On the journey, she rehearsed her report with as much dispassion as possible. If she fell apart, Colin would have even more ammunition for keeping her in London instead of allowing her to go to France.
She mentally reviewed every detail from the moment she looked up at the half-drawn shade until Twist’s silhouette appeared in the window. She squeezed her eyes shut, playing the memory in her mind. Twist’s silhouette in the window one moment, someone appearing behind him the next.
Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.
I’m sorry, Twist. I just can’t cry for you yet. Not yet.
She let out a deep sigh, then gasped. What if the facts were wrong?
True, she and Frost both saw a man’s broken body on the street. But was it Twist’s broken body?
Marie straightened in her seat as a glimmer of hope wrestled its way through her sorrow. Perhaps a false hope, but she would hold onto it until she knew otherwise.
She leaned her head against the cold metal frame of the train window.
We sing. We dance.
Frost’s whispery voice echoed in her thoughts, and once again she was following his lead in their impromptu waltz, once again twirling into his embrace.
She tried to squash her hope that someday they would meet again, a hope that seemed small and forlorn considering the turmoil of their world. Besides, for all she knew, he had a wife. Maybe even children. But could he have looked at her the way he did, held her the way he did, if his heart belonged to another?
Her only tangible reminder of Frost’s existence was his leather jacket. When Colin heard her story, he’d probably confiscate it. Marie hugged the carpet bag to her chest and stared out the window without seeing the passing landscape. A plan slowly took shape as the train neared London.
At the station, Marie squeezed past the other passengers until she was in a car that stopped near the storage lockers. Confident that no one followed her, she stuffed the bag inside an empty locker and slipped the key in her bag.
As Marie expected, Colin’s driver waited for her outside the station’s exit. He opened the back door for her, and she dutifully climbed in. Leaning back against the smooth leather for the short ride to Colin’s Grosvenor Street office, she rehearsed her facts once again.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current works in progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman. Click here for a full list of rules and suggestions.