The Mystery Megapack

that the movement would upset Caroline’s system again. She held her hands up as she walked, bracing herself between the window and the wall, and when they reached the passways between cars, he stepped ahead to open the doors while she held on to the siderail.
    He moved up again when they reached the bar car and found himself looking at Brutus, the Boxer, through the small window, the vulgar man sitting with his leg stretched out in front of the door. Edward was so unnerved by the obstruction that he found himself fumbling to turn the handle properly.
    Brutus opened it for him. “Ey, mate,” he laughed. “Havin’ trouble with the door?” Felicia, sitting beside him, laughed as well and Edward felt himself blushing and unable to speak as he let Caroline step through before him. Boxer, he thought. Extra. The man had carried the word “door” out to what seemed like a full three syllables and didn’t even pull his feet in when they walked past. As Edward stepped over the ill-mannered legs, he felt a pat on his back and heard the cockney whisper: “Don’ worry, friend. Just havin’ a bit o’ fun.”
    Edward’s back stiffened but he didn’t comment. Instead, he continued to the bar, ordering a martini for himself and a small Coca-cola for his wife. Turning, he saw that another couple had joined Brutus and Felicia and the party seemed to take up the whole end of the car. Brutus had lit a cigar and was puffing big billows of smoke into the air, gesturing broadly, and bellowing like a hyena. Felicia leaned suggestively against his shoulder, breathing in his fumes and echoing his laugh. Edward thought for a moment how his position had been reversed; in novels, one always read about the genteel Englishman and the bellicose American. And yet, there they were.
    The four of them crossed paths again an hour later. Felicia and the Boxer were seated across the aisle from Edward and Caroline at dinner—the early seating for those passengers disembarking in Paris—and Edward wished once more that they were continuing to Venice so that some part of the journey might take place without the Boxer’s incivility.
    Edward had expected the evening to be the pinnacle of excellence, both in terms of the food and the atmosphere, and he and Caroline had changed for the meal: Edward into the tuxedo he had worn at their wedding while Caroline wore a lavender evening dress which she had chosen just for the occasion and a string of pearls which Edward had given her at their rehearsal dinner. She also carried a small black purse to hold the novel which they hoped the chef would sign; Edward, afraid that the book alone might be improper, had preferred they be discreet.
    Despite the recommendation of black tie for dinner, few of their fellow diners had gone to as much trouble as they had. The East Asian woman two tables down appeared elegant enough but her husband only dressed to the extent of a dark jacket and taupe pants, and a quartet of businessmen diagonal to them huddled in the charcoal suits they had worn in the afternoon. The Shrimptons, whom they had met on the Pullman that afternoon, were dressed in church attire further down the car; he worked with the Bank of England and it was their twenty-fifth anniversary, though they hardly seemed to Edward that much older. Felicia and Brutus were still wearing their casual clothes. The Boxer’s khaki pants were wrinkled and the tie he had added was a smidgen too wide. Felicia’s outfit was so tight and red that Edward thought it just short of tawdry, tolerable for the afternoon but entirely out of place as evening wear. The two of them had been seated at a table for four and were soon met by the couple who had joined them in the bar—a rough-looking pair as well. The four of them had continued to smoke and carry on.
    Edward tried his best to ignore them and was pleased that Caroline as well pretended to be unfazed by it all. Her color had come back and she had told Edward that she felt well enough to share another bottle of wine. He saw the steward—a large Italian—at the next table and glanced over the menu to help with his decision.
    It was a fixed menu—a mixed bag. Neither of them would touch the smoked eel appetizer but the steamed lobster and leeks with foie gras sounded delicious and the same was true of the entrée: a fillet of lamb in spiced wine and red currants, with sautéed potatoes and vegetables. The usual cheese would follow the meal and then a chestnut pancake