Mulled Vine

“This is our compartment”, Ariel said, sliding the door open and entering, throwing her bag onto the overhead luggage shelf. “You coming or what?”

I lingered a while, enjoying the moment. I loved these old trains, the expansive compartments, the lush wooden panelling, the gilded edging. Finally I entered and made myself comfortable opposite Ariel who had already pulled out her best seller.

I watched her as she read, twenty-three year old ginger-haired beauty with a fabulous collection of freckles and a cute nose that I had kissed on more than one occasion.

She looked up suddenly and caught me staring. “What you looking at, creep?”

I smiled. She had such a way with words.

“Oh, just some old bag I picked up.”

Fire sparked in her eyes and she leapt forward. “I’ll give you old!” and soon we were entangled in mock battle involving tickles and snatched kisses.

The compartment door opened. “Oh, excuse me, dreadfully sorry,” spoke a gentle educated voice.

We ceased our rough and tumble and looked at the unwelcome intruder: a slender, bespectacled man in tweed who looked and smelled like my maths lecturer.