Dorothy Eden Read Online Free PDF Page B

against the window, suddenly smiled at Kate.
    His eyes were dark and intense. “Some scrimmage,” he said.
    She assented wearily. Then suddenly she laughed back at him. It was funny, after all, and they were both English being amused at the ways of foreigners.
    The fragmentary encounter cheered her up. Also a savoury smell indicated the nearness of the restaurant car. She came into its comparative emptiness and quiet, and, shown to a seat by a courteous waiter, she sat down and relaxed with pleasure.
    She had only glimpsed the man’s face. But she was quick at faces. Almost now she could have sketched it. It had been dark and narrow and, for he did not seem old, surprisingly deeply lined. In repose, she guessed, it would be aloof and withdrawn, but his smile brought it to life.
    If the sitter for Titian’s “Head of a Man” in the Louvre had suddenly smiled, he would have looked like that, she thought.
    She fumbled in her bag for her pencil, and began sketching on the menu the waiter had given her.
    Soup was brought, and when she looked up the young man was sitting opposite her.
    He smiled. “Do you mind?”
    “Not at all.”
    The train was moving now. Suddenly she was aware of the strain the day had been, and the deep relief she felt now that the journey was so far accomplished. The lights swayed a little to the rocking of the train, and it seemed to her that the face of the man sitting opposite her swayed a little, too, blurring and becoming clear again. She was very tired indeed.
    “You’re travelling to England?”
    “Yes. By ferry tomorrow.”
    “So am I. We may see one another again.”
    Was he going to be the “romantic interest” of her trip? But it was a little too late in the journey to have this happen, and there was all day tomorrow to be occupied with shepherding the silent Francesca about Paris. Besides, it was a pity she was so tired.
    “You’ve been on holiday?” went on his pleasant, polite voice.
    “No, on a job. Well, a sort of job. It gave me an excuse to get to Rome again.”
    “Tell me your favourite part of Rome.”
    “The Colosseum, I think. On a sunny, windy day, when the wild flowers are blooming in the cracks of the walls.”
    “And you don’t hear the lions roaring any more.”
    She nodded. “Just silence and peace.”
    “Everything’s the same in a thousand years. It doesn’t really matter much if you missed your chariot in A.D. 80 or your train in this year of grace.”
    His eyes were dark and sparkling, but his mouth had a definite line, and there was a certain grimness to the deeply-scored lines in his cheeks. He could be anything, anybody, a philosopher or a buccaneer.
    “That’s a rather dangerous philosophy,” Kate said.
    “Is it? Would you care to share a bottle of wine with me?”
    “Thank you. I’ll probably go to sleep, but I suppose that will be the same in a thousand years, too.”
    “Even Helen fell asleep.” His eyes on her were frankly admiring. More wide awake, she might have felt a little embarrassed. Now it was mildly pleasant to toss the conversational ball to such an entertaining stranger.
    “My name’s Lucian Cray,” he said.
    “I’m Kate Tempest. Not so romantic.”
    “Romantic?”
    “Yours is a little, isn’t it. Actually it sounds like a stage name. You don’t mind my saying so?”
    “Not in the least. After all, Shakespeare could have known you and called you Miranda.”
    She laughed. “Don’t be absurd. Not with my nose!”
    The waiter had come with the wine list. They both discovered they preferred vin rouge, and somehow this seemed another bond between them. Another one? Kate puckered her brows. What was the other bond? That somehow she knew intuitively Rome affected him in the same way as it did her. The settled dust of long ago pandemonium, and the peace of old stones…
    She realized that he had taken the menu from her and was studying her sketch.
    “Do I look such a haggard individual?”
    “That wasn’t intended for