A FIRST CLASS ODYSSEY
By
Mary Keenan
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Published by: Mary Keenan at Smashwords
Copyright by Mary Keenan 2010
****
‘There he is, just beyond the barrier,’ said Mark. Kath saw the tall elegant figure in a black suit and white shirt.
‘Monsieur Dame. Welcome to Paris. Let me take your baggage,’ the chauffeur said with just a hint of an accent. ‘Did you have a good journey?’ Kath started to answer but Mark interjected
‘Yes, pretty good really. What you’d expect on Eurostar First Class,’ stressing the last two words.
As the Mercedes quietly purred into the hectic Parisian evening traffic, Kath stretched her long legs. The commuters scurrying along seemed at ease with life; maybe it was the lovely summer evenings which bathe Paris in a vibrant, elegant, energetic mood. She envied that mood and wondered if this trip was a good idea. It was fraught with potential pitfalls Mark being the main one. He smiled at Kath and placed his hand firmly on her thigh; a little too high for her ease and winked.
At St. Pancras Station a few hours earlier, Mark had nudged her excitedly.
‘Look, Thierry Henry,’ he said nodding in the direction of the immaculately dressed carriage attendant ‘or else his young brother.’ He giggled at his own wit.
‘Oh,’ said Kath not admitting she had never heard of Terry Onrie.
Kath smiled and hoped his conversation would improve. The attendant led them to their seats. A young waiter poured them a glass of champagne. Mark leant towards her,
‘Bon Voyage ma cherie,’ he said in a Clouseau accent, ‘here’s to a wonderful weekend,’ and winked.
As lunch was served the train slithered through the grim London boroughs where each building was a different shade of grey. A tall elegant female attendant poured more champagne for the loud Australian couple at the adjacent table who were plying a pretty young Parisian with photos. As the attendant bent over Mark was visibly excited; her perfectly formed bottom, stretching her already tight trousers, hovered inches from his nose.
‘Some more champagne Madame?’ She proffered the bottle to Kath. ‘And you Monsieur?’ She turned and smiled at Mark.
‘Yes please,’ he gurgled gazing into the sensual eyes lingering just above his. He smiled nervously at Kath as though he were a teenager caught with his hand down his pants. But she was used to men behaving like spotty adolescents in front of a pair of substantial breasts. Mark was about the same height and age as Kath and his pale face topped by black unruly hair had a boyish appeal which some women might find attractive. It was such a shame that he had the personality of a dead chicken. If it wasn’t for the situation with Martin she wouldn’t have dreamt of sharing an hour with Mark let alone a weekend.
The rolling fields and gentle green hills of Kent had replaced the soulless suburbs of London and Mark relaxed over his Boeuf Wellington washing it down with an agreeable Burgundy. He would be the envy of their male colleagues at the agency. Most of them drooled over the long limbed cool blonde in PR who had a body to match her exquisite face but no one had the balls to ask her out. She was so aloof, the boss said and sexless, yet here he was travelling First Class to Rome with Kath opposite, smiling at him. All he did was ask.
‘And here’s one of Ricky throwing up!’ the adjacent Australian woman shrieked.
‘Oh,’ said the young Parisian. Mark glanced at Kath and raised his eyebrows. She smiled. With the back of her hand she flicked her long hair from her face and turned to gaze at the countryside. Maybe the trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just keep him at arm’s length and the job should be done. She had met worse than Mark, though she couldn’t remember when. Not quite what she was used to in Chelsea but he was serving a purpose. And there was Rome as a consolation.
After the huge scale of Gare du Nord, Gare du Bercy came as a surprise as the Mercedes swished to a halt outside the small concourse.
‘Bercy is for sleeper trains only,’ the chauffeur explained. ‘Which one are you travelling on Monsieur?’
‘Rome,’ replied Mark. ‘First Class.’
They followed the chauffeur onto the concourse and while he searched for their train they stood amidst the mass of humanity. Droves of young backpackers were swarming over the station like locusts drinking cans of coke and devouring packets of crisps, littering the station with their debris.
‘Well at least we won’t have to put up with that,’ Mark spluttered, ‘they won’t be travelling First Class.’
‘Ah, Monsieur Dame,’ said the out of breath chauffeur ‘unfortunately your train is delayed by one hour but of course you can wait in the First Class lounge. It is on the first floor Monsieur but I’m afraid I must leave now.’
Mark struggled against the crowd, using their suitcases as human cattle prods. They picked their way carefully through the mass of young travellers and their litter, towards the lift, on which hung a sign – ‘En Panne’.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Mark.
‘Broken down, I think,’ replied Kath, stretching her sparse knowledge of French.
He strode into the lounge with the air of a seasoned and discerning traveller familiar with the ways of the modern meritocracy. The young man behind the desk looked at the couple wearily,
‘Complet.’
‘That means full,’ explained Kath.
‘Full. Full. What do you mean full? We’re First Class,’ exploded Mark.
‘Complet. Full. No room,’ the receptionist was gesticulating like a tickled octopus. ‘You wait outside.’ He shooed them out the door.
‘We want a drink,’ demanded Mark whose stomach was sinking fast.
‘No. No drink. Vide!’
‘Monsieur, could I please have something, I feel weak?’ Kath whimpered at the distressed young man.
He was not the first male to find Kath irresistible when doing her impersonation of a little girl who has just seen her favourite Barbie exploding during her brother’s chemistry experiment. Evian never tasted so sweet. The young man, now visibly less distressed, ushered them to seats which he had miraculously found. Their train would be leaving in half an hour and a colleague would help with their luggage.
The queue for the Artesia snaked around the small dark concourse and to Mark’s horror consisted almost entirely of the dishevelled and smelly back packers. He marched to the front of the queue, with Kath and the young man following behind like a scene from Lawrence of Arabia.
‘Sorry Monsieur, back of queue please.’
‘But we are First Class,’ Mark insisted.
‘Sorry monsieur, back of queue please. Non prioritie,’ accompanied by an infuriating Gallic shrug.
Mark’s idyllic sojourn was in danger of being derailed and the feeling in his stomach had plumbed new depths. He should be sitting with his glamorous companion sipping champagne and contemplating the nights which lay ahead as the green fields of Midi France rolled past their window, instead of standing in a sea of filthy oiks.
Unlike M. Henry’s look-alike, the Artesia carriage attendant appeared to have woken up that morning fully dressed.
‘Bueonasera, Signor e Signora. Cabina cinque per favori,’ he said.
‘Prossimo!’ called the attendant, looking over Mark’s shoulder. Mark didn’t know what it meant but it did suggest that he wouldn’t get help with the luggage.
The cabin was the size of a large dog kennel but not as clean. The bunks had already been laid out for the night and, stretched out, Mark was able to touch both walls with his head and feet.
A cupboard next to the tiny grimy window revealed a small opened bottle of water and two plastic beakers one of which was covered in cling film. The shelf beneath hid a small chipped wash basin the size of a soup plate with a sliver of used slimy soap lying in the bottom. The matted carpet had probably never been cleaned. Mark went in search of the attendant to ensure a good seat in the restaurant car, which at least did give priority to First Class travellers. Kath lay on the bottom bunk; it was impossible to sit without bending her head as though in prayer. She wrapped herself in her own private world and thought of the Martin situation.
‘Fucking hell! There’s no restaurant car,’ Mark cried, invading Kath’s space. ‘All the stupid attendant keeps saying is “Guasto, kaput, broke,” Christ!’ His eyes were moist and his face was the colour of an Italian tomato.
‘He’s trying to find some sandwiches and the train is now two hours late.’
First Class had lost its appeal. The sandwiches never appeared and some stupid foreign passenger in second class said he had a heart attack, delaying the train further. What a shame it turned out to be indigestion, thought Mark. He was awaking cruelly from his dream and he felt like the fool his colleagues perceived him to be. Kath was lying fully clothed and asleep. She was everything Mark desired. He sat down gingerly on the bunk and reached out to touch her hair.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she growled.
Every centimetre of Rome Termini was covered by a heaving throng of screaming ants, running in different directions, or so thought Mark, now completely demoralised and probably insane.
‘The driver was supposed to meet us at the platform,’ he whimpered.
‘That was for 10am. Its unlikely he was going to hang around for four hours,’ Kath said. ‘We had better get a taxi. You do know the name of the Hotel don’t you?’ Mark was too shell shocked to reply.
The taxi screeched to a halt outside the Hotel Splendide Royal. The porter took their luggage into the lobby; a magnificent room with huge arches supporting the beautifully ornate
ceiling from which hung three crystal chandeliers which presumably had their own power station. As they floated across the carpet past the antique furniture Mark’s spirits rose.
‘Welcome to the Splendide Royal, signor. We hope you will have a wonderful stay,’ said the receptionist allowing his gaze to linger on Kath a little too long.
‘Thank you,’ said Mark, ‘I’m sure we will.’ He handed over his voucher. The receptionist checked his screen and disappeared into the room behind the desk.
‘Signor, I’m afraid there is a problem. Air Traffic control is on strike from midnight tonight for three days and Fiumicino will be closed,’ he said with gravitas, ‘so your travel agent has re-booked you on the 8pm flight to London tonight. Unfortunately Club Class is full.’
For the first time Kath began to feel sorry for Mark. He was a shallow man with little personality and fewer graces, not someone she would normally notice if he cycled naked along Kings Road playing a banjo. But he had tried and now he was broken and at least he had stopped winking. She sat next to him on the bed.
‘It’s not the end of the world. I’m quite happy it’s over.’
‘You don’t understand. I’ll be the laughing stock of the office. They said that I would never get anyone to spend the weekend with me,’ he said. ‘I never dreamt of asking you .But, believe it or not, the boss made me a bet of a thousand pounds that I couldn’t make it with you, “cold stuck up, frigid bitch” he called you.’ Mark was warming to his subject, a bit too warm for Kath’s liking. ‘He said it in front of Roy and Pete and they laughed. He only did it to humiliate me. I needed to win the bet to pay for the trip.’
Kate almost slid off the bed in. She stared out at the Roman roofscape. Her brow creased in thought and her crimson lips parted in exasperation.
‘Bastard!’
‘Sorry.’
‘No not you – Martin.’
‘I don’t understand. What has the boss done to you?’
‘Martin has been trying to get me to sleep with him for months. I told him I wasn’t interested. He is married to Penny, who is my best friend,’ she stopped as though she wasn’t sure how to carry on. ‘He threatened to end my career. He just can’t accept rejection, like most men’. Kath walked towards the window and looked out at a millennium of shattered dreams.
‘When you asked me to come away with you I thought it was the most ridiculous offer I had ever had.’ Mark stared at his feet and felt his stomach heave. ‘But later I thought it would annoy Martin and give me time to adjust. I had no intention of sleeping with you of course.’ She decided not to tell him she had resigned from the Company and was moving to the family villa just outside Cannes with Penny. They had fallen in love at Pilates and had waited for this chance ever since.
She turned and walked towards him,
Mark swallowed hard as she unzipped her Versace trousers. ‘You do promise you’ll tell everyone won’t you?’ as she removed her knickers.
‘Morning Roy, morning Pete. Where’s Martin?’
‘He’ll be with us in a few minutes’ said Roy ‘Christ you sound chirpy; have a good weekend?’ Roy winked at Pete.
‘Go on, tell us all about it.’ laughed Pete.
‘Will do when Martin arrives; not like him to be late for this meeting.’
‘Morning all’ said Martin taking his seat at the head of the table ‘Good weekend everyone? Eh Mark, what was yours like?’
‘Fabulous boss and you owe me a grand.’ Mark threw Kath’s knickers on to Martin’s laptop.
As he sat at his desk afterwards Mark smiled at the thought of his new status. Of course they weren’t to know that the knickers were the only thing Kath gave him. Still, she kissed his cheek when they parted.
As the plane passed over head on its climb to bliss, Kath turned to her companion and smiled as she touched her leg; Cannes and Penny were her future. Much better type of person; First Class and no trains.
*****
Mary Keenan
I live in the country in the South of England with my two children and various pets. When I am not cleaning, feeding or consoling either a child or pet I write stories which I hope are sensitive and humorous.
The idea for A First Class Odyssey came from a dreadful train journey which I once made through Europe. However this story is completely fictional. Thanks for reading it.
If you would like some more information you can find me at:
http//www.writersshop.wordpress.com.