Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘It’s stopping, look, that train,’ grinned Scatty, ‘we should get on it, shouldn’t we,’ as they looked to each other, ‘see, those gendarmes are past the last shed now, let’s go, and why not, there are no problems are there?’

Both Mr Cushing and The Old One looked rather apprehensive: ‘it’s my limousine,’ said Mr Cushing, ‘I’m not leaving the old girl by that farm,’ – ‘no siree,’ said The Old One, ‘I always ride shotgun with you now, so we will have to chance it then,’ – and a moment later, they both shot off.

‘Train time,’ smiled Joan, ‘how handy there was a tiny station just here,’ – ‘more than handy,’ said Francis, ‘I am kind of thinking this could be a ghost train,’ but he muttered very quietly and no-one else heard what he said.

However, everything seemed normal as all four of them got into that busy train.

The train was moving quickly now as the red-headed woman walked through the carriages, she brushed a wisp of hair away from her face, as she glanced at a rather pretty baby who was sitting by her dad playing pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake; and in the next but last carriage, this was what she was after: ‘ooh, at last, a brew… hot coffee!’

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had been checking out those diamonds, since of course they had got them; they had been using their smartphones since they had an inkling about something clever Reena had said quite recently: ‘ah, there it is…’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~