Night Train to Lisbon Read Online Free PDF Page B

notebook. Extremely dull. In fact, simply hearing an explanation of the nature of my work has been known to put people to sleep. I’ve been frequently hired by frantic mothers to come babysit their cranky youngsters. I’m told to sit near the cot and simply talk about what it is I do for a living. Within minutes—often, seconds—the child is out cold.”
    Everyone laughed at the joke, as well as at Alec’s perfect, deadpan delivery. As dinner came to a close, Carson realized she was disappointed it was ending. Soon Alec would retreat to his compartment with his friends, probably for card games and cigars. But now, as if he was reading her thoughts, he turned to Uncle Lawrence and lightly said, “I wonder, actually, if I might borrow your niece for a little while this evening. That is, if she’s willing.”
    Uncle Lawrence blinked slowly, like someone coming to the surface from a deep thought. “It’s entirely up to Carson, I suppose,” he said. “What is it you wish to borrow her for?”
    â€œThe other fellows and I are going to play a bit more cards, and one of our party has vowed that he must stay in his berth and work, if you can believe it. Work! On a train trip to Portugal! Who ever heard of such a thing?”
    â€œShocking,” Aunt Jane said, and Carson saw her cast Uncle Lawrence a weary glance, which he in turn acknowledged with a weary sigh.
    â€œSo you see,” Alec went on, “we’ll need a fourth hand.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I don’t play,” Carson said quietly.
    Alec looked at her neutrally. “Want to learn?” he asked, and his voice was casual, as if he didn’t want to put any pressure on her to say yes; as if, she realized, he didn’t even really care all that much whether she said yes.
    Carson looked from her uncle to her aunt, but they, too, seemed neutral. If my mother was here, Carson thought, she would be giving me eye signals that told me what it was I should be doing, whether I ought to be saying yes or no. For one of the first times in her life, Carson realized, she was being asked to make an independent decision.
    â€œAll right,” said Carson, and Alec smiled.
    â€œGood,” he said. “It will make the game so much more interesting.”
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    The atmosphere inside the compartment where the young scientists were playing cards was basically composed of smoke. Alec led her past the steamer-trunk playing surface and onto a seat by the window. “Gentlemen,” he said. “We have anew player among us. This is Miss Carson Weatherell, and I have a feeling she’s going to be a crack whist player.”
    Through the gray plumes, Carson could make out the faces of three other young men. “Hello,” said one, extending a hand. “Michael Morling.”
    â€œThomas Brandon.”
    â€œFrederick Hunt,” said the third. “But everyone who knows me calls me Freddy sooner or later.”
    â€œPleased to meet you,” said Carson.
    â€œHey, what do you know, the lady’s a Yank,” said Freddy Hunt. He was a redhead with bright eyes, an impish-looking man, small and compact, who seemed like he’d be a great deal of fun as a traveling companion. Though Michael and Thomas looked the part of young scientists, Carson thought, Freddy was more like the younger brother of a scientist—a little too playful, actually, to possess a serious scientific mind.
    Carson had never been called a Yank before. She was in the minority here, both as a female and as an American, and the attention was pleasurable, she realized. The game got under way, with all the men piping in to teach her the rules of play. Carson was a poor player in the beginning, but quickly caught on, and eventually she found herself winning the hand.
    â€œWhat did I say?” said Alec proudly. “Didn’t I tell you she’d be good?”
    The men chimed in with admiration or mock