Strangers on a Train
Anna grabs a snack bar from the Business Class pantry and eats it in three bites on the way back. She slips into her seat to find her bunkmate awake and alert.
“So what was it?” he says. “A woman giving birth? I noticed one of them looked heavily pregnant. I was surprised she was allowed to fly.”
She shakes her heart. “Cardiac arrest,” she answers without thought. “He’s dead.”
One very sexy head jerks up. “Dead? Who’s dead?”
“A guy in First Class.” Anna looks down, looping the seatbelt loosely around her waist and snapping the clasp closed.
“Which guy? The sheik?”
“Mm hmm.” Anna reaches for her Kindle. She can’t quite remember the last bit she read, but she’s sure she’ll pick it up again soon enough.
“But he can’t be! I just saw him in the First Class lounge. He was fine. We even had a selfie together. He said his mother would love it!” It is the change in voice that alerts Anna, not the words. She stops what she is doing and focuses on him properly. She had been talking to him the way she would a colleague. But he isn’t. He is the Sexiest Man Alive and he’s probably never experienced sudden death in his life. He no longer looks relaxed. His eyes are wide with shock.
Anna was hoping for a chance to de-stress. After years on wards, she is no stranger to death. She has her techniques for dealing with the aftermath. In the moment of crisis, she functions. It is later that the doubts surface. Unless the patient is very young, though, a cardiac arrest is not normally too upsetting. The patient is already dead. She cannot make things worse. There is still a period to collect herself, of course.
But the general population is different. With the average person living into their eighties, few people come across death in daily life anymore. Death takes place in hospitals or hospices or nursing homes. Or alone at home, unseen, usually after years of long, slow decline. Sudden death is unusual. And everyone reacts differently because people are individuals. Some witness extremely traumatic events and shrug. Others burst into tears at the loss of their friend’s cat. Anna really hopes he is not one of those.
His profession may make him more sensitive, more intense. Actors probably learn to lean into their feelings, just as doctors learn to lean away from them. Do people like him need to be more empathic than the normal population? And it is not uncommon for people to be affected by death, especially sudden death. Even the most sensible, level-headed person can find themselves thrown when someone they were just talking to dies suddenly. Anna puts down her Kindle. The next grisly murder will have to wait.
She makes her voice smoother, calmer than normal. Her “bad news” voice. “There was nothing I could do,” she says. Then, using the universal euphemism, “He’d already gone.”
Sudden death may confront people with their own mortality, or it may trigger memories of loss. Because sanitation, vaccination, and medicine have prolonged lives, those who are unfortunate enough to know death earlier in life are often isolated. There is no longer a community full of experience on how to cope with the loss of a child or a sibling or a parent. Their peers frequently lack understanding and sympathy. Or have limited quantities of both, when grief and loss endure forever. Whatever may be the underlying reason for it, her bunkmate is clearly disturbed by the sheik’s passing. Therapy on a plane is beyond Anna. But there is a useful alternative in distraction and, luckily, every anaesthetist is practised in it. Most conscious patients enter the operating theatre fearful, but everything goes so much better if they are relaxed. Anna, not a person given to blather, long ago learnt to perfect her small talk.
“So how come you were back in the UK?” she asks.
She can see him considering. Probably wondering whether to trust her with any details of his life, whether he will read of their conversation in next week’s gossip magazines. But people confide in doctors all the time. Doctors and hairdressers. There’s a theory it’s the subconscious trusting those allowed to touch your body. They trust them with their deepest secrets, so she isn’t surprised when he answers.
“My mother eloped.”
Anna is glad she hasn’t been drinking anything. For sure as hell, she would have spat it in his face. “Well! Those are three words you don’t hear every day,” she says. “Go, Mum!” Then she checks the look on his face and moderates her enthusiasm. “Sorry,” she says. As something strikes her, Anna says carefully, “Oh! Your father?” In trying to distract him, has she led straight back to heartbreak? Was his father dead? Or cuckolded?
“They’ve been divorced for over a year. She was devastated when he left. That wasn’t the problem,” he replies. “My mother is a wealthy woman in her own right. Her family are bankers. When she sent a picture of herself in a wedding dress with her new husband standing outside the Blacksmith’s shop at Gretna Green, I got on the first plane to London.”
“Wasn’t that pointless?”
“What do you mean?” His perfect forehead wrinkles. No Botox there, she notes.
“By then, they were already married. The damage was done, so to speak. And wouldn’t she have already left on honeymoon?”
“I discovered they were taking the Orient Express to Venice. I caught an onward flight to Paris and boarded the train there.”
Anna sits up. She wants to clap her hands together but restrains herself. This is wonderful stuff. She had set out to help him, but she is the one whose spirits are lifting. “It sounds like a sixties film! A mad flit across continents. A dash through the Parisian traffic with a lunatic French taxi driver, who corners on two wheels and beeps at any pedestrians foolish enough to venture onto the cobbles. Am I right?” Anna grins at her own vision.
“Perhaps a little,” he allows.
“I can just see the steam wreathing around the carriages and you striding along the platform, seeking vengeance,” she speculates further.
He snorts. “Hardly! For a start, I forgot I was quite so famous. As soon as I got to the station, I was mobbed. Despite the beard.” He repeats her gesture from earlier, one finger tracing his chin. “Teamed with shades and a baseball cap, normally I can pass undetected. If anyone challenges me, I reply in a West Texas accent.”
Anna leans forwards. “Is there an East Texas accent?”
“There are all sorts of Texas accents, but West Texas is easy to do because they speak without opening their mouths. And I’m an excellent mimic.”
Anna knows very well he is. After all, this privately educated posh boy got his first big break playing an evil Mancunian. But that isn’t the point of the conversation. “Prove it.”
“Well, howdy, ma’am. Is this here seat taken?”
“Oh, my!” It may be the sexiest thing Anna’s ever heard. She fans herself. The gesture is showy but her need for it is not. “Well, if you’re trying not to draw attention to yourself, I’d lose the West Texas. Maybe something like those high-pitched, squeaky voices? Anyway, let’s get back to the story. The disguise didn’t work.”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t wearing the cap and shades. It was France. No one wears a baseball cap in France. And Paris was cloudy.”
“So, mobbed. Did you miss the train?” Anna is entranced by his story. And his voice.
“Almost.”
“The Orient Express to Venice,” Anna sighs. “I do so love Venice. It’s my favourite European city, outside of the Aqua Alta times, of course. Not a big fan of plodding around in wellie boots. But the architecture, the food, the sheer beauty. Your mother has style. So what happened next? Did you challenge the dastardly gent to a duel?”
He raises his brows at her gently mocking tone and Anna can barely keep a straight face.
“We had a very civilised dinner together where I learned that her new husband is a semi-retired civil engineer and train enthusiast.”
“Can’t trainspotters be gold-diggers? Or potential murderers? But that explains the Orient Express.”
“Exactly. Although they had kept their affair quiet, they had done everything legally and by the board, including a prenup. Essentially, my mother reminded me she was an intelligent and capable person who was well able to manage her own affairs.”
“Ah. Schooled by Mum.” Anna wrinkles her nose in sympathy. “Amazing that no matter how big you get, they can always make you feel small.”
“It didn’t matter. What is important is that they both seemed to be very much in love.”
Anna notes the wistful look in his eye. “Ah,” she breathes. “You’re a Romantic!”
“Is that meant to be an insult?” His eyebrows raise in query. “Because, yes, I am. I believe in love. Don’t you?” His tone suggests she is the weird one.
“Of course I do. You can’t work in a hospital and not believe in love. You see it all the time. I watch loved ones saying goodbye before their partners are wheeled off to surgery, not knowing if they will come back and the love is there. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends, or just plain friends. There is so much love in the world. And size and shape don’t matter at all. Big, fat Fred or ugly, old Mum. Ordinary average people have someone loving them, praying for them. Partners who have been together for decades, those who have just met. Siblings donate body parts. And friends help each other through chemo or childbirth or any of the horrors in life. It’s all love. But I’m not a Romantic.” Anna bats her eyelashes and makes a heart shape with her hands, holding them up and pulsing like a cartoon character.
“Are you mocking me?” His tone is faintly incredulous, but his smile is good-natured. “What’s wrong with a little romance?”
“Oh, so much. Romance is gifts and gestures and showy proposals. Romance equates attentive behaviour with love. But that can be easily faked. It’s why romance scams are so successful. I’ve seen women ignore all sorts of red-flag behaviour because of some romantic alpha hero fantasy. And I’ve seen men marry the sketchiest of women simply because she tells him how wonderful he is. Romantics sacrifice everything for love.”
“And you wouldn’t?” He looks sceptical.
“No,” Anna scoffs. “How many people find their One True Love is the One for a Couple of Years, or the One Who Screws You Over, or the One Who Never Really Wanted You At All?”
He’s quiet, and Anna thinks she might have gone too far. After all, she knows little of his life apart from the headlines. And the fact he once dated her sister. He is older than her – maybe he has had prior experience with bad Ones.
She tries to row back. “But what do I know? I’m pretty sure I’m immune to love.”
Anna says it lightly, but it is not quite the truth. She has never met a man who might set her heart alight, but for the past few years, she has actively been avoiding any likely candidates. The pandemic had taught her how dangerous love was for doctors.
His silence is uncomfortable, and Anna is regretting ever starting down this track. Finally, he speaks. “That’s sad. Don’t you want a life partner?”
“Not particularly.” Anna shrugs, trying to shake off the effect of his obvious pity. “I work long hours surrounded by people. When I get home, I like the silence. I like the emptiness. Being able to spend my money without someone else moaning. Getting to eat the treats I’ve bought myself. Not having to take into account anyone else’s allergies or dietary vagaries.” Anna’s mind flits to dinners with her middle sister, Jasmine, a rabid vegan, as she says this. But Jasmine is family, a duty imposed, not chosen. “As far as I can tell, the only downside to living alone is that I have to take out my own bins. And I can live with that.”
“There we differ. I don’t care about trivial stuff like food and bins.”
“That’s probably because you have staff. Believe me, normal folk do care. If you ask people why their relationships fail, it’s usually stupid stuff like he would always re-arrange the dishwasher, or he never did the vacuuming. Even when it’s sex, it’s because one partner is too tired from doing the ‘trivial stuff’ like work or housework or childcare, and resentment builds on both sides.”
“As you pointed out, I have staff who do all that. I’m single but even though none of my relationships to date have lasted, I still believe there is someone for me.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Anna says it gently, the pity this time on her side. She is no longer trying to tease him. “You’re a special case.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the Sexiest Man Alive. You’re the image of Mr Darcy. You are exactly why romance is dangerous. Because when women look at you, they don’t see a man who picks his nose; they see a fantasy.” For one fleeting moment, as she says the words, Anna is filled with an overwhelming empathy for him. He is probably doomed to love affair after love affair, divorce after divorce.
“I don’t pick my nose!” he objects.
“Everyone does,” she says. “How else do you get rid of crusty snot? But we’re digressing again. Let’s get back to the story of your mother’s elopement.” She is feeling far more concern for his happiness than is safe. She needs to guide the conversation back to more superficial ground.
“There’s not much more to tell. They retired back to their suite and I went to my cabin – which was all my assistant had been able to book at short notice.” Anna bites her tongue. She’s teased him enough for the moment; she doesn’t need to point out the ridiculousness of bemoaning a five-thousand-dollar-a-night cabin on a luxury train. “The following morning, I got off at the first station and began my journey back,” he continues. “I stopped in London to talk to my sister and caught the last flight today to LA. I have a meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss.”
“Gotta say I love your mother and I’ve never even met her. Do you think you maybe overreacted in the first place?”
“Would you have done anything different in the circumstances?” He fixes his deep brown eyes on hers and Anna feels goosebumps pebble her skin. “If out of the blue, you got sent a wedding photo?”
“Well, I would be surprised because my mother is still very much married to my father. But I take your point. Though, didn’t you try to call her first?”
“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “I didn’t just jump on the first jet out of LA without trying to reach her. But they’d decided to do the honeymoon old-style. Unplugged. No phones or laptops.”
“Very Orient Express. Did they get all dressed up, too?” Anna sincerely hopes they did. His mother sounds like a woman who goes all-in. A trait shared with her son, maybe.
He nods. “I’ve seen fewer sequins at drag queen night. They wouldn’t let me into the dining car at first. I hadn’t packed for fine dining. I had to rent ‘proper trousers’ and a tie off a Wagon-Lits guard. Cost a small fortune.”
“That’s the French for you. Hollywood glamour wilts under the death stare of a French waiter. But if your sister is in London, why didn’t she go? Why did you have to cross a continent and an ocean?”
“She’s heavily pregnant. It’s her first. She worries about moving more than a few miles away from a hospital. She was in no fit state to go chasing after our mother.”
“So you’ll be an uncle soon?”
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Congratulations in advance.” Anna leans back. She has achieved her aim. He is no longer thinking about the dead man in First Class; instead, she is thinking about him cooing to a baby nestling in his arms. For some reason, he is shirtless, the baby held skin to skin. It is a dangerous image. One that might have ovaries exploding around the world were it ever to become public. Maybe the time has come to let the conversation lapse. Warm fuzzy feelings for this man are disallowed. He broke her sister.
She picks up her Kindle, a clear sign their conversation is over.
Except he leans forwards. “What are you reading?” he asks.
She waggles her Kindle. “Crime novel,” she says. “Set in Dorset. In an archaeological dig.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been to Dorset?” he says. “Thomas Hardy country?”
She nods her head. “I like it. I’ve actually been to the castle that is the backdrop to the story. In the English Civil War, it was held by a woman – Lady Bankes. It eventually fell, but only because of treachery.”
He lapses into quiet for a while. “I read English at university, but I don’t get a chance to read much now outside of work these days: contracts, scripts and such.” His voice sounds wistful.
“I like good crime novels. If the plotting is tight enough, it stops my brain from dwelling on the day.” Anna realises it is a little slip almost as soon as she says it. It invites him into her disquiet, into her mind.
But he ignores the deeper insight. Or he notices and chooses not to pry. He grins and once more Anna’s heart gives a lud-dup in reply. “Not sure how comfortable I am with a doctor who reads books about killing people.”
It’s meant as a gentle rib and Anna takes it in that spirit. “Worried you’re seated next to a psychopath? That if you dare to sleep, you may never wake up?”
He blinks deliberately. “Well, that hadn’t occurred to me but now you’ve put it into my mind …”
“Relax,” she says and smiles. “I score low on psychopathic traits. Which is a real shame because it could be so useful in my profession. A lot of the top surgeons and paediatricians score high.”
“So, no secret fantasies of taking over the world?”
Anna laughs. “I don’t even want to take over a tiny country like Monaco.”
“Have you been there?”
“A day trip from Nice, once. It was a little too superficial for me.”
“ A sunny place for shady people .”
She snorts.
He dips his head. “Not my words. Somerset Maughan. If you ever want a billionaire, that’s where you’ll find one.”
“Lucky, I don’t want one then. Pretty sure, billionaires are not the most reasonable of people. There’s a much higher incidence of psychopathy, sociopathy, and narcissism among the wealthy. Probably even more than consultant surgeons.”
He grins, and her heart actually stops for one beat. “So you weren’t taken with Monaco but you love Venice.”
She is impressed but it is such a little thing to be impressed by, that he was paying attention. He’d remembered what she had said about Venice, even though he had been upset at the time. She would bask in the thought she is someone special, but that would be dangerous. For all she knows, this is what he does – part of his charm and charisma –remembering little facts about people that make them feel seen and heard. Anna decides it is time to move the conversation away from themselves. If he still wants to talk, maybe it should be about something more generic.
“What about you?” she asks. “Where is your favourite place in the world?” And so they talk about the world, swapping anecdotes of sparkling moments caught in their memories and horror stories of bedbugs, cockroaches, and mosquitoes the size of antelopes. Below them, unheeded, the Canadian border disappears as the great plains flow into the contorted landscape of the Badlands. By the time the Great Salt Lake appears, the flight attendants are moving about the aircraft with purpose, depositing trays of food. But Anna is in the middle of a tale about the first time she tried kitesurfing and both of them ignore the interruption, although she does eat the food. At one point he says, “Did you feel that? We’re beginning the descent.”
Cabin crew stride purposefully up and down the aisles. Rubbish is cleared. The seat belt lights come on. A flight attendant appears beside them. She bends low to put her head closer to Anna’s and then says quietly, so her words don’t carry, “Doctor, would you be able to wait with the family of the deceased until the passengers have deplaned? We will be taking him off last. We would be grateful if you could hand over to the ambulance crew.”
When Anna nods her acquiescence, the attendant turns to her companion.
“And, Mr Hyde, we will be deplaning you in advance of the rest of the passengers. You may wish to be ready.”
“Thank you.” Tolly Hyde smiles his gratitude and the flight attendant steadies herself with a hand to Anna’s seat. Anna has every sympathy. Full blast, the man is mesmerising.
Tolly stands to transfer his kit, stashing it by his feet after he resets his seat to upright. “It looks as if we part here. Thanks,” he says, “for everything.”
Anna manages a graceful tilt of her head. She scrambles for an adieu that doesn’t sound maudlin. “I hope it goes well at your meeting tomorrow.”
Tolly’s warm eyes land on Anna. He considers for a moment and then seems to reach a decision. “Give me your phone for a minute, please? Unlocked.”
She raises one eyebrow but hands it over.
“LA is a big, bad city and you’re a long way from home,” he explains as he types. “You never know when you might need a friend.” He hands her phone back.
Anna glances down. There in her contacts is a new entry: Sexiest Man Alive . She rolls her eyes but deep inside, juvenile Anna is giggling even as Dr Anna appears exasperated to all the world.
Then he sits and fastens his seat belt as the captain announces the last preparations for landing. The plane jolts slightly as the wheels lock. The engine pitch alters. The cabin falls silent except for the wails of infants stealing in from first and economy classes.
There is a bump as the wheels hit the runway. The flaps lift. The engines roar with reverse thrust. The plane slows and then starts to taxi slowly. Around her, passengers begin to gather belongings. A flight attendant appears. Tolly stands. He gives one last glance towards Anna.
And then he is gone.