The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

‘Stop dawdling, Swift, we must be back in time for our connection,’ Fitzmaurice shouted over his shoulder. Johnny allowed himself to be swallowed by a wave of commuters and watched as Fitzmaurice hurried out. Then he shoulder-charged his way out of the crowd and retraced his steps back through the station, past an arcade of shops and showed the ticket he’d picked up to an attendant at the barrier.

‘I’m sorry, signore, the old man I’m travelling with has forgotten one of his cases. Do you mind if I nip back and get it?’ Johnny said, playing the hapless Englishman abroad.

The attendant held his hands up indifferently and Johnny slipped through. There was no sign of Fitzmaurice. He collected his valise from left luggage and followed the main concourse until he found the platform for the Milan train.

He checked the time of the train and swore, it wasn’t due to leave for another two hours. There was little choice but to keep out of sight and wait. Johnny was confident that he could evade Fitzmaurice in a crowded station this size, assuming Fitzmaurice had it in him to pursue Johnny.

He spent a boring couple of hours wandering around the station. Half an hour after the Milan train had meant to depart, Johnny saw the unmistakable figure of Lady Elizabeth Smyth. Perfectly sculpted into the best couture Paris could offer and wearing a large burgundy hat, with a violet band. She was, as always, supervising an army of admiring porters, struggling with her baggage.

‘Hello, Libby, how have you been?’ Johnny asked as he reached her, effecting his most nonchalant smile.

She gave him the disdainful look of a woman bored with unfaltering male interest.

‘Lady Smyth, is this person disturbing you?’ a stubbly porter asked.

‘No, I’m bloody well not,’ Johnny said and turned back to Libby. ‘I’ve followed you halfway around Europe, the least you could do is acknowledge me.’

‘Oh, really, that is just too much,’ Libby said in an exasperated tone that Johnny knew and loved.

‘We will deal with this pest, Lady Smyth.’ The porter held his hand out to Johnny. ‘May we see your ticket, signore?’

Johnny began to get annoyed. ‘Ticket? Of course I don’t have a ticket, I’m with the lady.’

‘The lady is not to be disturbed under any circumstance.’ The porter signalled to his colleagues and they began to circle Johnny, in a well drilled formation.

‘That’s quite alright, Mario, I am acquainted with this… person,’ Libby said.

‘We have had instructions that no one is to disturb you, Lady Smyth,’ the porter replied.

Libby handed the porter some notes. ‘Look, take this and let him accompany me onto the train. He is actually my secretary.’ Libby sighed wistfully. ‘I can assure you that he is of no threat to my honour. He has difficulties of a medical nature, which my husband is well aware of.’

The porter took the money and smirked at Johnny. Then said something in harsh Italian slang that Johnny couldn't catch, and the other porters laughed.

Johnny bristled. There was only so much a chap could take. ‘Now, look here, I’ve bothered that Lady more times than… ‘

‘Do shut up and get on the train, imbecile,’ Libby hissed and pointed at the First-Class carriage. Johnny scowled, but did as he was told, amidst further laughter from the porters.

Libby's compartment was palatial in comparison to the cramped cubbyhole Johnny had shared with Fitzmaurice. As usual her bunk had been prepared in case she felt one of her ‘heads’ coming on.

Johnny lost no time opening a bottle of something bubbly that had been left on ice and soothed away the humiliation Libby had inflicted on him. ‘I can’t believe you said that to the porters...’ Johnny trailed off under Libby’s withering stare.

‘I had to tell them something to explain why a married woman would have a strapping young man like you in her compartment,’ Libby said, taking his glass away and throwing it out of the window.

‘You think that I’m strapping?’

‘Johnny, you really are the most puerile person,’ Libby said and poured the rest of the bottle away.

‘I’m not too puerile for you to risk having in your compartment, though,’ Johnny said.

‘Yes that was a momentary lapse in judgment.’ Libby glared, in what Johnny hoped was a sign of affection. ‘You can, after all be quite diverting.’

‘Diverting? You don’t seem very surprised to see me, Libby.’

‘No? Well, I did ask George to save you from the firing squad. I presume it’s something to do with that.’ Libby spoke as if it was an everyday occurrence.

‘Yes, I’m quite shocked that you did that. I suppose the world would be a much duller place for you without me in it. Or why else would you…’

‘Johnny, please, detail bores me,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘I must say, it was rather presumptuous of you to have someone write to me like that and expect me to kowtow before my husband.’

Johnny grinned at the idea of her kowtowing before anyone. ‘Yes, sorry about that, it was a bit of a misunderstanding actually. I hadn’t meant for my corporal to write to you at all.’

‘I beg your pardon, you didn’t even want my help?’ Libby reddened and stood up.

‘Sorry, I meant I didn't think that you would help me. After the last letter you wrote to me. It was pretty unequivocal,’ Johnny said.

‘Oh, Johnny, do stop wallowing in self-pity, you know I live in the here and now. One can say many things about you, Johnny, but you were never self-indulgent. That would require depths of understanding for which you are not capable.’

‘Actually, you mistake me, Lady Smyth. The only thing I’ve been wallowing in is the memory of our previous train journey. And since we’re here, maybe we should wallow in that together…’ Johnny trailed off. He was out of