The Face Stone by Lewis Hinton

Author:Lewis Hinton [Hinton, Lewis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime & Mystery
Publisher: Troubador Publishing
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Maundy Thursday

5:30am

Here we are, tea and your paper,” I said to Sarah as I sat down beside her at a table in the station buffet. “Train should be here in…” I looked at my watch. “About now.”

“Manchester Piccadilly, five thirty-five service, leaving from Platform One in seven minutes,” came the announcement on cue.

“Almost on time, now, come on, I’ll carry that tea for you.” We walked out onto the platform, where yellow sodium lights shone weakly in the chilled darkness and the breaking dawn was still only a promise, to the now-waiting train, which hissed to us that its diesel engines were ready to roll. “Now, where’s the first class?”

“I would say you were pampering me,” yawned Sarah as we found the appropriate carriage and opened the door, “but it’s too early.” She yawned again. “And you seem to have such boundless energy,” she said, stepping aboard; I followed her to a compartment, balancing the teacup and newspaper as I went.

“Take that and that, and let me get this.” I placed the cup and paper in her hands then lifted her bag onto the overhead luggage rack. “Now then, all set?”

“Yes, darling, I’ll miss you.”

“Me too,” I said, leaning to kiss her.

“Oh, and I’ll call your office about Professor Horniman.”

“Okay, just leave a message with Miss Stephens.”

“I will, and—”

“Five thirty-five Manchester Piccadilly service leaving from Platform One in one minute,” interrupted the station announcer. “Stopping at Newton Le Willows, Warrington Bank Quay…” He carried on, listing out each station on the line in an almost unintelligible drone that made further conversation impractical.

“Got to go,” I shouted, shutting the compartment door behind me, then stepping back out onto the platform, only to hear Sarah’s voice once again.

“Jack,” she called from the carriage window. “Just remember, the professor didn’t get that waistline by accident. Loves his food and loves his wine and really opens up after a few drinks.”

“In vino veritas,” I called back.

“So take him somewhere nice, and don’t skimp on the booze,” she shouted. “That should swing it.”

“Okay, tell him to come to the Occidental for one o’clock,” I yelled, watching her wave as the train began to move. “Got that?”

She nodded, and I waved back as the train gathered speed and the carriage disappeared from sight.

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