They drank to that, and to the increasingly ridiculous nature of their situation, and to the fact that the train was finally starting to feel bearably cool after the heat of the day.
"If we’ve timed things right," Ambrose said, checking his phone, "we should get in just in time for dinner."
"Perfect," said Sasha, who was starving. She glanced out the window and frowned. The landscape looked different, somehow. Less… Cornwall-ish. More Yorkshire, if she had to guess. "Ambrose."
"Mmm?"
"Where exactly are we supposed to be going?"
"Bodmin," he said without looking up from his phone. "Change at Bodmin for the branch line to the coast."
Sasha felt a cold knot of dread forming in her stomach that had nothing to do with the wine. "And where does this train go?"
"What do you mean? It goes to…" Ambrose finally looked up, following her gaze out the window, and his face went very pale. "Oh. Oh, hells bells."
"Please tell me we're not on the wrong train."
"We're not on the wrong train," Ambrose said automatically, then immediately contradicted himself. "Except we absolutely are. This is the Edinburgh service."
They stared at each other in horror as the full implications sank in. The train continued its inexorable journey north, carrying them further and further away from their destination with every passing minute.
"How did this happen?" Sasha demanded.
"I don't know! I bought the tickets online, I checked the departure time, I…" Ambrose frantically pulled up his phone, scrolling through emails and booking confirmations. "Oh."
"What?"
"Platform twelve instead of platform two." He showed her the screen with the expression of a man watching his own execution. "I misread the platform number. We've been sitting on the wrong train for two hours."
"You're joking."
"I wish." Ambrose slumped back in his seat, looking like his world was ending. "We're going to be so late."
???
By the time Victoria's taxi pulled up the circular drive, the evening shadows were already stretching across the manicured lawns, and the heat of the day was finally beginning to ease into something merely stifling rather than murderous. She could see lights glowing warmly in the windows of the house, and even from here she could hear the distant sound of conversation drifting from the terrace.
Davies appeared as if by magic to collect her luggage, looking exactly as he had for the past twenty years: impeccably pressed, diplomatically neutral, and somehow managing to convey volumes with the slightest elevation of an eyebrow.
"Good evening, Miss Victoria. I trust the journey was comfortable?"
"Lovely, thank you," she lied smoothly, climbing out of the taxi with her laptop bag clutched firmly in one hand. "How is everyone?"
"Oh, you know how it is when the family gathers," Davies said, loading her suitcase with practiced efficiency. "Your father has claimed sanctuary in his greenhouse, your mother is orchestrating seating arrangements, and Master Archie has brought another… companion."
Victoria caught the delicate pause and translated accordingly. "I see. Anyone I should be warned about?"
"A young lady with very strong opinions about lighting and camera angles," Davies said, which Victoria interpreted as Davies-speak for "brace yourself."
The house was exactly as it always was: cool marble floors, fresh flowers, and that particular smell of old dust and lavender polish. Her mother appeared in the entrance hall before Victoria had even set down her bag, arms outstretched and face glowing with maternal delight.
"Darling! You look wonderful, though perhaps a touch pale. Are you getting enough sun in London?"
Victoria submitted to being embraced and fussed over, breathing in her mother's familiar perfume and feeling, for a moment, like she was fifteen again and the biggest worry in her life was whether she'd remembered to pack enough books.
"I'm fine, Mother. Just busy with work."
"You're always busy with work. Come on, let's get you settled. Dinner's in twenty minutes, and I should probably prepare you for what you're walking into." Lady Charlotte linked her arm through Victoria's as they climbed the familiar staircase. "Archie's brought someone called Tiffany who keeps asking if we have better WiFi in the dining room and whether the family portraits would make good 'content.'"
