Wrong Train to Paris - Jennifer Moore Page 0,2

left Paris in January, it was nearly fin—”

“You will be quite overcome by zeh structure’s size, I believe, Miss Weston.” Herr Klausman continued as if he’d not heard her reply. Or, apparently, anything else she’d said, as this was not the first time in the past hours she’d mentioned she’d lived the majority of her life in Paris. He did seem rather less handsome the longer she was acquainted with the man.

“Of course, it is much too frightening for a gentle young lady to ride inside such a dreadful creation.” Herr Klausman shook his head. “You would do well to avoid it.”

Julia narrowed her eyes. Why did people constantly underestimate her? She had every intention of riding the Grande Roue and, contrary to her earlier thoughts, would prefer not to enjoy Herr Klausman’s company as she did it.

She turned her gaze out the window, watching the green fields and great mountains of Bavaria move past. In villages, red-roofed houses clustered around a tall church, while on their outskirts, half-timbered farm buildings with colorful shutters and wooden flower boxes sat among orderly looking fields. Occasionally, the train passed close enough that she could make out the details of a charming scene painted on the white stucco of an outer wall. In the late afternoon, the sun had begun to descend, and the countryside was bathed in a golden glow that made the scene look like a storybook picture.

Frau Maven poked Julia with her elbow and motioned with a lift of her chin at the pile of cards in the center of the table.

It is my turn. Julia brought her thoughts back to the game and studied her cards. She decided to make a safe play, laying down a low card and straightening the pile beneath it. She and Herr Klausman would likely not win this round, but their points would remain steady. Though most took a risk in such games, Julia preferred to take a practical strategy, control what she could, and not make a venture that only might yield an advantage, because of course, in that existed risk of a loss as well.

Nicholas tossed down a card.

Julia did not straighten it on the pile, though she was sorely tempted.

Herr Klausman’s brows pulled together for a moment, and he tapped his lip as he studied his hand. “But in spite of the atrocious iron blemish and the formidable wheel, you will love the city of lights, miss.” He decided on a card and played it.

A safe play, Julia noted.

“Paris in the springtime—it is marvelous,” Herr Klausman continued. “Zeh blossoms, zeh cuisine, zeh art. You will be very pleased with your time there, I think.”

“Quite so,” Julia replied. “As I mentioned earlier, my grand-mère lives on the Rue—”

“I was very young when I came to Paris for zeh first time. A school lad traveling with my classmates . . .”

Julia frowned and looked at the watch on her wrist and then at the timepiece that hung from a ribbon around her neck. Night would fall soon, and still, five hours and seventeen minutes remained until Strasbourg and, from there, forty-four minutes to Igney-Avricourt. Covering her mouth against a yawn, she considered whether to send for tea. She couldn’t afford to fall asleep.

She and Frau Maven would take an early dinner in the restaurant car, and then, with any luck, the older woman would retire for the night. Having her companion safely snoring in her berth was essential to Julia’s plan. It was not that she particularly wished to deceive her traveling companion, but if she explained her intention, Frau Maven might forbid her from leaving the train, or worse, she might insist upon accompanying her, which would make the entire venture meaningless. The whole point was for Julia to do it herself. To show her father that she was capable of navigating train stations and reading timetables and traveling alone. She was nearly nineteen years old, after all.

If he would have just listened to her argument, her father would have realized that Julia had traveled more than most young women ever would. She’d visited every art museum in every large city in both Europe and America. She’d even traveled to Toronto and St. Petersburg.

The sound of her companions’ voices became more distant, and Julia’s chair became more comfortable. The constant rumbling of the engine and the gentle rocking of the train dulled her senses pleasantly.

Another poke from Frau Maven’s elbow jolted Julia from her stupor. “Oh, it is my turn again,” she