On
The Train by Paul Howlett.
I
was sitting in the fast train from London to Paris one day in the early Spring
of 2015 when I had a strange experience that has never happened to me before.
I
was busy reading my paper, The Telegraph, about all the world’s political
crises and general news when a young or not so young lady sat in the train in
the opposite seat. I was in one of the sections of the train where there are
two seats facing in the direction of travel and two seats have their back to the direction of travel.
This
lady was crying, softly, as if she was trying to hide the obvious pain that was
in her heart. I glanced in her direction and failed to make eye contact.
I
went back to reading my paper as the train glided out of the London station to
commence its journey under the Channel to Paris.
The
lady seated opposite continued to sniffle and blow her nose from time to time.
I
finally put down my paper and gave her a smile.
She responded with a sign and asked me in a polite voice if I spoke
French.
I
said yes.
That
brought a small smile of relief from this lady, and she commenced to tell me
her reason for so much sadness and tears.
She
had been engaged to be married to an Englishman, who lived in London and she
had come over from France to make the final arrangements for their
marriage. He trip was going to be a
surprise for her English beau, as she did not tell him that she was arriving
for the weekend.
It
was a surprise visit. It turned out to be a surprise for him and for her.
Camille
went on to tell me how much of a shock it was to find that when she knocked on
the door of his London apartment the door was opened by a strange woman!
“He
was shocked, somewhat speechless, apologetic and very embarrassed for himself;
the other woman and me,” sniffled Camille.
Camille
said: “The other woman wanted to know who I was, and I want to know who she
was. In the end, we both left the
two-timing Englishman to drown his sorrows in his numerous supply of beer.”
Camille
went on to say, “I gave him back his ring; I said that I never wanted to see
him again and all the while thinking that I was so righteous in my anger.”
“Now,
that I am on the train going back home the situation seems different. I cry for
lost love, I cry, as now I am lonely, I cry, because I miss him!”
The
train commenced its underground and underwater trip to France.
When
the train was drawing close to Paris and after Camille and I had spent a good
proportion of the time on the train chatting and getting to know each other,
she invited me to have dinner with her later in the week.
I
took her up on her invitation.