The Train Journey
A Casual Affair Short Story
Watching the countryside roll almost sedately by was hardly how Priscilla Hardy had expected to spend her day.
She had received the email from her manager late the previous evening. It told her she had been booked into the General Eastern Hotel but had to use the train because of the air traffic controller's strike.
The email did not tell her that the train journey is hardly the fastest or the most direct. The train did cross some beautiful country, but six hours without a laptop charger or internet access was little more than a prison sentence.
To Priscilla's relief, there was a toilet. However, she preferred not to think about how the toilet discharged its waste.
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Priscilla, she preferred her family nickname of Prissie, had caught the seven-thirty without realising any of this. The train had been almost empty of passengers, which had not bothered Prissie initially. It made a change to have a seat and a table to herself. Still, as the train rolled on, she discovered no catering beyond the conductor and seriously inadequate trolley service serving coffee, tea, chilled drinks, a few less-than-fresh-looking sandwiches and a basket of fruit.
Prissie had chosen coffee and fruit. She was confident that before the journey's end, her stomach would be growling. A hungry Prissie had a short temper.
At least the train journey meant Prissie had plenty of time to prepare for the meeting.
At least, that was what Prissie had thought. The laptop had given out after two hours; it could have lasted four hours, but Prissie had forgotten to put the laptop on charge the previous evening. After that, she read the papers she had carried for the meeting, but most were on the laptop.
It meant a frustrated and hungry Prissie had looked for someone to talk to with little success. It had not helped that Prissie had been in a bad mood from the moment she had gotten the original email. The razor-sharp tongue that had quelled many an office argument did not encourage total strangers to engage in conversation.
Less than halfway through her journey, she was alone, angry and bored.
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She was busy scowling out the window when the train stopped again. There had seemed to be a hundred such stops, each only for a few minutes but enough to add to her frustration.
It was only the fifth stop, but Prissie wasn't ready to accept even this truth. The station appeared to be little more than two platforms, a linking bridge and two small, single-storey buildings for passengers to use as shelter. She had not seen anyone who might have been railway staff.
She was so engrossed in grimacing at the deserted platform that she did not realise she had company until he spoke.
"We seem to be the only people in this carriage. Do you mind if I sit down?"
She was about to vent her anger, giving him a real mouthful, but Prissie stopped. He was okay, no, he was better than okay, he was good-looking.
He was almost gorgeous in the middle of a rural, grass-coloured desert. A man this good-looking should not exist in such a rural backwater.
"Be my guest!" Prissie gave him her professional smile, which split her face and showed off her almost perfect teeth. She pointed to the seat opposite and pulled herself away from the window. At last, the journey was picking up.
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They exchanged names; he made the usual joke about Priscilla Presley but added how good she had been in the Naked Gun movies, which made a change from the just how good was Elvis jokes.
Prissie reckoned she had heard all the jokes about Elvis and some of the worst impressions in history. It did not help that she preferred soft rock to the Vegas shows Elvis had performed most of his career.
The stranger introduced himself as Raymond Southern but preferred to be called Soth, with the th sounding like a v.
It was a good start. Over the next thirty minutes, they exchanged the usual topics.
Work... he was self-employed, something to do with construction. She was in public relations, managing a campaign for a property developer.
Travel... he was going all the way... his words. His tanned face wouldn't give anything away if he understood the innuendo. Prissie said the train journey was her first in ten years.
The journey... he was a regular and used to the train's eccentric timetable and multiple stops. The small town of Ravens Peak did not have anything approaching an airport. So, you either took the train or drove. Prissie went for sympathy because of the traffic controllers' strike and having to endure an unexpected train journey.
She also lied, claiming that she had found it 'therapeutic' and relaxing. There was no point in scaring off a presentable travel companion.
Private life... he was divorced and newly single. She did not quite lie but downgraded Malcolm to the status of a close friend rather than the three-times-a-week overnight guest he'd recently become.
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Unconsciously, Prissie was clearing the decks for something; she did not know what to happen. She started to flirt. She liked him enough for that, and her hormones and morale needed a boost. A decent amount of innuendo had always made her feel good.
"So, what counts as fun around here?" She asked.
He gave her a look and then a smile that made her feel just a 'little interested'. She began to wonder how far she could take this. "I doubt if we do anything that you don't do in the big city... just that with so few attractions, I expect we do things more often."
"To exhaustion or boredom?" Prissie smiled.
"I'll own up to being exhausted sometimes but never bored." He gave her another smile, and his steel-grey eyes twinkled.
Prissie felt her tummy do a turn. "So, what would you recommended?"
"Never... my tastes are strictly normal, attractive women like you." He said something Prissie had not quite caught as the train rattled along the tracks.
Prissie's tummy gave several more turns, and then she realised that he'd made a joke and laughed politely. He couldn't be perfect, fit and available and personable would have to do. It's a shame he did not have a sense of humour.
"How do you know I am normal?" She teased. She shifted her position, allowing her skirt to inch up. She had that feeling between her legs.
"Just hoping... I'd hate to discover that your tastes did not extend to us poor males."
