Heathen/Nemesis

Fifty-Five

Apart from Donna there were only two other people eating in the train’s dining car. They sat at the far end of the carriage, talking in hushed tones. Each man had a portable phone on the table beside him.

Donna enjoyed her meal, luxuriating in the warmth of the carriage. She felt tired and wondered if she might manage a couple of hours’ sleep before the train reached London. It was about forty miles from York at present, so she had plenty of time.

She glanced up briefly as David Ryker passed her, his leather jacket undone. As he passed by, Donna noticed that his trousers didn’t touch the top of his shoes. She looked at his broad back, then at the short trousers, and smiled to herself, returning her attention to her coffee. When the steward returned with a steaming pot she had another cup.

Ryker passed her once more, glancing at her, cradling a plastic beaker of tea in his hand. As the train thundered over a set of points he steadied himself against her seat for a moment, then wandered off down the aisle.

Donna ordered brandy from the steward and sat gazing at the window of the train.

Apart from lights from distant towns, all she saw was her own reflection in the dark glass. The train sped along, countryside flying by in the gloom outside.

She moved across to the window, cupping one hand over her eyes so that she could see out, but there was little to see. They passed through a small station and she caught a glimpse of a couple of people standing on the windswept platform, but other than that there was nothing to see. She sat back and reached for her brandy. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to loll back against the pillow.

Was she any closer to a solution, to finding out why her husband had died?

He died because his car hit a wall.

But why? Was it really an accident?

The incidents in Ireland told her it wasn’t, yet she had no proof to support the fact that he had been killed. She was beginning to wonder if her trip had been worthwhile. She had also wondered if seeing the places he went might make her feel closer to him, but it hadn’t. She was left with still more unanswered questions. Most of all, she was no wiser as to his involvement with Suzanne Regan.

Donna missed Chris badly. At nights, particularly, she had felt loneliness so great it was as if a hole had been torn in her soul, something irreplaceable had been ripped from her. Knowing of his involvement with another woman, however, had meant that that hole was in danger of being filled with hate, not sorrow. If only she’d had the chance to ask him why he’d had the affair.

She felt cheated, when she should have felt despair.

Just one chance to ask him.

One chance to say goodbye.

She sat forward and opened her eyes.

David Ryker’s reflection filled the window beside her as he passed. For a second Donna thought he’d been standing there looking at her, this man in the leather jacket and trousers which were too short.

He retreated back down the aisle again.

Donna decided to take her brandy back to her seat with her. She paid the bill and walked back through the dining car, drawing glances from the two men at the other end with the portable phones. Both of them looked at her for a second, then continued their hushed conversation.

She made her way back to her seat, noticing that the man with the leather jacket was seated about five rows behind her.

Donna made herself comfortable and prepared to sleep, wondering, despite the fact that she was tired, whether or not the thoughts tumbling through her mind would be still long enough to allow her two or three precious hours’ rest. She drained what was left in her glass and set it down.

‘Mind if I join you?’

The voice startled her. She looked round to see Ryker standing there. His face was expressionless.

Without waiting to be invited he sat down beside her and crossed his legs, the trousers riding up almost to his calf.

‘I saw you in the dining car,’ he said. ‘I thought you were travelling alone.’

‘I prefer travelling alone,’ Donna said, trying to be as tactful as possible. She smiled thinly at him.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Ryker asked. ‘I was going to have one.’

‘No thanks, I was going to try and get some sleep,’ she told him, an edge to her voice.

‘I can’t sleep on trains,’ Ryker said.

And it doesn’t look as if I’m going to be able to either, thought Donna irritably.

‘I get bored,’ he continued, looking up, noticing that another man was approaching.

A man in a long dark overcoat.

Donna saw him, too. Saw that he was looking at her.

She sat up, the puzzled look on her face turning to one of irritation.

The second man sat opposite her.

‘I don’t want to seem rude,’ she said, ‘but I was hoping to travel on my own. I ...’

Ryker cut her short.

‘Shut up,’ he whispered. ‘Just shut it.’

Donna turned to say something to him.

As he opened his jacket she saw his hand close over the hilt of a knife.

Opposite, the man in the long dark overcoat was smiling.

‘We need to ask you some questions,’ he said. ‘We need your help.’ He unbuttoned his coat and reached inside.

‘And what if I call for the steward?’ Donna said defiantly.

Stuart Benton pushed back his coat slightly so that she could see that he too carried a knife.

‘If you do,’ he said softly, leaning towards her, ‘we’ll slice you up like a joint of meat.’