Despite the earnestness of Quinn’s half-finished statement, I’m sure this wasn’t a great idea. I can’t help but feel a tug of guilt. I should have known a train journey wouldn’t be the ideal date for Quinn, even one as glorious as this.
The attendant comes to collect our soup bowls. His brow furrows in concern. “Is your companion all right, sir?”
“Yes, thank you, he’s just tired.”
“Would you like me to serve the next course or keep it warm?”
“Keep it warm, thank you.”
“As you wish, sir.” He bows and takes our bowls away.
A five-star experience comes with five-star service. I’ll wait for Quinn to wake up before having more food, even if it means we skip some of the courses. What I can’t delay are the actors who have entered our carriage again. I wish I could make everything stand still so Quinn doesn’t have to miss a minute of the investigation. Sadly, I don’t have superhuman powers, so I can’t. I engage with the actors, asking questions and making notes so I can share them with Quinn when he wakes.
Once the actors have gone, the attendants return with the main course for everyone except Quinn and me. I watch him and soak up the chatter around us as he sleeps. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes dart from side to side beneath his closed lids. His breathing is soft and shallow. His mouth is curved up slightly, making me wonder what he’s dreaming about. Good things, I hope.
The rest of the guests in the carriage are onto the fourth course when Quinn jerks awake. He drags air into his lungs and stares around. I reach across the table to stroke his arm. His eyes snap to me, and he relaxes.
“Sorry, I forgot where I was for a moment.”
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need to apologise for anything.”
He blushes. “Sorry.” And winces. “Bad habit. Old habit. You know what they say.”
“Old habits die hard?”
“Yes. When I first started sleeping all the time, I was constantly apologising. I didn’t understand why it was happening, and I was sure everyone thought I was lazy.”
“I know you’re not.”
We pause as our attendant brings our main course of Welsh lamb and confit potato to the table. Miraculously, it’s still piping hot.
“I think we’re going to miss dessert,” I say.
Quinn looks around and then leans close enough to whisper. “That’s okay. I’m not a fan of rhubarb and custard anyway.”
I laugh. “Which part? The rhubarb or the custard?”
“Both?” He chews his lower lip. “You didn’t need to wait for me to eat, but thank you.”
“I have notes on who the murderer might be.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
I run through my notes as we eat the delicious food. We discuss who might have done it and the reasoning behind our ideas. We have a prime suspect by the time we’ve finished eating. I wipe my mouth on a crisp linen napkin. As the attendants serve the final course of coffee and handmade chocolate truffles, a man dressed as a detective enters our carriage and approaches each table to find out who we want to accuse. Quinn and I correctly guess that the murderer was Lord Rupert Dashwood, and we receive a model of the train as a prize and a memento of our journey. The train pulls into Victoria Station a few minutes later, and it’s time to disembark.
“I had an amazing time,” Quinn assures me. “I’ve never been treated like royalty before.”
I hold his hand as we leave the train and walk towards the exit. “Could you give me some tips on what dates would be best for you?”
Quinn gazes at me. “You want to go out with me again?”
“Yes.”
“Even after I fell asleep?”
