Mrs. John Doe by Tom Savage Read Free Book Online Page B

Get it over with quickly, he advised, first-class all the way. She made a mental note to introduce Lonny to Bill Howard. The way the kid’s mind worked, he might very well have a future with those people…
    The train was slowing down; the twenty-minute underground part of the journey was almost over. They’d left St. Pancras at eight, and there’d been two stops on the British side before the tunnel. Next was Calais, then Lille, then Paris. They’d be there before eleven, and Lonny had arranged for a car and driver to meet her.
    Her seat was bigger than the one on the plane yesterday. She was in a line of singles along the left side of the sleek business premier carriage, and the right side was lined with double seats and groupings for conferences in motion. The staff came round regularly, offering snacks, tea, and coffee. The rest of the train was packed with tourists, many of them taking their hyperactive children to Disneyland—another reason to be grateful to Lonny for insisting on deluxe travel.
    The pressure in her ears abated; they were back above ground. The train slowed, then stopped. Calais—well, actually Coquelles, four miles west of the city. She was in France now, as instructed. She was finally beginning to relax a little when the sudden announcement came over the speaker system.
    “Attention, passagers à destination de Paris
…
”
    Nora listened, instantly on the alert. The voice was saying something about producing passports and landing cards, which didn’t make sense. Hadn’t they already done that in London? Now the announcement was being repeated in English: a spot check by French authorities, to be completed as quickly as possible, with apologies for the slight delay.
    Another inspection. Nora didn’t like the sound of this. It was another opportunity for people to enter her name in lists and ledgers—exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. The other passengers didn’t like it either; she heard groans and exasperated muttering from people nearby, and one disgruntled businessman type loudly opined that they must be looking for someone. This didn’t sound good to Nora, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She got her passport and Immigration card ready and hoped for the best.
    The Immigration official who entered the carriage was a pretty young woman, and Nora took that as a good sign. There was a Customs man with her, checking passengers and carry-on bags. Nora watched them make their way along the aisle, asking for everyone’s papers, getting closer. Here they were.
    “Bonjour, bienvenue en France,”
the young woman said. “
Votre passeport, s’il vous plait
. Your passport, please.”
    Nora smiled and handed her the Immigration card first.
    “
Une Américaine?
Mademoiselle Hughes.”
    Now came the passport.
    “Ah, Madame Hughes-
Baron
.”
    Nora smiled some more.
“Je préfère Mademoiselle Hughes seulement, s’il vous plait. Je suis une actrice; c’est mon nom de théâtre.”
    This produced the desired effect. The young woman’s eyes widened in delight, and Nora braced herself for the usual questions about Hollywood and which films had she been in and did she know Johnny Depp? As it turned out, the response was even better than she’d hoped.
    “An actress!” the woman said, smiling. “I too will study to be an actress.”
    “Oh? Where do you study?” Nora asked her, standing up so the man could run the wand over her. She’d been through this exact process back at St. Pancras ninety minutes ago, and she wondered again what this surprise inspection was about.
    “For now I work
pour l’Immigration
, until I make the money for the
Conservatoire
.”
    “Le Conservatoire d’Art Dramatique?” Nora asked, sitting down again. The man looked through her shoulder bag, peeking briefly in the manila envelope, then set it down on the seat beside her.
    “Oui,”
the young woman was saying. “I have been accepted there, but I am still…” She indicated her uniform