.'
'OK.'
Carrying a tray of glasses would have been easier if the floor had been stable but I made it to the far end with only a lurch or two and delivered the goods as required. Three or four people without seats were standing at the far dome car end, including the actress Angelica. I offered them all glasses as well, and Angelica took one and went on bellyaching to all around her about how Steven had let her down and she should never have trusted the louse, and it was a tribute to her acting that there was a distinct drawing aside of skirts in the pursed mouths of those around her who were fed up with hearing about it.
Oliver, on my heels, was delivering them solace in Pol Roger's golden bubbles.
I came with acute awareness to the table where Filmer was sitting with Daffodil and, careful not to look directly at either of them, put my last four glasses in a row on the tablecloth.
At once Filmer said, 'Where have I seen you before?'
Chapter Seven
About fifty conclusions dashed through my head, all of them disastrous. I had been so sure he wouldn't know me. Stupid, arrogant mistake.
'I expect it was when we were over in Europe and went to the Derby Eve dinner in London,' the elderly woman said. 'We sat at the head table… We were guests of dear Ezra Gideon, poor man.'
I moved away sending wordless prayers of thankfulness to anyone out there listening. Filmer hadn't even glanced at me, still less had known me. His head, when I'd finally looked at him, was turned away from me towards his companions, as was Daffodil's also.