Maria wrestled with the door handle of a first-class carriage and glanced around hopefully for some strong male to help lift her case on to the train. Philip and Penelope had driven away early to a lunch with friends in Hampshire and she’d been obliged to take a taxi to the station. A young woman pushed past impatiently, climbed on to the train and disappeared, and Maria began to bump her case up on to the step, manipulating the small wheels with difficulty, watched indifferently from the platform by two men in suits, clasping laptops and deep in conversation. ‘OK, love?’ one of them asked cheerfully, once she and her case were safely aboard. She entered the carriage, pulling her case behind her, mourning the days of porters and young men with good manners, consulting her ticket and checking out the numbers on the seats. Her heart sank: a large young man was sitting in her reserved seat. She peered again, making the action quite pointed now, and smiled placatingly. ‘I’m so sorry – ’ though why should she be sorry?
