Counterfeit Conspiracies by Ritter Ames

Author:Ritter Ames [Ames, Ritter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Published: 2013-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was surprising how many people were still up and moving through London by subway in the wee hours of the morning. Homeless with their possessions stacked beside them, looking for a bit of shadow to sleep, as well as backpacking students who carried all their possessions in duffles and checked timetables to see if their needed train lines were still running at the late hour. Or, rather, the early hours. I was surprised at the number of families with bags, obviously transferring at St. Pancras from other lines or coming from Heathrow, and still moving through the city via the underground rails. I watched one small tot rub his eyes and scrunch his nose in frustration, before turning to his mother for comfort in the confusion of jet lag and time changes. Pods of people merged and separated as they neared their destination point in the station. There were even a few business folks with briefcases, working late and finally trekking home for a few precious winks of sleep before the pattern began once more. I really related to their plight. Finally, cleaning crews who worked in pairs and singly, readying the station for brief hours of train shutdown before the hordes descended again for the next start of business day.

I checked the departure screens for the train number scheduled to ultimately get me on to Paris. While the initial entrance to the terminal normally looked contemporary in the bleak morning hours lit by only the teeming bars of fluorescents, I felt almost transported back to an earlier time, like in a 1960s movie. Darkness filled the entrance wall that by day offered outside light from the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors. We walked through the undercroft. The piano player had already gone home for the day, and not all shops remained open, but many, like the coffee bar, catered to the night owls as well as the daily masses.

"Remember the ski trip a few years ago?" I asked, seeing all the surrounding open space, but recalling an earlier time when such was not the case.

"Gosh that was awful." Cassie rolled her eyes. "Everyone had to get everything they needed on the train, but nothing could be checked because Eurostar doesn't do checked baggage. I never even thought about that when we made our plans initially."

"I'm sure our fellow passengers hadn't considered it either." Everyone on the train fought for overhead space, floor space, and every space in between. I vowed then if I ever took another European ski trip it would be via air, or I would ship my gear ahead.

But claustrophobic memories aside, I always looked forward to seeing the Eurostar platform at St. Pancras. The station is a work of art on an architectural level, and I silently thanked Sir John Betjeman for doing his good public best that eventually meant the landmark was saved for London and all future travelers. Eurostar's departure venue was a glorious mix of glass, steel and historical accouterments, a

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