Love and Other Murders

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Chapter 32

Magda reassures herself once more she is in the right carriage and on the seat whose number Elijah made her to memorise cautioning her against any possible mistake. And being in first class of a luxury train for London is certainly the right place for a girl like her. Until now everything happened as in the ideal world drawn up by an ace Hollywood screenwriter. She settles on her future prey’s seat and gives her face the finishing touch. How strange! The departure of the Euro Star is imminent and she is still the only passenger in the compartment. She verifies once more she has not been mistaken about her place; opens the Vogue Elijah provided her with and get lost in the latest fashion. She realizes with immense relief that shewould help. But then, how to decide which part of her body would profit from slimming? Her boobs, so firm, so excitingly full are taboo. It will also be plain foolish to sacrifice her curves! Maybe her belly could profit from a slight loss of weight. Rolls of fat round the waist don’t flatter a girl’s silhouette. Of course, she is far from such a disgrace. She puts her hand under the skirt and probes her belly for a hint of paunch. A discreet cough startles her; she shoots a glance at the man standing awkwardly above her. It’s him and now it is on her to play! Her first subconscious move was all but a bad introduction to her job!

“I’m sorry, Miss, but this happens to be my seat!” He says with an apologetic smile.

“I can’t be, that’s the number on my ticket! One second, let me prove it to you!”

Reaching out for it she makes the contents of her handbag spill onto the floor and goes down on her knees certain that even a saint would be tempted by the sight of her gorgeous tits, unrestrained by her half-cup push bra, spilling out of her décolleté.

“Let me help you, Miss!”

The man sinks down anesthetized by the heat emanating from her.

As if by chance she stumbles engulfing his face in her cleavage. His body is rocking under hers struck by desire, ready for anything she is willing to give. All is happening too fast, too unexpected, the man is gasping for breath: what will she do if he has a coronary and her mission would be marred? She extricates herself cautiously from his clammy clasp. Backing away from his mouth, salivating over her bosom, she adjusts her clothes and apologises profusely.

“It was my fault, Miss!” He stutters out.

“What can I do to be forgiven?” He asks helping her on her feet.

“That’s sweet of you to apologise for my clumsiness! It’s so rare to meet a gentleman. First let’s handle the misunderstanding concerning our seats.” She says verifying her ticket number.

“I’m so sorry! Of course you were right!”

“Stay seated where you are, I beg you, Miss! I let you have my seat with pleasure.” He is pleading, his eyes devouring her whole.

“Then, as it seems nobody else booked our compartment, sit down by my side to prove you bear no grudge against me.””

He sinks down not daring to get too close to her, to grab her hand and close it affectionately in his. He is not only filled with fear of this woman lethal as an open razor. He is paralysed by his need for her. Desire is not happening by degrees, it is hitting him shrapnel-like. His life is falling apart. An average man with thinning hair and thick glasses on his short-sighted eyes metamorphoses into a blushing youth, his past obliterated, his present a heaven’s gate opening before him with the promises he has never even dreamt about.

“Business or pleasure?” Magda asks, her voice warm, her amazing green eyes full of promise. Oh, what a performer this girl is!

His heart slips a beat and then starts pounding a conqueror’s march.

“A little of both, I hope.” He ventures a double entendre, hoping she is following.

“Is that so? Then I wish you good luck at both.” Magda peeps encouragingly.

“It’s the same for me. It’s my first time in London and I intend not to miss a single occasion to enrich my stay with new, exciting experiences: museums, art galleries, guided tours about the city and hopefully more! A propos, my name is Magda. Magda Horvath. I am a student at the School of Fine Arts in Paris.”

“My name is Jean Polland. Delighted to meet you!”

“The same here. Call me Magda.”

“Jean for you! A name simple to remember; maybe too simple a name.”

“Absolutely not! A name is what a person makes out of it, raising the ordinary to extraordinary. Your show great promise, Jean!” She shoots him a daring smile.

“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you,… Magda!” He says feeling it is too soon to call her “treasure”, aware he needs to learn how to walk before being able to run.

“MAGDA!” He repeats.

“Bewitching! Unforeseen! Unforgettable! That’s how you are! Entering the train this morning I haven’t expected I am embarking on a magical tour!”

“What a poet you are, Jean!”

She observes a business man changing under her spell into a man. It’s an intense yet also a shattering experience; she hears the distress signal howling: ’Watch your step! You are on a job and not on a spree!’

Luck is with her. The tinkling of the breakfast trays makes her aware how hungry she is, having had just a cup of Nathalie’s coffee and her stomach gets upper hand over her stage performance. He devours her with his hungry eyes glaring at her fleshy tongue licking sensually the butter from the croissant, her sharp tiny teeth tearing the pastry to shreds, the droplets of coffee running down her soft babyish chin while he is dying to lick them off and feed on her.

“It was SO good! Back home in Budapest a croissant was the treat of my dreams!”

“Is that so? Poor darling! We take so many things for granted!”

She watches him undecided. Could he consider it bad taste if she asked him to swap his full breakfast tray for her empty? Will it abase her in his eyes? She shoots a glance at the cooling coffee, the croissant losing its crispness, the orange juice becoming lukewarm… What a waste!

“May I have the pleasure to offer you my breakfast?” He proposes suspecting that this little gesture may win big. And in fact, in Magda’s eyes “this little gesture” made him win over Frank Norton, if not for eternity then for now and the nearest future.

“How utterly kind of you! I had no time to eat this morning and all the excitement of the journey at the Eurostar and the premonition of meeting you made me famished.” She explains consuming her second breakfast with a ladylike poise.

He gazes at her more and more fascinated, more and more certain that this is the woman he needs.

“It was SO GOOD! I hope you’ll allow me to pay you back having with me a coffee in London, my treat. The only decent way to take is to give; at least this is what I believe. Yet I fear you won’t have time for me.”

“Of course, I’ll have time for you. Here, take my cell phone number and the address of my hotel at Knightsbridge. Even if you may take this for a breach of good manners I must take this risk: will you tell my where you are staying, Magda?”

“Oh my God, we are at the same hotel!” Magda cries out feigning surprise and serving him the confirmation of her stay at the expensive “Cadogan Place” engineered by Elijah.

“It’s a present of a friend of my mother’s from her young days at the finishing school in Merano in Italy who lives now in Florida. They have never lost contact even if having an American friend meant a considerable risk in a communist regime.”

He hardly listens. This is called Fate in Danielle Steel’s romances, his wife’s reading diet! His wife…he annihilates her very existence - a killer in mind. The good-bye kisses of his two young sons fade into his remote past that existed before he met Magda, now no more only a dream but flesh and blood!

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