Chapter Thirty-Three
The taxi horn blared again, sharp and insistent.
"Bloody hell," she muttered, trying to run down the large stone stairs and simultaneously check that she had her phone, her wallet, and at least some semblance of her dignity intact.
"Where are you going?" Ambrose's voice came from behind her, and she turned to find him standing in the doorway.
"London," Sasha said breathlessly, turning back from the taxi. "Amb, I’m sorry, but I have to… I just… do."
His face transformed, confusion melting into pure delight. "You're going after her? Really?"
"I think so. Maybe. Yes." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't know, I just know I can't sit here anymore doing nothing. I have to at least try, don't I? Even if she tells me to sod off, at least I'll have tried."
Ambrose pulled her into a fierce hug, nearly knocking her off balance. "I'm absolutely furious you'll miss my birthday, but I suppose love must conquer all and whatnot."
"I'm not so sure about the conquering part," Sasha admitted, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "More like love must make a complete fool of itself on public transportation."
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Lady Alexandra's voice cut across the gravel drive like a whip crack. She was standing in the doorway behind Ambrose, already dressed for dinner, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire display. "If you're going to be a Sullivan, you'll need more backbone than that."
Sasha pulled back from Ambrose, startled. "I'm not… we're not… I mean, Victoria and I haven't even…"
"Don't be tiresome, dear. Of course you are." Lady Alexandra waved a dismissive hand. "Now go before you miss your train and turn this into an even more dramatic production than it already is."
Ambrose grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See? You're part of the family already. Grandmother's never wrong about these things."
"Except about that hedge maze redesign in 1987," Lady Alexandra said crisply. "That was a disaster. But I'm right about this."
The taxi driver leaned on the horn again, longer this time, and Sasha ran back down the steps, calling her thanks over her shoulder.
???
Victoria stood at the ticket counter at Euston, her credit card hovering over the payment terminal while the queue behind her shuffled and sighed with increasing impatience.
"I'm sorry, madam, but the card's been declined," the clerk said for the second time, her voice taking on that particular tone of customer service patience wearing thin.
"That's impossible. Try it again, please."
The clerk sighed heavily and keyed in the payment once more with the air of someone who knew exactly how this would end. The terminal beeped its rejection, and Victoria felt her stomach drop.
Had her father actually frozen her accounts? Would he do that? Surely not. He wouldn’t have done that. Would he?
Then she looked down at the card in her hand and realized, with a wave of something between relief and complete mortification, that she was holding her business card. The one from the bank. The one that didn't work anymore because she'd bloody well quit.
"Christ," she muttered, digging through her wallet with hands that weren't entirely steady. "I'm so sorry. Wrong card entirely. Here."
She thrust her personal card at the clerk, who took it with the expression of someone who'd seen it all before and was thoroughly unimpressed by all of it.
This time the payment went through, and Victoria nearly sagged against the counter with relief.
"Platform seven," the clerk said, handing over the ticket with barely concealed disdain. "Though I should mention there's a delay on that service. About twenty minutes."
"Of course there is," Victoria said tightly, taking the ticket and stepping aside before the people behind her could actually murder her.
She made her way to platform seven, her heels clicking an aggressive rhythm against the station floor. Around her, Euston bustled with its usual chaos—tourists consulting maps, businesspeople barking into phones, families corralling small children and enormous amounts of luggage.
Victoria checked her watch. Then checked it again thirty seconds later as if the time might have miraculously changed.
Twenty minutes. She could manage twenty minutes.
She had to.
???
The station looked exactly the same, which was hardly surprising, since she’d only left it a couple of hours ago. Still, Sasha thought that the building could have had some sense of occasion to it. Particularly when she was about to do something so momentous.
But when the train arrived and she clambered onto it, there were no trumpets blaring or choirs singing, just an irritated train guard who beckoned her to get on with it.
She collapsed into her seat and had just enough to time to wonder if perhaps she should at least have picked up her things before running out of the house before the train was hissing and getting underway.
The countryside blurred past the train window, green fields giving way to small villages and then back to fields again in an endless cycle. Sasha pressed her forehead against the glass, watching Cornwall disappear behind her kilometer by kilometer.
This had to be the right thing to do.
She couldn't just let Victoria walk away without at least trying, without telling her that the past few weeks had been the best of her life.
That she'd found something she actually wanted to pursue, something that made her excited to wake up in the morning.
That Victoria had been part of that discovery in ways Sasha was only beginning to understand.
That she had real feelings. Terrifying, complicated, absolutely inconvenient feelings that she'd never experienced before and didn't quite know what to do with.
The train picked up speed, and Sasha's heart hammered in time with the rhythm of the tracks. What if Victoria didn't want to hear it? What if she'd already moved on, already filed Sasha away as a pleasant summer distraction, a nice interlude before returning to her real life?
What if Sasha had left it too late?
But she had to try. Had to give Victoria the choice, had to let her make her own decision with all the information. Sasha had spent too much of her life drifting, letting things happen to her rather than making them happen. Not this time.
The countryside kept speeding past, pulling her closer to London with every passing mile, and Sasha tried very hard not to think about all the ways this could go spectacularly wrong.
???
Victoria paced the platform, unable to sit still, unable to do anything but replay every conversation, every moment, every reason this was simultaneously the best and worst decision she'd made in her entire life.
Other travelers had settled in with books and coffee and the resigned patience of people accustomed to British rail, but Victoria couldn't stop moving.
What was she even going to say? "Hello, Sasha, I quit my job and came to tell you I'm completely in love with you, hope that's not too inconvenient?"
God, she was an idiot.
But she was an idiot on a mission, apparently, because when the announcement finally came that the train was arriving, Victoria was the first one at the platform edge, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
Was she really doing this? Abandoning a crucial job, one she'd worked hard for, one that she’d wanted so desperately, to chase after a woman who might not even want to be caught?
Yes. Apparently she was.
Because somewhere between the rose garden and the greenhouse, between late-night conversations and stolen kisses in the pantry, between watching Sasha discover a passion for something and seeing her face light up when she talked about it, Victoria had realized that nothing else mattered quite as much as this.
Not the job. Not her family’s disappointment. Not even her own carefully constructed plans for her life.
The train hissed up to the platform, rumbling and creaking until finally the doors opened. Sasha looked up at the open doorway and one last pang of hesitation shuddered through her. Was she really doing this?
Then she straightened up, smiled, and hauled herself up the stairs and onto the train.
???
Across the aisle, there was a young couple.
Sasha couldn’t help but see them out of the corner of her eye.
And she couldn’t help but watch them just a little, feeling warmth growing in her stomach.
Watching them kiss and laugh and whisper to each other like they were the only two people in the world.
They looked so easy together, so certain.
The girl said something that made the boy laugh, and he pulled her closer, kissing her temple.
The warmth inside her grew and grew until suddenly… she couldn’t wait any longer.
Her phone was in her hand before she'd fully thought it through, her thumb finding Victoria's number in her contacts, hovering over it for just a second before pressing call.
This was mad. Completely mad. What was she going to say? "Hi, I'm on a train to chase you down like some kind of romantic stalker, hope you don't mind?"
But she had to say something. Had to tell Victoria she was coming, that they needed to talk, that she had things to say that couldn't wait.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Sasha's heart was in her throat, her mouth dry. Around her, the train hummed with movement and conversation. Someone's laptop clicking, a child asking questions, the rustle of newspapers. But all she could hear was the ringing in her ear.
Pick up, she thought desperately. Please, please pick up.
Three rings. Four.
What if Victoria didn't answer? What if she saw Sasha's name and decided she didn't want to talk? What if—
???
The damn train was still sitting in the station. Victoria was fuming, trying to mentally force the vehicle forward, like she could propel it with anger.
Then her phone buzzed in her bag, vibrating against her leg, and she pulled it out without checking the screen.
"Yes?" she barked, just as the train doors groaned and finally closed.
"Victoria? Victoria? It’s me." Sasha's voice was breathless, uncertain, and Victoria's entire world narrowed to that single sound. "Um. It’s me. Hi. I'm… I'm on a train."
"You're… on a train," Victoria repeated blankly, her brain struggling to catch up.
"Yes, a train. To London. I'm coming to London."
The world tilted slightly, and Victoria gripped the phone harder. "You're what?" There was a shuddering that could have been her heart swelling but equally could have been the train gathering power.
"I know this is mad, but I had to… I mean…
I need to see you. To tell you…" Sasha paused, and Victoria could hear the background noise of a train in motion, the particular rhythm of tracks and engine that was unmistakable.
"I have things I need to say. Important things.
Things I should have said before you left. "
Victoria opened her mouth to respond, to say that she was on a train too, that she'd quit her job and was on her way to Manchester to say her own important things, that they were apparently the two most ridiculous people in England.
But before she could get the words out, her train lurched forward with a mechanical groan.
"Sasha," she said quickly, standing up as if that might stop the train through sheer force of will, her free hand bracing against the seat in front of her. "Sasha, wait, I'm…"
The train was pulling out of the station, gathering speed with every second, the platform beginning to slide away outside her window.
"I'm on a train too," Victoria said, pressing the phone harder against her ear as if that might help, as if physical proximity to the device could somehow bridge the distance. "I'm coming to you. To Manchester. I'm on my way to Manchester right now."
"You're… you’re what?" Sasha's voice was pure confusion. "But… you're in London."
"I know. I mean, I was. But I'm not. I'm—" The platform was sliding away faster now, the station disappearing behind them as the train picked up speed.
Victoria stood in the aisle of the moving train, her carefully organized world collapsing into complete chaos, and felt something like hysterical laughter bubbling up in her chest.
They'd both got on trains. They were both going to each other.
And they were heading in completely opposite directions.
Of course they were.