Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles 4)

“I’ll do my best,” Kitty promised as she lifted her skirt and slipped the note into the top of a stocking, before disappearing as discreetly as she’d arrived.

Ross pressed the red button by the door and the steward reappeared moments later.

“Have you reserved my table for Mr. Martinez?”

“Aye, and found you a place at the other end of the dining car.”

“Thank you, Angus. Now Kitty is to be seated opposite Mr. Martinez, and anything she eats or drinks is to be charged to me.”

“Very good, sir. But what about Mr. Martinez?”

“He will pay for his meal, but he’s to be given the finest wines and liqueurs, and it’s to be made clear to him that they are on the house.”

“Are they also to be charged to you, sir?”

“Yes. But he’s not to know, because I’m rather hoping Mr. Martinez will sleep soundly tonight.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand, sir.”

After the steward had left, Ross wondered if Kitty could pull it off. If she could get Martinez so drunk that he remained in his compartment until nine the next morning, she would have done her job, and Ross would happily have parted with another fiver. He particularly liked her idea of handcuffing him to the four corners of the bed and then hanging the Do not disturb sign on the door. No one would be suspicious, because you didn’t have to leave the train until 9:30, and many passengers appreciated a lie-in before enjoying a late breakfast of Arbroath Smokies.

Ross left his compartment just after eight, made his way to the dining room and walked straight past Kitty, who was sitting opposite Diego Martinez. As he passed, he overheard the chief sommelier taking them through the wine list.

Angus had placed Ross at the far end of the carriage, with his back to Martinez, and although he was tempted more than once to look around, unlike Lot’s wife he resisted. After he’d finished his coffee, having rejected his usual balloon of brandy, he signed the bill and made his way back to his compartment. As he passed his usual table, he was delighted to see that it was no longer occupied. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he almost strutted back to his carriage.

The feeling of triumph evaporated the moment he opened his compartment door and saw Kitty sitting there.

“What are you doing here? I thought—”

“I couldn’t arouse any interest, Mr. Buchanan,” she said. “And don’t think I didn’t try everything from bondage to gymslips. To start with, he doesn’t drink. Some religious thing. And long before the main course, it became clear that it’s not women that turn him on. I’m sorry, sir, but thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you, Kitty. I’m most grateful,” he said as he sank into the seat opposite her.

Kitty lifted her skirt, took the five-pound note from the top of her stocking and handed it back to him.

“Certainly not,” he said firmly. “You earned it.”

“I could always…” she said, placing a hand under his kilt, her fingers moving slowly up his thigh.

“No, thank you, Kitty,” he said, raising his eyes to the heavens in mock horror. That was when the second idea came to him. He handed the five-pound note back to Kitty.

“You’re not one of those weird ones, are you, Mr. Buchanan?”

“I must admit, Kitty, what I’m about to propose is pretty weird.”

She listened carefully to what service she was expected to perform. “What time do you want me to do that?”

“Around three, three thirty.”

“Where?”

“I’d suggest the lavatory.”

“And how many times?”

“I would think once would be enough.”

“And I won’t get into trouble, will I, Mr. Buchanan? Because this is a steady earner, and most of the gentlemen in first class are not very demanding.”