Until Vienna (Romance on the Orient Express) Read online

  “Well . . . you don’t look familiar to me.” Perhaps it was a reticent comment, but it was the truth. “Your, uh, person is hard to miss. So I am sure I would have known had we met before.”

  His brows shot up at this, but there was amusement in his eyes. “Explain yourself, Miss Ballard.”

  The heat in her neck could only mean one thing: she was about to blush. She looked toward the sculpture again, thanking the stars above that these specific sculptures were not nudes.

  When she looked at him, she found his gaze still upon her. “I have never seen hair your color.” She didn’t know what his reaction would be, but it wasn’t what happened.

  Professor Haskins laughed. Out loud.

  Three women in front of them immediately turned and hushed the man.

  This made Gigi laugh, although she was much more in control than the professor. And she quickly schooled her expression and tamped back her laughter. Too late, though. Aunt Rowena had noticed, and now her cane was tapping on the floor as she made her way toward Gigi.

  “Excuse me,” Professor Haskins murmured, his voice full of mirth.

  Gigi didn’t dare track where he was going, although she assumed it was someplace to compose himself. That thought only made her want to laugh again, but the feeling quickly died at the stern expression on her aunt’s face.

  “Georgina,” Aunt Rowena hissed as soon as she reached her side. “You’re causing a disturbance.”

  “Sorry, Aunt,” Gigi said. “I didn’t mean to make him laugh.”

  Aunt Rowena narrowed her pale-blue eyes. “Were you flirting, Georgina?”

  Gigi held back a gasp. “Of course not.”

  Then her aunt leaned close and whispered next to her ear, “I wouldn’t mind if you did, my dear, because I have it on good authority that he is a man of high quality. And I promised your mother I’d keep you free from any nefarious gentlemen.”

  Now Gigi’s chest was heating up. “I would never, uh, fraternize with nefarious men.”

  “Smart girl,” Aunt Rowena said. “Now, don’t make it so obvious that you are interested. Discretion is much more attractive.”

  The heat had certainly traveled to her cheeks by now. “I did not mean to flirt. He is probably married anyhow.”

  Aunt Rowena tapped her chin. “I will find out. Somehow.”

  Please don’t, Gigi wanted to say.

  “What are we doing?” Irene asked in a rather loud whisper, joining the two of them.

  “Nothing,” Gigi said at the same time her aunt said, “Matchmaking.”

  “Matchmaking?” Blanche said with glee. When had she joined the circle?

  “We need to put together a list of questions for Professor Haskins,” Aunt Rowena said in an authoritative voice that was not at all quiet.

  Fortunately, the main group had moved on to the next display, and only other strangers were present now.

  “No list,” Gigi said. “Please. I am not looking for a match on this tour.” She hoped her voice had been firm enough, but the glances the women exchanged gave Gigi little hope that her wishes would be abided by.

  Chapter Four

  Gigi managed to avoid any personal interaction with Professor Haskins for the remainder of the Louvre visit. She didn’t miss the knowing glances of the women who were all now surveying the professor.

  Poor man.

  Poor her.

  This tour would not be enjoyable if Gigi was always avoiding the professor and trying to prevent her party’s tongues from wagging.

  Back into the carriages they went, and the professor instructed the drivers where to take them to best avoid the main crowds at the Paris Exposition. The energy humming from him reminded Gigi of a group of young boys who played at the park near her home. Always moving, always alert.

  Once they arrived at the location where they could be led to the Grande Palais, Gigi’s neck ached from craning it to see all the wonders. The Eiffel Tower had been painted yellow. Imagine that. And there was the Grande Roue, which had to be at least one hundred meters high.

  “Now, everyone,” the professor was saying to the gathered group.

  Gigi tried to pay attention.

  “We will each get an iced lemonade,” he said. “It is wonderfully refreshing.”

  Gigi had to agree, and she felt reenergized by the time they stepped into the art exhibit. The professor had explained that living artists around the world had spent months, some even years, preparing a piece to be displayed. She walked slowly with Aunt Rowena, inspecting painting after painting.

  She stayed extra long in front of a landscape done in an impressionist style. The country house in the painting had blue shutters and flowerpots on either side of the door. The artist’s talent with light was impressive, and her gaze was drawn to the details of the stones that made up the house and the nearby wall. Beneath a tree were two figures—lovers? The surrounding landscape only added to the feeling of romance with the orchids and lavender fields, flanked by majestic mountains in the distance. The entire painting had a dreamy quality, and it was as if Gigi had been transported to another time, another place. Her gaze shifted to the artist’s signature in the corner of the painting, but she did not recognize the name.

  “The artist is from Provence,” the professor said. “I have it on exclusive authority that this is the first showing of his work. So you might consider yourselves blessed to be witnesses to it on this day.”

  “Ah, lovely,” Aunt Rowena said. “How much is the artist asking for it?”

  “It is not for sale,” a deeper, older voice said.

  Everyone turned.

  “This is Colonel James Weston,” the professor announced in a proud voice. “Colonel, this is Mrs. Rowena Ballard and her niece, Miss Ballard.”

  The colonel gave each woman a firm handshake. “Welcome to the exhibit. I am happy to answer any of your questions. But the painting in question is—shall we say—not authorized to be discussed at length.”

  “I love a good mystery,” Aunt Rowena said. “Can we at least meet the artist?”

  “He is not here,” the colonel said but offered nothing else. “Might I show you a fine portrait that I think you’ll find interesting?”

  And the rest of the hour proceeded with a personal escort from the colonel. Gigi was most impressed, and she was sorry when it was time to leave. She was much looking forward to a return visit to the exposition. But they still had to return to their hotel, freshen up for the next part of their journey, then meet at the Gare de l’Est station to catch the 6:25 p.m. train.

  This time around, Gigi insisted that they all be an hour early, which meant they ended up being thirty minutes early. Thankfully the uniformed porters were in abundance and very efficient in transporting all of the luggage onto the train with the gold crests painted on the side of the train cars.

  She was surprised at how many people were coming and going. But the noise and bustle didn’t detract from the beauty of the elegant columns, the interior archways, and the majesty of the half-rosette window presiding over more than two dozen platforms.

  They found their tour group quickly, which brought Gigi immense relief.

  “Is everything in order?” the professor asked, approaching.

  “We are here in one piece, and our luggage has been taken by the porters,” Aunt Rowena said. “Oh, look at those uniforms. What a sight.”

  Gigi followed her aunt’s gaze to see that, indeed, the conductors of the Orient Express wore fine navy suits with brass buttons. A conductor stood at each entrance to the Wagons-Lits train cars, waiting to assist.

  The train whistle sounded, and the professor ushered everyone toward the train.

  Stepping onto the train was like entering a world of luxury. The conductor of their train car was a mustachioed man about an inch shorter than Gigi. He first showed Blanche and Ir
ene their berth, then next to it, he opened the door to Gigi and her aunt’s berth.

  In their train compartment, the gas lights cast a warm glow about the space. Rich velvet drapes prevented the lights of the station from coming into the berth. Two bunks were folded, forming couches. They’d be adjusted into beds later in the evening.

  Aunt Rowena didn’t unpack a thing but sank onto her couch. “I must rest for an hour, Georgina,” she said. “Can you be sure I don’t oversleep?”

  “Of course,” Gigi said. This meant she needed to find a way to stay awake no matter what. While her aunt rested, Gigi slipped out into the corridor and made her way to the lounge car, which was just before the dining car.

  In the lounge car, there were a couple of couches, and tables were grouped with other chairs. One table was occupied with three people playing a game of cards. Another had a man sitting and reading a newspaper.

  Gigi sat near a window and gazed out at the darkened landscape. The lights of the city were fading fast to be replaced by nearly dark rural neighborhoods.

  “You are traveling alone, miss?”

  The male voice was accented, and she looked up to see a tall man standing nearby. Was he French? His black jacket and black trousers matched the black of his hair and bushy mustache, and he held a curvy pipe in his hand as if he were about to smoke it.

  “I am here with my aunt and her friends,” Gigi said, although she wasn’t sure she should be quite so open to a complete stranger. His clothing was elegant and bespoke of wealth, but he could be anyone.

  “Ah.” The gentleman took a drag on his pipe and exhaled the smoke.

  Gigi frowned.

  “Are you traveling all zeh way to Constantinople?”

  Gigi stilled. Was he Russian? That accent . . . and why was he so interested? The claims from her aunt about needing to be on guard against nefarious older gentlemen came back to Gigi’s mind. She’d thought her aunt was being paranoid and quirky, but now . . .

  “Yes,” Gigi said, because this man could probably find out such a detail in another way. But something propelled her to keep talking, something she couldn’t explain. “My aunt wanted to do this tour—she loves all art, you see. Since she uses a cane and sometimes doubts her physical abilities, she invited me.”

  Another inhale followed by a puff of smoke.

  “And do you love art, miss?”

  “I enjoy art,” Gigi said. “Although I haven’t spent much time studying it.”

  “Vhat do you study?” His dark eyes peered at her as if he were truly interested.

  “I’m a dressmaker,” Gigi said.

  “Ah, an art in and of itself.”

  “I suppose so,” Gigi said, although she hadn’t quite thought of it that way. She was still trying to figure out this man. He had not introduced himself, and he had not asked her name either.

  Her attention was caught by another man entering the lounge car. This man she recognized. Professor Haskins had changed into a more formal jacket, and his eyes landed on her immediately.

  The man with the pipe seemed to notice and took a step back.

  Professor Haskins reached him in a few strides. “Nicholas.”

  “Professor.”

  The two men shook hands, then Nicholas nodded to Gigi. “Welcome to zeh Orient Express. I vill leave you to zeh evening.” He quickly walked out of the lounge car.

  Professor Haskins settled onto the couch opposite Gigi, as if it were a normal thing to do and they were close acquaintances. He took off his hat and set it upon the table between them. Once again, she was struck by his white-blond hair, a stark contrast to his dark brows and dark eyes.

  “Do you know that man?” she asked, shifting her gaze from the hazel eyes of the professor to the golden landscape outside. The sun had fallen behind the horizon, and the golds would soon be replaced by twilight blue.

  “I’ve met him on previous trips.”

  “Does he work on the train?” Gigi asked.

  Professor Haskins didn’t reply at first but signaled a waiter. “I’ll have a coffee. And the lady will have . . . ?”

  When both pairs of eyes turned upon her, she said, “Tea, please.”

  After the waiter left, Professor Haskins answered. “Nicholas doesn’t work on the train. He is a frequent traveler from what I can see.”

  Gigi’s questions still weren’t answered.

  “I’m sorry for laughing at the museum,” the professor said. “Was your aunt really so dismayed?”

  So, he was being direct again. “She was dismayed until . . .” No, Gigi should not go further with that sentence.

  But Professor Haskins’s gaze had turned curious, and he tilted his head. “Until what, Miss Ballard?”

  The drinks were delivered, offering a small reprieve. When Professor Haskins told the waiter to add both drinks to his tab, Gigi couldn’t allow it.

  “No, please,” she told the waiter. “I insist that mine be on my tab. Thank you.”

  The waiter bowed and left.

  “I was happy to put it on my tab,” the professor said in a low tone.

  “Thank you for your offer,” Gigi said. “But I don’t want anyone in our tour to speculate.”

  His brows arched, and Gigi had to look away from the intensity of his hazel gaze.

  The professor picked up his coffee. “Are you going to answer my question about your aunt?”

  Gigi exhaled. “My aunt is creating a list about you.”

  His hand paused halfway to his mouth. “A list?”

  “Really, I shouldn’t even mention it because it will only put weight onto something that shouldn’t have any weight at all.”

  “I am intrigued, Miss Ballard.” He took a small sip of his coffee, then set it on the table between them.

  Gigi didn’t want to continue, but she’d gotten this far, and she might as well nip this issue in the bud on the first night of the tour. “You know how older women are—all their speculating about young people and who will marry whom.”

  Professor Haskins’s gaze shifted away, and he seemed to be staring at something unseen.

  “You can completely ignore any meddling,” Gigi said. “I know I will. Women are quite used to this sort of thing, so I’m sorry if this puts you in a difficult position.”

  It took another moment for his gaze to return to hers. He studied her face in that disconcerting way of his, the one that made the heat return to her neck and threaten to travel to her cheeks.

  “Rest assured, sir,” she began in an undertone, “I have no designs on any man. Not you or any other. I have other things to focus on.”

  His mouth twitched. “Such as?”

  “My profession as a dressmaker.”

  The professor nodded, as if he understood perfectly.

  “Besides, someone has to take care of my mother as she advances in years. My sister will be married in a few months, and then it will all be left to me.”

  “And your father?”

  “Deceased two years ago.”

  He dipped his head. “My condolences.”

  She nodded, then picked up her tea. The robust taste was exactly what she needed right now. She took a swallow, then set the teacup down. Why hadn’t she brought a book or something? Or her notebook? All she could do was pretend the darkening landscape outside was fascinating.

  “You are a very loyal daughter,” the professor said. “Your mother is fortunate to have you.”

  Gigi didn’t like that this was turning into a compliment about her person. “Without a father in the household, someone needs to keep her head. I’ve been made a fool once in romance, and once is enough for me. Whatever my aunt may or may not say to you, about me, please know it does not come from me.”

  “That was quite a declaration,” Professor Haskins said with a smile.

  Her sto
mach didn’t know whether to tighten with renewed anxiety or relax with relief that he found this amusing. “I’ve been known to speak my mind.”

  His smile widened. “Indeed.”

  “Is this entertainment for you?”

  “Quite.” He tilted his head. “And you?”

  His smile was making her want to smile back. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

  “So, you are a successful dressmaker, without attachment, and you are your aunt’s companion on this tour.” His thumb traced the outside of his coffee cup.

  “That sums it up,” Gigi said. “And you, Professor?”

  “As you said, I am a professor.” His mouth held a faint smirk. “Of course, success is to be determined. But I am without attachment, although I have been played the fool too.” Professor Haskins leaned back on the couch. “So you see, Miss Ballard, I’m a confirmed bachelor and intend to stay that way. No offense to you or any other woman on my tour or anywhere else. Do you think your aunt will be crushed?”

  Gigi laughed. “She’ll be extremely crushed. And believe me, I’m not offended in the least. I just wish a woman could so easily declare herself a bachelor too and be respected for it. The word bachelor carries a distinguished tone to it, whereas the female counterpart is . . . derogative. Being a spinster doesn’t sound as appealing as being a confirmed bachelor.”

  The professor’s eyes seemed to be dancing with amusement. “Surely there is a term better than spinster?”

  “Bachelorette?” they both said at once.

  Now the professor laughed.

  Gigi decided on the spot that she quite enjoyed making him laugh. And it was even better knowing that neither he nor she was looking for any sort of attachment. Although, she was curious as to his past—the one woman who’d made him a fool. As for herself, she wasn’t too keen to speak of Jimmy Dorsal.

  “I think we have a deal, Miss Ballard,” Professor Haskins said, still grinning. He leaned forward and extended his hand to shake hers.

  “I believe we do.” Gigi grasped his hand in hers. “Which deal are we shaking on?”