still chained together of course and I was frightened that somebody might notice. But the other passengers were too busy getting out their sandwiches and newspapers. We had just reached First Class when the train jolted and began to move forward. We were on the way.
The second-class carriages had been almost full. First Class was almost empty. But as I began to move forward again, I noticed a young woman, sitting on her own, reading a book. At least, she
had
been reading the book. Now she was staring at us.
She was a few years older than Tim, dressed in a smart shirt and suit with a silk scarf and grey, suede gloves. I thought she might be an actress or maybe the head of a fashion firm. She had long fair hair, a little make-up and soft, suntanned skin. Her eyes were a shade of green that made me think of cats and Egyptian princesses and witchcraft.
She knew who we were. There could be no doubt of it. “Sit down!” she said.
I hesitated. But I could see we had no choice. I sat down, pulling Tim with me.
“Tim Diamond!” She smiled as she said the words. As far as she knew, Tim was a wanted criminal, a dangerous bank robber. But she was treating the whole thing like a joke.
“Hello!” Tim’s voice sounded peculiar.
I glanced at him. He had gone bright red and his lips were wobbling. For a minute I thought he was train sick. Then I realized it was something much, much worse. Tim had fallen in love.
“I’m Tim,” he said. “This is another brick.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My brother, Nick,” he corrected himself.
The woman glanced at our handcuffs. “Is that chain the one you pull in emergencies or do you always travel like that?” she asked. Her voice had an accent. She wasn’t English, that was for sure. But what was she? Who was she? And why hadn’t she sounded the alarm?
“I can explain…” I began.
“There’s no need to.” She smiled again and I had to admit it was a pretty smile. “My name is Charlotte Van Dam,” she went on. “I’m Dutch and I’m a writer. Crime stories. I’m on my way home from a convention in London.”
“How unconventional,” Tim gurgled.
“If you know who he is, how come you aren’t calling the cops?” I asked.
She leaned forward and put a hand on Tim’s knee. Tim squirmed in his seat and blushed. “I know an innocent man when I see one,” she said. “And your brother has got the most lovely big, wide, innocent eyes.”
Yeah. They match his lovely big, wide, innocent brain, I thought. But I decided to say nothing. If Charlotte Van Dam was crazy enough to fancy Tim, that might just help us. And right now we needed all the help we could get.
“So tell me, Timothy,” she said. “What takes you to Dover?”
“Well … the train does,” Tim replied. As brilliant as ever.
“You’re on the run from the police!” she whispered. And now I understood. She’d been writing crime fiction all her life but now she’d just met the real thing. No wonder she was excited. “Are you going to leave the country?” she asked.
In the end we told her the whole story, just as we had told Snape a few days before. The only difference was that she believed us. And not only did she believe us – she was enthralled.
“I want to help!” she gasped, when we had finished. “I can find this man you’re seeking.”
“86?” I said.
“Yes. The secret agent. I can go to the Amstel Ijsbaan for you. I live in Amsterdam. I speak the language. Please, you must let me go!”
Tim shook his head. “But Charlotte, it could be dangerous.”
“Charon could be there,” I agreed.
“Yes. And you might slip on the ice,” Tim added.
Charlotte moved closer to Tim and looked at him adoringly. I could almost hear the violins playing in the background. She was in love with Tim! It was incredible. “You’re just like every character I’ve ever written about,” she murmured.
“You do horror stories too?” I said.
Her lips moved closer to his.
The second-class carriages had been almost full. First Class was almost empty. But as I began to move forward again, I noticed a young woman, sitting on her own, reading a book. At least, she
had
been reading the book. Now she was staring at us.
She was a few years older than Tim, dressed in a smart shirt and suit with a silk scarf and grey, suede gloves. I thought she might be an actress or maybe the head of a fashion firm. She had long fair hair, a little make-up and soft, suntanned skin. Her eyes were a shade of green that made me think of cats and Egyptian princesses and witchcraft.
She knew who we were. There could be no doubt of it. “Sit down!” she said.
I hesitated. But I could see we had no choice. I sat down, pulling Tim with me.
“Tim Diamond!” She smiled as she said the words. As far as she knew, Tim was a wanted criminal, a dangerous bank robber. But she was treating the whole thing like a joke.
“Hello!” Tim’s voice sounded peculiar.
I glanced at him. He had gone bright red and his lips were wobbling. For a minute I thought he was train sick. Then I realized it was something much, much worse. Tim had fallen in love.
“I’m Tim,” he said. “This is another brick.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My brother, Nick,” he corrected himself.
The woman glanced at our handcuffs. “Is that chain the one you pull in emergencies or do you always travel like that?” she asked. Her voice had an accent. She wasn’t English, that was for sure. But what was she? Who was she? And why hadn’t she sounded the alarm?
“I can explain…” I began.
“There’s no need to.” She smiled again and I had to admit it was a pretty smile. “My name is Charlotte Van Dam,” she went on. “I’m Dutch and I’m a writer. Crime stories. I’m on my way home from a convention in London.”
“How unconventional,” Tim gurgled.
“If you know who he is, how come you aren’t calling the cops?” I asked.
She leaned forward and put a hand on Tim’s knee. Tim squirmed in his seat and blushed. “I know an innocent man when I see one,” she said. “And your brother has got the most lovely big, wide, innocent eyes.”
Yeah. They match his lovely big, wide, innocent brain, I thought. But I decided to say nothing. If Charlotte Van Dam was crazy enough to fancy Tim, that might just help us. And right now we needed all the help we could get.
“So tell me, Timothy,” she said. “What takes you to Dover?”
“Well … the train does,” Tim replied. As brilliant as ever.
“You’re on the run from the police!” she whispered. And now I understood. She’d been writing crime fiction all her life but now she’d just met the real thing. No wonder she was excited. “Are you going to leave the country?” she asked.
In the end we told her the whole story, just as we had told Snape a few days before. The only difference was that she believed us. And not only did she believe us – she was enthralled.
“I want to help!” she gasped, when we had finished. “I can find this man you’re seeking.”
“86?” I said.
“Yes. The secret agent. I can go to the Amstel Ijsbaan for you. I live in Amsterdam. I speak the language. Please, you must let me go!”
Tim shook his head. “But Charlotte, it could be dangerous.”
“Charon could be there,” I agreed.
“Yes. And you might slip on the ice,” Tim added.
Charlotte moved closer to Tim and looked at him adoringly. I could almost hear the violins playing in the background. She was in love with Tim! It was incredible. “You’re just like every character I’ve ever written about,” she murmured.
“You do horror stories too?” I said.
Her lips moved closer to his.
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