Lillian stood shivering in the drizzly field next to the East Coast Main Line. Her hair had gone limp, and droplets of water dripped from the hem of her jacket.
“Look there goes the Lord Hinton, a Class 37 electric,” Harvey said, with a tone of wonder.
“Great,” Lillian responded with something falling far short of enthusiasm.
How did I get myself into this? she pondered. It all seemed so strait forward this morning. Harvey sent her a text asking if she wanted to go for a coffee; or at least that’s how it seemed. How could she have misread: “How bout day out. MayB can spot express.” A spot of expresso sounded great, but this . . . this was . . . well.