Rachel inched along the Gare de Lyon platform, lugging a bulging suitcase in her right hand, struggling to keep her purse from falling off her left shoulder, and shoving her other baggage—an oversized carton she was to deliver in Athens—with her feet. She’d been pushing this carton practically nonstop since landing in Paris that night, and for the past quarter of an hour had been working her way alongside the packed train, looking for a carriage with an empty seat. Finally, one of the conductors motioned her aboard the next-to-last car and directed her to the middle compartment.
A muscular young man with thick eyebrows, bronzed skin, and a black curly ponytail looked up as she opened the sliding door, his green eyes lingering for a few seconds on the patterned pantyhose that emerged from beneath her miniskirt and disappeared into her soft leather boots. She looked back.
“Cette place est-elle occupée?” she asked, pointing at the worn leatherette window seat beside him.
“No, no, do come in.” His French was accented; Greek, she thought. Seeing her difficulty with the carton, he got up and took it, staggering a little as he carried it in. “What’s this?” he asked. “A cannon ball?”
She laughed. “I have no idea.”
Rachel was eagerly looking forward to her junior year in Paris, where her university ran a popular program for American students. In order to save money for extra time in Europe, she’d taken the past semester off to live at home and work as a waitress. She’d...
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