No one could deny the romance of the Highland Sleeper Train. Who could not love the old-fashioned carriages, the earthy and ever pleasant stewards and the rattle of the track as the train spend northwards? It did not matter whether you were in the Aberdeen or Edinburgh section of the train, when dawn broke you knew that you could peer out onto bell heather and purple ling.
The spell fell onto the occupants of the lounge car gathered for a last drink as the train sped towards Peterborough. Jack was an oilman, a glowering Glaswegian with long hair and tattooed forearms heading for Aberdeen and the rigs.
Cynthia was pure Home Counties, pencil skirt with blouse not shirt and discreet, not flashy jewellery. She was in the Edinburgh section of the train as her husband was collecting her from Waverly station tomorrow morning, but tonight she was going to have fun. She laughed at Jack’s bawdy jokes, admired his toned physique when the train threw them together, and kept up with him drink for drink.
An hour later as the train sped through Lincolnshire, she reached up and whispered in his ear. They darted off down the corridor together, she giggling like a schoolgirl and he with a broad grin.
Dawn broke and Jack peered out of the window.
“Aye, good to be back in Aberdeen!”
“Aberdeen? Oh fuck!” Then she started to laugh.
In Edinburgh, the guard handed the bags to the man forlorn.
“That’s all there was, sorry.”
“Thank you.”
The man trudged away with Cynthia’s bags.
“I don’t believe it! Not again!”
*
“Did you take the sleeper when you visited Angus in Scotland?”
“Absolutely, I love that journey.”
“So, it is you.”
“Besides, I always know which half of the train I’m in.”
“So, who is the culprit then?”
“It must be one of his girlfriends. Angus is a bit of a secret agent with the ladies.”