text: The train’s sharp whistle startled her out of a restless sleep. Though the benches were upholstered in plush velvet, being squeezed between Mr. X’s boney frame and Mrs. Y’s overflowing one, Caro was trapped. Across the narrow space were the sleeping figures of the young girl, her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Z and, near the door, a young man. Caro had tried all afternoon not to ogle him, but her eyes had a mind of their own. Using the half-light from the exit sign over the door, she stole another glance. He smiled at her. Tipping his head toward the door and the hallway beyond, he whispered. “Fancy a walk?” Hoping that the lack of proper light was hiding her blush, Caro nodded. Twisting and turning, she slipped out from underneath Mrs. Y’s crushing weight. Her short fur cape in one hand, he held out his other to help her to her feet. The soft sigh when the door slid open did not seem to disturb anyone. They stepped into the hallway. A porter, smoking a cigarette at the end of the hall, nodded and turned his back to them. “The bar car is still open, I believe,” he mumbled. “Come let’s get a drink and ...” Not finishing his sentence but, still holding her hand, he led her toward the dining room and bar car. As if expecting the rendezvous, the sleepy looking waiter nodded toward a table at a window and brought an unopened bottle of slivovitz and two short glasses. “Now, Caroline, let’s talk.” The young man poured a generous shot in each glass. He raised his glass as if making a toast, savored the taste before swallowing. “My name is, ...” he paused. “No, let me tell you what I know about you.” He drained the rest of his drink, put the glass on the table and leaned forward. “You, Caroline van Buuren, are the last of your family who, for generations were prosperous beyond belief. Your ancestors, bankers every one of them, made under-the-table bargains with their friends and charged usury fees to lend money, never losing sleep over what happened to the wretches who were ruined when they couldn’t ante up.” He paused and refilled his glass, held the bottle out to her. “Drink up, my dear. Enjoy it while you can.” Topping up her glass after her modest sip. “Now that the bottom has fallen out of the stock market” he continued, “and wiped away your family’s fortune, you are on a hunting trip, are you not? You, having lost your fortune, I would say ill-gotten gains, but that would be so dramatic, wouldn’t it, are traveling to your maternal homestead, in the hopes of finding peace, or riches. Have I missed anything?” Eyes on the table, fingers gripping the sturdy short glass, Caro shook her head. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” Her voice, tight with fear, was low, barely audible over the relentless clack-clack of train rushing on. He reached across the small table, one finger under her chin, he lifted her head, made her look at him. His smile was benign, but did not reach his eyes. “I have a proposition for you. It so happens that someone, a noble, shall we say, needs a new bride. Of course, any chit would do, but he happens to be particular. He wants a beautiful wife. One who is educated, knows her way around the dining room and leads the conversation that ensues. One who knows her way around a Pound, a Frank, a Dollar. One who will do as he says and never question him.” “You want a pretty, smart, pet. A monkey, a slave.” She shuddered. He smiled and shrugged. “As you wish. However, this monkey would be well taken care of, lack for nothing,” he stared out of the window into the black night. When he continued, his voice was low, distracted. “She would be dressed in silk, adorned with jewels and live in palaces.” He turned back to her, is voice sharp again. “In other words, Caroline, you would continue your life as you were meant to.” He drained his glass and leaned back. “Who are you?” “My name does not matter. I am merely a messenger. Say yes and we go on toward untold riches and unbelievable power. Say no and you will travel alone into poverty.” “Then who? Who?” Frowning, she searched his eyes but found no answer in their black depth. Caro finally lifted her glass, let the sharp liquor touch her lips, roll over her tongue and let it burn as it slid down her throat. Another swallow while she thought. She had spent the last of her money and several pieces of heirloom jewelry to come here and still had to travel second class. If her mother’s family in these remote mountains of Hungary would not welcome her, she’d be on the proverbial street, cobble stoned streets, most likely. If the man were speaking the truth, she’d be on easy street. He was right, she had been raised to preside over a dining room table, be charming at all times, to marry for wealth. Caro drained her glass, barely aware of the bite of the liquor and held it out to the man, wordlessly demanding a refill. It was her turn to stare out into the black night, the window a mirror to the bar car. There, on the other side of the car sat a man, older, yet virile, black hair smoothed back showing a widow’s peak, dark, deep-set eyes, sharp cheekbones. Was he watching her? His evening clothes spoke of wealth, the large diamond tie pin alone would feed a family of five for a year and have money left over for the rent. The sapphire in his pinky ring would pay for any lavish wedding and an extensive honeymoon. Was he studying her? The ice bucket at the side of his table held an unopened bottle of champagne. Was he waiting for her? She blinked and looked back to the man across from her. “Why? Why me?” He smiled. “Maybe because you were meant to have everything you had been promised. Maybe because your desperation and inability to negotiate through the real world will make you more grateful, maybe because he ... No, I doubt that would be it.” He smiled secretively. “What’s your answer, Caroline?” She tossed the drink back, shuddered at the sharp, intoxicating liquid, put the glass back on the table and nodded. “Yes. I’ll take the offer." The handsome young man turned and pointed to the man Caro had seen mirrored in the window. “Go and meet your groom. Count Vladimir.”