You have a train to catch
Beware the Midnight Train
has been chugging along selling a few hundred ebooks and more print books than I expected since it was published in October last year. It’s also picking up speed so make sure you catch the train before it disappears. That’s giving away a bit of the plot. If you’ve ever fancied a trip on the Orient Express sit back and enjoy the extravagant comfort of the Midnight Train.
However, you’ll have to endure a little unease before you set off. Ellie was delighted at first…
CHAPTER ONE
The best revenge
1970s
From the outside Eleanor saw no discernible reason why Flint Cottage should be dirt cheap to rent. Roses climbed around the porch, tubs of colourful flowers adorned each corner and the symmetry was perfect including the slightly unusual feature of two front doors, both in need of a coat of paint. Either side of the cottage were two small gardens, fenced off from the lane. Eleanor put down her suitcase – why didn’t these things have wheels – and gazed at the cottage. A plaque above the doors announced it had been here since 1832. Finally, she smiled for the first time in weeks. “See if I care!” she announced. To be dumped and told she was boring was bad enough but to be replaced by a skinny, tarty, flirty… “Stop it!” She looked over her shoulder, nobody had heard, then glanced to her left where a row of Victorian cottages with neat fenced gardens stretched towards the steep grassy bank of the railway line. It’s all perfect, even close to the station to catch the train for London. “Home, sweet home,” she whispered as she picked up the suitcase and went towards her door. Hers, and hers alone. She rummaged in her handbag and triumphantly pulled out the keys.
Inside, to the right, she found her bedroom; she pushed the door open and gratefully put the suitcase down. A double bed faced the white sash window; a built-in wardrobe stood in the corner next to the door and an old arm chair of indeterminate colour hid in the dark far corner. What a strange smell? She sniffed, then shrugged before happily wandering past the telephone on the hall table and into the sitting room.
The room felt cold, really cold. Like the bedroom, it faced north so it was to be expected. She switched on the two-bar electric fire, closed the door as she left and took a quick look at the single bed in the second bedroom. “Guest bedroom,” she whispered with a smile. “Bit musty.” She smacked the mattress expecting dust to fly up. It didn’t.
The kitchen overlooked the dustbin but beyond was a garden. Her garden. She’d grow vegetables and with the rent so cheap, she’d finally be able to save. Still holding her keys, she opened the back door, moved the dustbin so it wasn’t so obvious and surveyed the overgrown, unkempt sight before her. Walking along the paving stones, she detected another strange smell: woody, herbal. Perhaps the previous occupant grew herbs. What a good idea. She grinned as her new life took shape. Quiet, with no rowdy neighbours to disturb her, not even birds singing in the trees. Odd that. Wrong time of the day, perhaps? Tomorrow morning the dawn chorus would confirm that she now lived in the countryside.
Annoyingly, the word ‘boring’ invaded her head. How could he have described her as boring? Her job was exciting: she met famous people. Though often they were too full of their own self-importance even to notice she existed. A creeping feeling of ‘not being noticed’ and ‘unworthy’ unsettled her. She pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. For the first time she knew what heartbroken felt like. She almost felt sick. Fear followed. He had stung her like a bee, leaving only pain behind. She knew, of a certainty, that the best revenge was to be happy. “And,” she announced to the wall, “I’ll have time to read my Agatha Christie. A good murder mystery.”
But other people live in this country cottage, more than expected…
Here’s where to find the secrets that lie behind those walls:
has been chugging along selling a few hundred ebooks and more print books than I expected since it was published in October last year. It’s also picking up speed so make sure you catch the train before it disappears. That’s giving away a bit of the plot. If you’ve ever fancied a trip on the Orient Express sit back and enjoy the extravagant comfort of the Midnight Train.
However, you’ll have to endure a little unease before you set off. Ellie was delighted at first…
CHAPTER ONE
The best revenge
1970s
From the outside Eleanor saw no discernible reason why Flint Cottage should be dirt cheap to rent. Roses climbed around the porch, tubs of colourful flowers adorned each corner and the symmetry was perfect including the slightly unusual feature of two front doors, both in need of a coat of paint. Either side of the cottage were two small gardens, fenced off from the lane. Eleanor put down her suitcase – why didn’t these things have wheels – and gazed at the cottage. A plaque above the doors announced it had been here since 1832. Finally, she smiled for the first time in weeks. “See if I care!” she announced. To be dumped and told she was boring was bad enough but to be replaced by a skinny, tarty, flirty… “Stop it!” She looked over her shoulder, nobody had heard, then glanced to her left where a row of Victorian cottages with neat fenced gardens stretched towards the steep grassy bank of the railway line. It’s all perfect, even close to the station to catch the train for London. “Home, sweet home,” she whispered as she picked up the suitcase and went towards her door. Hers, and hers alone. She rummaged in her handbag and triumphantly pulled out the keys.
Inside, to the right, she found her bedroom; she pushed the door open and gratefully put the suitcase down. A double bed faced the white sash window; a built-in wardrobe stood in the corner next to the door and an old arm chair of indeterminate colour hid in the dark far corner. What a strange smell? She sniffed, then shrugged before happily wandering past the telephone on the hall table and into the sitting room.
The room felt cold, really cold. Like the bedroom, it faced north so it was to be expected. She switched on the two-bar electric fire, closed the door as she left and took a quick look at the single bed in the second bedroom. “Guest bedroom,” she whispered with a smile. “Bit musty.” She smacked the mattress expecting dust to fly up. It didn’t.
The kitchen overlooked the dustbin but beyond was a garden. Her garden. She’d grow vegetables and with the rent so cheap, she’d finally be able to save. Still holding her keys, she opened the back door, moved the dustbin so it wasn’t so obvious and surveyed the overgrown, unkempt sight before her. Walking along the paving stones, she detected another strange smell: woody, herbal. Perhaps the previous occupant grew herbs. What a good idea. She grinned as her new life took shape. Quiet, with no rowdy neighbours to disturb her, not even birds singing in the trees. Odd that. Wrong time of the day, perhaps? Tomorrow morning the dawn chorus would confirm that she now lived in the countryside.
Annoyingly, the word ‘boring’ invaded her head. How could he have described her as boring? Her job was exciting: she met famous people. Though often they were too full of their own self-importance even to notice she existed. A creeping feeling of ‘not being noticed’ and ‘unworthy’ unsettled her. She pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. For the first time she knew what heartbroken felt like. She almost felt sick. Fear followed. He had stung her like a bee, leaving only pain behind. She knew, of a certainty, that the best revenge was to be happy. “And,” she announced to the wall, “I’ll have time to read my Agatha Christie. A good murder mystery.”
But other people live in this country cottage, more than expected…
Here’s where to find the secrets that lie behind those walls:
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