“My other tie is a Van Gogh. They were presents. Arty gifts for an artist.”
“It suits you.”
“Pun intended?”
Stefan’s eyes sparkle. “Yes.”
He leans down and kisses me gently. I want more, but he stands tall before I can do anything about it.
“First, we have to get to Victoria Station.”
“Victoria?”
Stefan smiles and nods. “Shall we?”
He holds his arm up, elbow crooked, inviting me to loop my arm through his. It all feels very traditional and proper. I lift my eyebrows but accept his invitation.
The journey to Victoria Station doesn’t take too long on the underground. I’m glad that the tube trains are pretty busy, as it means we’re forced to stand. It’s harder to fall asleep when I’m on my feet, sandwiched between sweaty businesspeople. I’m grateful for Stefan’s imposing presence. He gets a few odd looks, ignoring them all with his head held high. I know I wouldn’t be confident to rock such a distinct clothing style, but Stefan does it with sophisticated ease.
Stefan leads me to Platform 2, where an elegant steam train is waiting. I stare at the bottle-green engine with its red-and-cream carriages. Attendants are waiting by each door, dressed in crisp white jackets with black lapels and pressed black trousers. They stand with their elbows bent, hands folded behind their backs, smiling welcomingly.
“We’re not…” I stumble over my words and lean into Stefan for support as my knees start to weaken. “We can’t be…”
“Going on that?” Stefan gestures to the train.
I nod.
“We are. But first—" He points to a waiting lounge and, once I’m standing upright again, nudges me toward it.
The lounge has a parquet floor and comfortable seats. Several other passengers are waiting for the train, dressed smartly in suits and cocktail dresses. There are also people in nineteen-twenties costumes, mixing with the passengers.
“What?” I look at Stefan questioningly.
“A murder mystery dinner on a steam train.”
“Wow.” The idea of it takes my breath away. I hope I can stay awake for the whole thing.
An attendant offers us a choice of champagne or alcohol-free sparkling wine. We both opt for the latter and find a spare table to sit at. While we wait, the actors drift from table to table, talking to the passengers. Some are friendly and chatty; others are purposefully snooty in a lord or lady of the manor fashion. It’s fun and slightly surreal. After a few minutes, a bell rings, drawing our attention to the door.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to board the train for dinner. If you would follow me, please.”
Stefan stands and holds his hand out. I accept it and let him help me stand. Stefan shows our tickets to one of the attendants, who tells us which carriage to go to. As we step onto the train, I’m taken aback by how opulent the interior is. The walls and ceiling are all made of rich, highly polished wood. There are red velvet curtains on the windows and golden framed mirrors on the walls. There are tables for four on one side of the carriage and, on the other side, tables for two. The seats are elegant wing-back chairs with floral patterned upholstery in grey, green, and cream tones. The tables are covered in white linen tablecloths and are set out with white china, with a pale blue rim and silver detailing. There’s a full range of silver cutlery and sparkling crystal glassware. The entire carriage has a nineteen-twenties art deco feel to it. The trip must have cost Stefan a fortune. I can’t believe how much he’s spoiling me. My knees buckle.
Stefan puts his arm around my waist. “Okay?”
“Yes, just… wow.”
He chuckles, gives me a moment, and then escorts me to our table for two towards the back of the carriage.
Once we’re all seated, the train toots its horn, and in an impressive puff of smoke, we pull away from the platform. The train speeds up slowly, but soon, we’re rocking gently from side to side as we chug out of London towards the countryside. Rather than relax in my comfortable chair, I force myself to sit upright, my back rigid. I want to enjoy every minute of the train ride with Stefan, but it’s too easy to fall asleep on trains, especially if I’m already exhausted.
“This is amazing,” I say.
He smiles at me warmly.
There’s no time to start a conversation before the attendants bring out the first course of baby beetroot with caramelised onion and ricotta. The portions are tiny but beautifully presented. I stare at the array of cutlery, unsure which to use first.
“You start from the outside.” Stefan picks up the outermost knife and fork. “And work your way in as you go through the courses.”
