Dotty lit a hangover cigarette and coughed. And with that, their mini-break was agreed: train from Calais, change for the Gotthard Bahn and a journey through the Alps. Three days in Florence, three in Rome and a flight back to London Airport. What could be nicer? The cash register sang.
That night, a phone call. Evelyn climbed out of bed.
I’m taking my easel, said Dotty.
Dotty was on the mend, thought Evelyn. How exciting, she said.
Just charcoals and pencils. Back to basics. What do you think?
Marvellous idea.
You don’t mind?
I would have suggested it had I thought you’d listen to me.
（Throaty laugh down the receiver.）
Dotty? It’s all still there, you know. Who you were when you painted me.
Thanks, darling.
Sleep, now.
Evelyn replaced the receiver. She was wide awake again. She got back into bed and drank a glass of water. She picked up Eleanor Clark’s Rome and a Villa. She read it whilst listening to rain on the window.
Five days later, Evelyn and Dotty set out for Europe, the most unlikely-looking pair: one sporting the workwear of a trawlerman, the other in a white cape and turban. They boarded the ferry at Folkestone and enjoyed a calm crossing of blue sky and blue water and white cresting gulls.
In Paris they changed from the Gare du Nord to the Gare du Lyon, taking a taxi on account of the easel, and then settled at a neighbourhood bistro that Evelyn had known during wartime. Jules was within walking distance of the station and quite popular with wealthy families heading south. A robust wine list was its backbone, and no one got on the Pullman sleeper wide awake.
The three-hour stopover went by quickly. Late sunshine turned to dusk and eventually night, as platters of coquilles St Jacques and oysters were lustily devoured with a crisp house wine that Dotty swore was Pouilly-Fumé. As Dotty swallowed the last of the bivalves, she said, Margaret someone.
And Evelyn said, Oh Lord. What about her?
Do you ever see her?
No, never, thank goodness, said Evelyn. Not since the debacle in Florence. What on earth made you think of her?
Don’t turn around but there’s a woman behind you who looks remarkably like her. I said don’t turn around!
Oh my giddy giddy God! Look who it is! screeched Margaret someone across the terrace, a sound that made the French hate the English a little more.
Evelyn’s smile turned rictus.
You look like you’ve had a stroke, said Dotty.
Maybe I’m having one, whispered Evelyn.
Margaret pulled out a chair and leant across the table clumsily, putting the carafe of wine in peril. （At times like these, Dotty’s reflexes were razor sharp.） Margaret said, Evelyn Skinner. How long has it been? Ten years? You don’t look a day older.
You know Dotty, don’t you? said Evelyn as if she’d just learnt to speak.
Oh yes. Still up to old tricks?
Well, you know what they say about old dogs.
Naughty you for not contacting me after Florence, said Margaret, turning back to Evelyn. But I’m not one to hold a grudge. You’re not heading back there, are you?
Oh no, said Evelyn and Dotty in unison. No no no.
Well I’m on my way back from a little tour, said Margaret. Had a splendid time at the Verrocchio exhibition, don’t you know? I’ve been travelling with a new （pause） friend.
And she turned to her table and smiled at a sweet blonde demure lamb. The word slaughter came to Evelyn’s mind.
What? said Margaret.
What? said Evelyn.
You said slaughter, said Margaret.
I did?
Yes, you did.
Oh. I meant, that’s not Meredith Slaughter, is it?
No no. Myrtle Forbright. We share a love of ornithology. Who’s Meredith Slaughter?
I don’t know, said Evelyn.
But you just mentioned her.
Evelyn thinks she’s having a stroke, said Dotty, nudging Evelyn under the table.
Really? said Margaret.
Evelyn nodded.
Isn’t that serious? said Margaret.
Not if it’s a small one, said Dotty, finishing her glass of wine and lighting a cigarette.
Should we do something? said Margaret.
Probably, said Dotty, blowing out a long plume of smoke. She turned to Evelyn and held the cigarette tantalisingly within reach. Can you …？ she said.
And Evelyn stretched out her arm, took the cigarette and inhaled.
She’s going to be fine, said Dotty.
Phew, said Margaret. Where were we?
Well I’m not sure where you were, said Dotty, looking at her watch. But we’ve got a train to catch. Cheerio, Margaret! Safe travels home.
On the dot of nine, the train inched through the dark and left the lights of Paris, heading towards Switzerland.