one side.
“What’s she doing here?” I muttered.
“She must be taking a train,” Tim suggested.
“I know that,” I said. “But where to? And why didn’t she meet us in the wheatfield?”
Tim considered. “I don’t know. Let’s ask her.”
“Yes. Let’s ask.”
The café at platform 2b resembled something out of an Agatha Christie novel, all wood panelling and marble bars with waiters in white aprons and tea that came in bone china, not plastic cups. Charlotte was sitting by a window that looked back out over the platform towards the trains. A waiter was serving her with a cup of hot chocolate and a croissant that could have been a late lunch. It was two o’clock. Our train to Ostend left at twenty past.
We went over to her. She saw us and for a moment there was something in her eyes that wasn’t exactly pleasure. It was there and then it was gone. She smiled and stood up.
“Tim!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been so worried about you!” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Tim blushed. “You have?”
“Of course I have. Ever since I read about that ice-skater getting killed…”
“Rushmore,” I muttered.
“The late 86,” Tim added.
“Yeah,” I said. “They finally got his number.”
Charlotte sat down and waved us both to a seat. “So tell me what’s been happening to you,” she said.
Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Charlotte,” he began. “We went to the Flavoland like you said. But you never turned up.”
She shook her head, guiltily. “I know. I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” I asked.
She looked up. “Oh Tim – Nick … I’ve lied to you.”
“I don’t believe you!” Tim said.
“I have. You see … I’m not really a mystery writer.”
Tim frowned. “What
do
you write then, Charlotte?”
“I don’t write at all!” She took a deep breath.
“I’m a spy,” she said. “I work for the Dutch Secret Service – like 86. I couldn’t tell you before because I’m working undercover. You see, I’m on the track of Charon too.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t meet us,” I said.
“I was going to. But at the last minute I found I was being followed. There were two men. One of them had a scar.”
“Short and ugly,” Tim muttered.
“Yes. It was a short and ugly scar. I had to get away from them. But by the time I’d shaken them off, it was too late to come.”
Tim turned to me. “You see,” he said. “I told you there would be an explanation.”
“How did the two of them get on to you?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It’s Charon. He seems to know everything I do before I do it. I can’t move without…” She broke off. Her eyes were staring out of the window. “Oh my God!”
I twisted round. And suddenly I felt tired.
They hadn’t seen us yet but Scarface and Ugly were on the platform outside. And they were about to come in.
“It’s them!” Charlotte whispered. She had stood up and the colour was draining from her face. “We’ve got to split up.”
“Right.” Tim turned to Charlotte. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Tim,” I said.
But Charlotte was already moving away, making for the kitchens at the back. “No. You go your way. I’ll go mine.”
Tim opened his mouth to call after her. But she’d already gone.
She’d left her gloves on the table. I picked them up. They’d make a nice souvenir for Tim.
Then Scarface and Ugly arrived.
There were two exits from the restaurant. As they came in one, we went out the other. A staircase led down, away from the platform, right next to the restaurant. We took it. It looked like we’d just have to give the two-twenty Ostend train a miss.
The staircase took us down and out of the station. I didn’t need to look to know that Scarface and Ugly were after us. I could hear the grunts and protests of innocent bystanders as they were brutally shoved out of the way.
“In here!” I shouted.
Tim didn’t hear me. As I dived into a building on the other side of the
“What’s she doing here?” I muttered.
“She must be taking a train,” Tim suggested.
“I know that,” I said. “But where to? And why didn’t she meet us in the wheatfield?”
Tim considered. “I don’t know. Let’s ask her.”
“Yes. Let’s ask.”
The café at platform 2b resembled something out of an Agatha Christie novel, all wood panelling and marble bars with waiters in white aprons and tea that came in bone china, not plastic cups. Charlotte was sitting by a window that looked back out over the platform towards the trains. A waiter was serving her with a cup of hot chocolate and a croissant that could have been a late lunch. It was two o’clock. Our train to Ostend left at twenty past.
We went over to her. She saw us and for a moment there was something in her eyes that wasn’t exactly pleasure. It was there and then it was gone. She smiled and stood up.
“Tim!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been so worried about you!” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Tim blushed. “You have?”
“Of course I have. Ever since I read about that ice-skater getting killed…”
“Rushmore,” I muttered.
“The late 86,” Tim added.
“Yeah,” I said. “They finally got his number.”
Charlotte sat down and waved us both to a seat. “So tell me what’s been happening to you,” she said.
Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Charlotte,” he began. “We went to the Flavoland like you said. But you never turned up.”
She shook her head, guiltily. “I know. I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” I asked.
She looked up. “Oh Tim – Nick … I’ve lied to you.”
“I don’t believe you!” Tim said.
“I have. You see … I’m not really a mystery writer.”
Tim frowned. “What
do
you write then, Charlotte?”
“I don’t write at all!” She took a deep breath.
“I’m a spy,” she said. “I work for the Dutch Secret Service – like 86. I couldn’t tell you before because I’m working undercover. You see, I’m on the track of Charon too.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t meet us,” I said.
“I was going to. But at the last minute I found I was being followed. There were two men. One of them had a scar.”
“Short and ugly,” Tim muttered.
“Yes. It was a short and ugly scar. I had to get away from them. But by the time I’d shaken them off, it was too late to come.”
Tim turned to me. “You see,” he said. “I told you there would be an explanation.”
“How did the two of them get on to you?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It’s Charon. He seems to know everything I do before I do it. I can’t move without…” She broke off. Her eyes were staring out of the window. “Oh my God!”
I twisted round. And suddenly I felt tired.
They hadn’t seen us yet but Scarface and Ugly were on the platform outside. And they were about to come in.
“It’s them!” Charlotte whispered. She had stood up and the colour was draining from her face. “We’ve got to split up.”
“Right.” Tim turned to Charlotte. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Tim,” I said.
But Charlotte was already moving away, making for the kitchens at the back. “No. You go your way. I’ll go mine.”
Tim opened his mouth to call after her. But she’d already gone.
She’d left her gloves on the table. I picked them up. They’d make a nice souvenir for Tim.
Then Scarface and Ugly arrived.
There were two exits from the restaurant. As they came in one, we went out the other. A staircase led down, away from the platform, right next to the restaurant. We took it. It looked like we’d just have to give the two-twenty Ostend train a miss.
The staircase took us down and out of the station. I didn’t need to look to know that Scarface and Ugly were after us. I could hear the grunts and protests of innocent bystanders as they were brutally shoved out of the way.
“In here!” I shouted.
Tim didn’t hear me. As I dived into a building on the other side of the
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