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shroom at the end of the car and climbing up to her bunk。
'I guess that will do；' Daffodil said； shrugging off someone else's problem。 'Goodnight； then； and thank you for your help。'
We watched her sway away holding on to the rails； her high curls shining； her figure neat； her intense musky scent lingering like a memory in the air after she herself had gone。 The sleeping…car attendant sighed deeply at so much opulent femininity and philosophically returned to his roomette； and I went on up the train into the next car； where my own bed lay。
George Burley's door； two along from mine； was wide open； and I found he was in residence； dressed but asleep； quietly snoring in his armchair。 He jerked awake as if with a sixth sense as I paused in his doorway and said； 'What's wrong； eh？'
'Nothing that I know of；' I said。
'Oh； it's you。'
'I'm sorry I woke you。'
'I wasn't asleep。。。 well； napping； then。 I'm used to that。 I've been on the railways all my life； eh？'
'A love affair？' I said。
'You can bet your life。' He rubbed his eyes； yawning。 'In the old days there were many big railway families。 Father to son。。。 cousins； uncles。。。 it got handed down。 My father； my grandfather； they were railwaymen。 But my sons； eh？ They're behind desks in big cities tapping at puters。' He chuckled。 'They run the railways too now from behind desks； eh？ They sit in Montreal making decisions and they've never heard a train's call at night across the prairie。 They've missed all that。 These days the top brass fly everywhere； eh？' His eyes twinkled。 Anyone who wasn't a wheels…on railwayman was demonstrably stupid。 'I'll tell you；' he said； 'I hope to die on the railways。'
'Not too soon； though。'
'Not before White River； at any rate。'
I said goodnight and went to my own room where I found the sleeping…car attendant had duly lowered my bed and laid a chocolate truffle on the pillow。
I ate the chocolate。 Very good。
I took off the yellow waistcoat with its white lining and hung it on a hanger； and I took off my shoes； but rather like George I still felt myself to be on duty； so I switched off the light and lay on top of the bedclothes watching the black Canadian land slide by； while the free northern show went on above for hours in the sky。 There seemed to be wide horizontal bands of light which slowly changed in intensity； with brighter spots growing and fading in places mysteriously against the deeps of eternity。 It was peaceful more than frenetic； a mirage of slow dawns and sunsets going back to the fluted point people： humbling。 In the context of ten thousand years； I thought； what did Filmer and his sins matter。 Yet all we had was here and now； and here and now。。。 always through time。。。 was where the struggle towards goodness had to be fought。 Towards virtue； morality； uprightness； order： call it what one liked。 A long； ever…recurring battle。
In the here and now we stopped without incident at White River。 I saw George outside under the station lights and watched him set off towards the rear of the train。 Apparently the Lorrimores were still safely with us as he came back presently without haste or alarm； and after a while the train made its usual unobtrusive departure westwards。
I slept for a couple of hours and was awakened while it was still dark by a gentle rapping on my door： it proved to be Emil； fully dressed and apologetic。
'I didn't know if I should wake you。 If you are serious about this； it is time to set the tables for breakfast。'
'I'm serious；' I said。
He smiled with seeming satisfaction。 'It is much easier with four of us。'
I said I would e at once and made it； washed； shaved and tidy； in roughly ten minutes。 Oliver and Cathy were already there； wide awake。 The kitchen was rilled with glorious smells of baking and Angus； with languid largesse； said he wouldn't notice if we ate a slice or two of his raisin bread； or of his apple and walnut。 Simone said dourly that we were not to eat the croissants as there wouldn't be enough。 It was all rather like school。
We set the places； put fresh water and carnations in bud vases； one flower to each table； and folded pink napkins with precision。 By seven…fifteen； the first breakfasters were addressing themselves to eggs Benedict and I was pouring tea and coffee as to the service born。
At seven…thirty； in struggling daylight； we stopped briefly in a place identified in suitably small letters on the small station as Schreiber。
It was from here； I reflected； looking through the windows at a small scattered town； that the despatcher had spoken to George and me the previous evening： and while I watched； George appeared outside and was met by a man who came from the station。 They conferred for a while； then George returned to the train； and the train went quietly on its way。
A spectacular way： all through breakfast； the track ran along the north shore of Lake Superior； so close that at times the train seemed to be overhanging the water。 The passengers oohed and aahed； the Unwins （Upper Gumtree） sitting with the owners of Flokati； the Redi…Hots with a couple talking incessantly of the prowess of their horse； Wordmaster； also on the train。
Filmer came alone to sit at an untenanted table； ordering eggs and coffee from Oliver without looking at him。 Presently the Youngs appeared and with smiling acquaintanceship joined Filmer。 I wondered if he thought immediately of Ezra Gideon； the Youngs' dear friend； but his face showed nothing but politeness。
Xanthe ambled in in a tousled yawning state and yesterday's clothes and flopped into the empty chair beside Filmer。 Interestingly he made no attempt to save the seat for Daffodil； but seemed to echo Mrs Young's enquiries about how Xanthe had slept。
Like a log； it appeared； although she seemed to regret not reporting constant nightmares。 Mr Young looked bored； as if he had tired of the subject a long time ago； but his wife retained her sweet forting expression without any visible effort。
I waited with hovering impatience for Nell to arrive； which she did at length in a straight black skirt （worse and worse） with a prim coffee blouse and unobtrusive gold earrings。 She had drawn her fair hair high into an elaborate plait down the back of her head and fastened it at the bottom with a wide tortoiseshell clasp： it looked distinguished and petent； but nowhere near cuddly。
People I hadn't yet identified beckoned her eagerly to join them； which she did with the ravishing smile she had loosed once or twice in my direction。 She told Cathy she would pass on the eggs but would like croissants and coffee； and presently I was bringing them to her as she sat with eyes demurely downwards； studiously ignoring my existence。 I set butter； jam and breads before her。 I poured into her cup。 She told her table panions it was nice having hand…picked attendants all the way to Vancouver。
I knew it was a game but I could cheerfully have strangled her。 I didn't want them noticing me even a little。 I went away and looked back； and met her eyes； which were laughing。 It was the sort of look between us which would have started alert interest in me if I'd spotted it between others； and I thought I was near to losing my grip on what I was supposed to be doing； and that I'd better be more careful。 I hadn't needed to serve her： I'd taken the tray from Cathy。 Temptation will be your downfall； Tor； I thought。
Except for Xanthe； Mercer was the only Lorrimore to surface for breakfast； and he came not to eat but to ask Emil to send trays through to his own private dining room。 Emil himself and Oliver delivered the necessary； although Emil on his return said he hoped this wasn't going to happen at lunch and dinner also； because it took too much time。 Room service was strictly not available； yet one didn't disoblige the Lorrimores if one could help it。
Daffodil arrived after everyone else with each bright curl in place and pleasantly sat across the aisle from the Filmer/Young table； asking for news of Xanthe's night。 The only people not bothering to ask； it seemed； were the near…victim's own family。 Xanthe chattered and could be heard telling Daffodil she felt snug and safe behind her curtain。 The next time I went slowly past their table； refill coffee pot at the ready； the conversation was back to the journey； with Xanthe this time saying she basically thought horseracing boring and she wouldn't have e on this trip if her father hadn't made her。
'How did he make you？' Filmer said interestedly。
'Oh！' She sounded suddenly flustered and evaded an answer。 'He made Sheridan e； too。'
'But why； if you both didn't want to？' That was Daffodil's voice； behind my back。
'He likes us where he can see us； he says。' There was a note of grudge and bitterness but also； it seemed to me； a realistic acknowledgement that father knew best： and judging from Sheridan's behaviour to date； under his father's long…suffering eye was certainly the son's safest place。
The conversation faded into the distance and I paused to refill the Unwins' cups； where the talk was about Upper Gumtree having the edge over Mercer's Premiere that was ing to Winnipeg by road。
George Burley pre