‘Belt and braces,’ says Elizabeth.
Joyce nods. ‘I suppose I’ve packed a raincoat and an umbrella today, so I can hardly talk. How was Staffordshire?’
‘I didn’t see a great deal of it, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I was driven there at speed, then forced into a house with a gun at my head, and eventually dumped on a freezing roadside at two a.m.’
Elizabeth’s phone buzzes, a message from a withheld number.
I see you are on the train to London, Elizabeth. I have people everywhere. Please don’t let me down.
It is meant to sound threatening, but it is starting to come across as needy. Elizabeth takes a look along the carriage, though, judging every face in turn.
‘I’m not sure I’ve ever been to Staffordshire,’ Joyce continues. ‘But I must have been through it at some point, mustn’t I?’
The ideal scenario would be to not have to murder Viktor Illych. But the Viking would kill Joyce in two weeks, unless given a good reason not to. The choice was Viktor or Joyce, and that was no choice at all.
So here they were, on the 09.44 from Polegate to London Victoria. She is still choosing not to tell Joyce about the threat against her. Was that right? Could Joyce handle a death threat? Elizabeth had yet to see Joyce’s limits, but surely she must have some?
‘You’ll have been through Staffordshire, Joyce, yes. It’s quite broad.’
Joyce has been telling Elizabeth her new theory. That Fiona Clemence had been involved in Bethany Waites’s murder and wouldn’t it, all things being considered, be worth talking to her? Nice to think about that for a while, rather than what she is about to do.
Elizabeth feels the weight of the gun in the handbag sitting on her lap. A gun, a pen, some lipstick and a crossword book. Just like the good old days.
‘Is there a trolley on this train?’ Joyce asks. ‘Or do we have to go to the buffet car?’
‘There’s a trolley,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Oh, good,’ says Joyce, and looks over her shoulder, to see if, perhaps, the trolley is on its way. ‘And is this trip to London connected to your adventure?’ Joyce continues. ‘Or are we shopping?’
‘It is connected. I will take you shopping another day to make up for it.’
Another message on Elizabeth’s phone.
Nice day for it, by the way!
Does the Viking have nothing else to do? They both sit back and take in the grey, wet view out of the window. Oh, England, you really know how to be drab when you want to.
Joyce finally cracks. ‘So where are we off to, then?’
‘To meet an old friend of mine,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Viktor.’
‘We used to have a milkman called Victor,’ says Joyce. ‘Any chance it’s the same Victor?’
‘Very possible. Was your milkman also the head of the Leningrad KGB in the eighties?’
‘Different Victor,’ says Joyce. ‘Though they finish milk-rounds very early, don’t they? So perhaps he was doing two jobs?’
They laugh, and the trolley arrives. Joyce asks the woman behind the trolley a series of questions. Was the tea free? Were there biscuits? Were those free? Were those bananas she could spot? Was there much of a trade in bananas on the train, or were the biscuits the big draw? How much hotter would the coffee be at one end of the train than at the other? There were then a few supplementary questions, which elicited that the woman pushing the trolley had recently returned to work after having a baby, and that her husband, who worked in construction at the airport, was not really pulling his weight at home, and that his mother was being impossible and defending him at every turn. At the end of the questions Joyce had decided that, actually she was fine, and wouldn’t have anything, thank you. Elizabeth took a water, and the trolley, and the woman, continued on their way, wishing them both a safe journey.