The Amorous Agatha Christie 04 - Sex Stories

The Amorous Agatha Christie 04

... have a drink."

The train rolled and rocked and they used the chair backs as handrails to steady themselves. The fast-moving engine was able to cover the distance from Paris to Constantinople in only 67 hours.

As she was lost in the wonder of it all a tall square-jawed man brushed her bare arm and made her jump. She locked eyes with his brooding dark brown eyes as he ran a hand through his thick black hair. He said nothing and Agatha felt her heart leap in her chest as she watched the mystery man turn and walk away. He filled out his black tuxedo with broad shoulders and strong biceps.

"He looks scrumptious!" cooed Frankie as she watched him vanish into the neighbouring car.

"And how is Bobby?" Agatha asked as she took a healthy swig of Moët & Chandon.

Frankie shot her a look and then smiled.

"Bobby? He's history, darling. Utterly boring and no fun. He only gets hard when Jack Hobbs scores a six for England. No, we are no longer a couple."

The willowy brunette crossed her long pins and settled back in the plush chair.

"No, I'm up for fun, frolics, and the other F word."

Agatha spread her hands in feigned bemusement.

"Fishing?"

"No dear. Fucking!"

"Frankie! You're positively decadent."

"Don't pretend, darling. You're just as outrageous as I am. A little bird told me of your excursion to the 43 Club. You cheeky witch. Why didn't you ask me to tag along?"

"It wasn't all that."

"So you say. Oh, yes. I just want to dance, drink, and ...

... shag until dawn."

"Quite. Let's eat."

Ever curious about others, Agatha looked to the other side of the carriage. At the far end, against the wall, was a middle-aged woman dressed in black with a broad, expressionless face. German or Scandinavian, she thought. And stinking rich.

Beyond her was a couple leaning forward and talking animatedly together. The man wore English clothes of loose tweed and was obviously English. Though only the back of his head was visible to Christie, the shape of it and the set of the shoulders betrayed him. A big man and well-made. He turned his head suddenly and the crime writer saw his profile. A surprisingly handsome man of thirty-odd with a big fair moustache.

The woman opposite him was younger by far. Twenty at a guess. She wore a tight-fitting dress in black, with a small chic black toque perched at the fashionable outrageous angle. She had a beautiful face, white skin, large blue eyes, and jet-black hair. She was smoking a cigarette in a long holder. Her manicured hands had deep red nails.

She pushed back her chair and left with a slight bow to the other two leaving the carriage with her older partner. A buff-looking Englishman also got up and followed them. Gathering up her belongings, the Swedish woman followed suit, closely tailed by another older lady who spoke briefly in German. The restaurant car was thus empty save for Agatha and Lady Frances.

"I think I'll turn in, darling. Catch you on the flip-flop."

"I'll be ...