The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

it as I continue to the station. It certainly looks like it could be worth a few quid, but I guess I won’t know until I take it into a pawnshop and see what I can get for it. Then I notice the small engraving on the underside of the ring, and I pause for a second to read it.

Charles & Mary Montague 23.05.70

I have no idea who they are. Amanda’s parents, perhaps. Maybe this is a family heirloom. The thought of that makes me even more excited about the prospect of it being valuable.

I put the ring back into my pocket and focus on the task at hand, which is getting onto my train without being seen by my partner at the station. I’m cutting it close by catching a train at a similar time to when his arrives in, and I hadn’t expected it to be as fine as this, but I should still be okay. I had expected Amanda to give up the code much earlier than she did, and then I could have been making my escape while my partner was still miles from Brighton. He never could have caught me then. But I can still make it.

In ten minutes, I’ll be sitting on a train to London while he is on his way to that pub on the seafront. But by the time he realises that I’ve betrayed him, I’ll be long gone.

38

STRANGER

I tuck my mobile phone back into the inside pocket of my suit jacket and brush a little speck of dust off the shoulder. I’m feeling slick right now, and it’s not just because of my attire. It’s taken longer than anticipated, but finally the safe is open and we have the money. As the train makes its arrival into Brighton, I feel like toasting to a job well done, and I won’t have to wait long. I’ll be meeting James in less than half an hour in a pub on the seafront for a celebratory pint, and together we’ll watch the sun go down on the south coast before I take the money for myself and leave him high and dry.

While the mood is high on my side of the table, it’s distinctly low on the other. Amanda is leaning on the table with her head in her hands, looking well beaten, which of course she is. She proved a slightly more formidable opponent than I anticipated, and I respect her for that, but in the end, she was no match for me.

‘Don’t worry. Your daughter is fine, and you can always make more money,’ I tell her, deciding not to revel in my win too much and instead show a little respect to my fallen foe. ‘By the sounds of it, you have many talents, so I’m sure you won’t be short of work.’

Amanda doesn’t look up at me, which is a shame because I almost miss that glare of hers. It was quite endearing, in a way.

I feel the brakes engaging on the train and look out of the window to see the edge of the platform at Brighton Station come into view.

Here we are.

The end of the line.

I get up from my seat and brush out the creases in my suit, finding that I’m actually starting to enjoy wearing it now after a little early scepticism. Perhaps I’ll use some of my earnings today on a couple of new outfits. Being a wealthy con man certainly beats being a broke one.

‘I just want you to know this wasn’t personal,’ I say to Amanda as I stand in the aisle and look down at the broken woman. ‘You’ve got a good spirit in you. Don’t lose that. And good luck with your book.’

As my parting gift, I take out Amanda’s mobile from my jacket pocket and place it down on the table in front of her. I don’t need to take it.

I’ve taken more than enough from her today.

With the goodbyes over, I turn and make my way down the carriage as the train comes to a stop, and when the doors slide open, it feels good to step out into the fresh air of a warm summer’s evening. But I don’t linger too long on the platform, aware that Amanda could still cause me problems right now if she were to raise the alarm with any of the staff at this station. I doubt she will because I can still see her sitting at her table with her phone to her ear as I make my way past the window of the train along the platform, but there’s no point hanging around and inviting trouble.

I make my way through the ticket barrier and exit the station, joining the plucky commuters who make this journey from London to Brighton every single weekday evening after a day’s work. But while they are now heading for the streets that surround this station for a brief reprieve before coming back in the morning to do the exact same thing again, I am looking forward to tomorrow being a special day. That’s because by this time in twenty-four hours, I’ll be watching the sun set over the Mediterranean, having swapped the south coast of England for that of France. The plan is for James and me to take the 8 a.m. Eurostar to Paris from London in the morning and head deeper into Europe from there. But I am planning on taking the money and giving him the slip as soon as we are out of the country before heading south to Nice. There I will enjoy the fruits of my labour for as long as the money will last me. With all the fun I’m planning on having with it down on the Riviera, it probably won’t last long.

It’s always been part of my plan to lose James and claim all the money for myself. I don’t owe him anything. I’m the brains who has put this whole operation together, whereas