The sky was bright, the air was crisp and most of the passengers got off to stroll up and down the platform underneath the Olympic ski jump that towered above them. Emmie had dressed for their arrival in Venice in an eau-de-nil tea dress. A wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with a swathe of chiffon and a diamante brooch gave her the look of a romantic bohemian – Merchant Ivory meets Bloomsbury by way of Downton Abbey. She made everyone else look as if they hadn’t bothered, thought Archie, with a touch of pride. ‘Oh my God,’ said Emmie. ‘Don’t look – at least, don’t stare – but I swear that is Sylvie Chagall.’ Archie saw a diminutive blonde swathed in caramel cashmere and tobacco-brown suede trousers sitting on a bench, raising her face up to the sun. He shook his head. ‘Sylvie Chagall? Never heard of her.’ ‘You must have.’ ‘I’m totally clueless when it comes to celeb-spotting. Jay was always pointing people out when we were in London.’ He indicated with his hand that it went straight over his head.
What do You think about A Night On The Orient Express?
