The Stranger in Seat 14D – Part 2: Venice Before Dawn

They hid the passport in the lining of Hana's boot, which Adrian said was the single most unhelpful place a person could hide anything, and therefore the safest.

"You're enjoying this," Hana whispered.

"I'm terrified," said Adrian. "I just express it through competence."

At three in the morning the train slowed for the border. Lights flared on the platform. Voices rose in the corridor, and then fell. Someone knocked on compartment six, twice, sharp and polite.

Adrian opened the door before Hana could speak.

Two men stood in the corridor. One was thin and grey-faced, the other broad, with a scar across his jaw. Behind them, a conductor in a dark uniform looked nervous.

"Ticket," said the thin man.

Adrian handed over his own, then, without a flicker, Hana's, and the broad man's eyes moved over her face with the calm interest of someone who had already seen her photograph.

"Lucia Brandt," the thin man said. "We're looking for her."

"Then you're in the wrong carriage," Adrian said mildly. "This is the honeymoon compartment. Unless you'd like to be the honeymoon?"

Hana nearly laughed out loud. She saw the broad man's jaw tighten.

"Passports," said the scar.

Hana's heart was hammering so hard she thought they could hear it. She reached slowly for her handbag. Adrian's hand came to rest on her knee, warm and steady, a silent instruction: Let me.

He reached into his own jacket and handed over his passport, then pulled a second booklet from the inside pocket, a Brazilian one, flipping it open to a photo of a young man with a neat moustache.

"My brother," Adrian said. "He's a diplomat. He insisted I carry his papers because he doesn't trust Italian trains."

The thin man looked from the photo to Adrian's face and back again. Something in his expression wavered.

The conductor cleared his throat loudly. "Gentlemen, we have a schedule."

The men held the stare for a long, dangerous moment. Then the thin one stepped back, and the broad one shrugged, and both of them moved off down the corridor.

Hana let out a shaky breath. Adrian didn't move until the door had clicked shut and the footsteps were gone.

"Green?" he asked quietly, without looking at her.

"Yes," said Hana, and laughed unsteadily. "Dear God, yes."

They reached Venice at dawn. The sky over the lagoon was the colour of pearls, and the station was full of early commuters and cleaners pushing carts across the marble. Adrian led her out through a side door, onto a canal lined with pale palaces, and stopped beside a water taxi with its engine idling.

"Where are we going?" Hana asked.

"Somewhere the passport can be returned to the right woman," said Adrian. "And somewhere I can tell you the truth about the translation job."

"There's a translation job?"

"There was." He looked at her, serious, a little guilty. "I was hired to find Lucia Brandt. I'd have told you on the train, but I didn't know whether you were her, or whether you were the person who'd been following her."

Hana's stomach dropped. "And now?"

"Now I know you're not her," Adrian said. "You're just a woman who was brave enough to ask a stranger for help."

The water taxi bumped gently against the stone steps. The sun was rising over the rooftops, and somewhere a church bell began to ring.

"Then ask me again," said Hana, "what you want to know."

He smiled, slow and warm. "Will you have breakfast with me in Venice, Hana? Properly, with no passports involved?"

"Yes," she said, and stepped into the boat.