something in Jo’s gut told her that her father still had some big explaining to do.
By the time they reached the train station, Danny was ready to jump out and kiss the ground. Instead, he simply climbed from the car, grabbed his bag, and ran with Luc from the parking lot to the station. Rémi was waiting for them at the door, a plastic bag in one hand and a fistful of papers in other, pacing wildly, a look of immense relief covering his face when he saw them.
“Rémi!” Danny said, his heart plummeting. “What are you doing here? I thought Sabine was in labor!”
Rémi gestured for both men to follow him, and he spoke as they dashed down the long hallways of the expansive train station.
“She is, but we are not supposed to go to the hospital until the pains are five minutes apart. Right now, they are between ten and fifteen and she is at her mother’s. I just wanted to make sure everything is taken care of here. Quickly, quickly. Mr. Bashiri is waiting for us at track six.”
They dashed through a series of long halls and down a wide stairway, finally emerging into the open, cavernous part of the station where they would board. As they approached track six, they saw that the train was already there, a shiny and sleek high speed TGV that looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Danny saw that the other passengers had already gotten on, save for one very short, very dark-skinned man dressed in his usual garb of a multi-pocketed khaki jacket and slacks, a neat cotton hat upon his head and a small, tidy camera bag hanging from his shoulder. On the ground nearby was a well-worn black leather suitcase.
“You said they would make it and they did,” Mr. Bashiri told Rémi calmly with a soft, African lilt. Then, with a nod to Danny and Luc, he stepped aboard the train.
“Go with him,” Rémi instructed Danny, thrusting the plastic bag he’d been carrying into Danny’s hands. “I’ll give the paperwork and final instructions to Luc. Grab Bashiri’s suitcase, would you?”
Immediately, Rémi redirected his attention to Luc, switching to their native French language and speaking so quickly that Danny only caught a little bit of it, something about baggage and customs and tickets. Danny picked up the black bag and stepped aboard, looking up the narrow hallway of the train just in time to see Mr. Bashiri step from the hallway into a room. Danny quickly sprinted up the hall and joined him, knocking first and then stepping inside to see a small-but-impressive first-class sleeper compartment.
On the far wall was a large window, flanked on each side by gray velvet seats that faced each other. Above each seat, set into the walls, were folded-up berths. To the right of the door was the private bathroom, which included a toilet, a shower head, and a small, stainless steel sink adorned with several crisp white towels and a freshly-wrapped soap. To the left was a small closet.
Trying not to look flustered or breathe heavily from all of the running, Danny put his bags on the floor beside the door and then set Mr. Bashiri’s suitcase inside the closet.
“Would you like for me to hang up any of your things?” Danny asked, gesturing toward the suitcase.
Mr. Bashiri, a man of few words, simply held out the strap of his camera case. Danny carefully took it from him and put it in the closet as well. Mr. Bashiri settled in the forward-facing seat next to the window, and when Danny asked if he could get him anything, the man asked for a cold bottle of water.
“Of course,” Danny said, suddenly wondering how he thought he was going to pull all of this off.
Liaison? What a joke! Except for a few weekend jaunts to more rural parts of France, Danny had never been on a European train in his life. He didn’t know where to get water. Did they have a club car? A water cooler? Some sort of cabin steward?
Danny hesitated, glancing at Mr. Bashiri, who smiled bemusedly and then gestured toward the plastic bag on the
By the time they reached the train station, Danny was ready to jump out and kiss the ground. Instead, he simply climbed from the car, grabbed his bag, and ran with Luc from the parking lot to the station. Rémi was waiting for them at the door, a plastic bag in one hand and a fistful of papers in other, pacing wildly, a look of immense relief covering his face when he saw them.
“Rémi!” Danny said, his heart plummeting. “What are you doing here? I thought Sabine was in labor!”
Rémi gestured for both men to follow him, and he spoke as they dashed down the long hallways of the expansive train station.
“She is, but we are not supposed to go to the hospital until the pains are five minutes apart. Right now, they are between ten and fifteen and she is at her mother’s. I just wanted to make sure everything is taken care of here. Quickly, quickly. Mr. Bashiri is waiting for us at track six.”
They dashed through a series of long halls and down a wide stairway, finally emerging into the open, cavernous part of the station where they would board. As they approached track six, they saw that the train was already there, a shiny and sleek high speed TGV that looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Danny saw that the other passengers had already gotten on, save for one very short, very dark-skinned man dressed in his usual garb of a multi-pocketed khaki jacket and slacks, a neat cotton hat upon his head and a small, tidy camera bag hanging from his shoulder. On the ground nearby was a well-worn black leather suitcase.
“You said they would make it and they did,” Mr. Bashiri told Rémi calmly with a soft, African lilt. Then, with a nod to Danny and Luc, he stepped aboard the train.
“Go with him,” Rémi instructed Danny, thrusting the plastic bag he’d been carrying into Danny’s hands. “I’ll give the paperwork and final instructions to Luc. Grab Bashiri’s suitcase, would you?”
Immediately, Rémi redirected his attention to Luc, switching to their native French language and speaking so quickly that Danny only caught a little bit of it, something about baggage and customs and tickets. Danny picked up the black bag and stepped aboard, looking up the narrow hallway of the train just in time to see Mr. Bashiri step from the hallway into a room. Danny quickly sprinted up the hall and joined him, knocking first and then stepping inside to see a small-but-impressive first-class sleeper compartment.
On the far wall was a large window, flanked on each side by gray velvet seats that faced each other. Above each seat, set into the walls, were folded-up berths. To the right of the door was the private bathroom, which included a toilet, a shower head, and a small, stainless steel sink adorned with several crisp white towels and a freshly-wrapped soap. To the left was a small closet.
Trying not to look flustered or breathe heavily from all of the running, Danny put his bags on the floor beside the door and then set Mr. Bashiri’s suitcase inside the closet.
“Would you like for me to hang up any of your things?” Danny asked, gesturing toward the suitcase.
Mr. Bashiri, a man of few words, simply held out the strap of his camera case. Danny carefully took it from him and put it in the closet as well. Mr. Bashiri settled in the forward-facing seat next to the window, and when Danny asked if he could get him anything, the man asked for a cold bottle of water.
“Of course,” Danny said, suddenly wondering how he thought he was going to pull all of this off.
Liaison? What a joke! Except for a few weekend jaunts to more rural parts of France, Danny had never been on a European train in his life. He didn’t know where to get water. Did they have a club car? A water cooler? Some sort of cabin steward?
Danny hesitated, glancing at Mr. Bashiri, who smiled bemusedly and then gestured toward the plastic bag on the
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