On the Train

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.