Night Train to Lisbon by Emily Grayson Page A

The scene was like one of those fairy tales her mother had fed her before bedtime, though she didn’t think her parents would exactly agree with her assessment of Alec as a prince. Still, what was the harm in reliving that moment? Why not linger on that platform in her memory in a way she hadn’t allowed herself in real life? Whatif that kiss had in fact meant to Alec what it meant to her, and they had confessed that truth to each other, and the two of them had stepped off the train in Lisbon together, as a couple? What if Alec were beside her now, if not in this bed in her aunt and uncle’s villa, then in another bed, perhaps at his pensão ? What if the feelings, the sensations she’d experienced on the rear platform of the night train to Lisbon, could somehow last forever?
    And with this happily-ever-after fairy-tale premise playing itself out in her head, Carson fell asleep.
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    The following morning, he telephoned. Jane answered the phone while Carson was sitting outside on the back porch, sketching the surrounding countryside, and Carson heard her aunt carrying on a friendly but slightly formal conversation. “Just a moment,” Jane finally said. “I’ll see if she’s available.”
    Jane appeared outside on the porch and said quietly, “Carson, that young man is on the phone. The one from the train. You know, the one who joined us for dinner that night. Alex, I believe his name is?”
    â€œAlec,” corrected Carson, her voice betraying nothing, but within herself she was imploding. Her heart had been set racing, and when she entered the large living room now and picked up the telephone receiver, her hand shook slightly.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œIs that Carson?” asked Alec. His voice sounded tinny and distant.
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œHello there. Alec Breve speaking. Are you doing all right in Sintra? Country agreeing with you and all that?”
    â€œOh, yes,” she said lightly. “Everything is terrific. We’ve been exploring the area, and it’s quite interesting.”
    â€œWish I had time to sightsee,” said Alec, “but the conference keeps me busy. However, tomorrow night, it turns out, there’s nothing on my schedule, and I was wondering if you were free to attend the theater with me. You may recall I mentioned there’s a production of Roméo y Julieta here in Lisboa—I mean Lisbon. You see, I’m already picking up the local words.”
    â€œRomeo and Juliet,” said Carson. “Yes, I’d really like to go. I’ll have to ask permission first.”
    â€œOf course,” said Alec. “You can telephone me back, if you like, here at the Pensão Moderna. Just ask for the bookish, gangly senhor in room twenty-three.”
    â€œYou’re hardly that,” Carson said before she could stop herself, and then she was embarrassed.
    She hung up the phone, and closed her eyes briefly. Alec’s voice hadn’t been in the slightest flirtatious. He had spoken, in fact, as though they were simply two people who had met aboard the night train to Lisbon, and who had in common the fact that both of them spoke English. Perhapsthat was the main feature they did share, although, as they stood out on the train platform together, their bond had been strong and undeniably sensual.
    She was completely new to this sort of thing. Entanglements. Unspoken words and feelings. The way men and women were supposed to keep their true thoughts and desires hidden from the rest of the world, lest anybody find out. The subtle game that was played between interested parties. And apparently Alec was an interested party; apparently the kiss hadn’t been a disaster. She’d kissed him like she’d meant it, because she had meant it. It hadn’t taken any dissembling on her part.
    But later on that night, at dinner with her aunt and uncle in the plaza downtown in Sintra, sitting under the moon, the