As Tracy left her cabin, her purse slipped out of her hand, and as she knelt down to retrieve it, she quickly examined the outside locks on the door. There were two of them: a Yale lock and a Universal lock. No problem. Tracy rose and moved on toward the dining cars.
There were three dining cars aboard the train. The seats were plush-covered, the walls were veneered, and the soft lights came from brass sconces topped with Lalique shades. Tracy entered the first dining room and noted several empty tables. The maître d’ greeted her. “A table for one, mademoiselle?”
Tracy looked around the room. “I’m joining some friends, thank you.”
She continued on to the next dining car. This one was more crowded, but there were still several unoccupied tables.
“Good evening,” the maître d’ said. “Are you dining alone?”
“No, I’m meeting someone. Thank you.”
She moved on to the third dining car. There, every table was occupied.
The maître d’ stopped her at the door. “I’m afraid there will be a wait for a table, madam. There are available tables in the other dining cars, however.”
Tracy looked around the room, and at a table in the far corner she saw what she was looking for. “That’s all right,” Tracy said. “I see friends.”
She moved past the maître d’ and walked over to the corner table. “Excuse me,” she said apologetically. “All the tables seem to be occupied. Would you mind if I joined you?”
The man quickly rose to his feet, took a good look at Tracy, and exclaimed, “Prego! Con piacere! I am Alberto Fornati and this is my wife, Silvana Luadi.”
“Tracy Whitney.” She was using her own passport.
“Ah! È Americana! I speak the excellent English.”
Alberto Fornati was short, bald, and fat. Why Silvana Luadi had ever married him had been the most lively topic in Rome for the twelve years they had been together. Silvana Luadi was a classic beauty, with a sensational figure and a compelling, natural talent. She had won an Oscar and a Silver Palm award and was always in great demand. Tracy recognized that she was dressed in a Valentino evening gown that sold for five thousand dollars, and the jewelry she wore must have been worth close to a million. Tracy remembered Gunther Hartog’s words: The more unfaithful he is to her, the more jewelry he gives her. By this time Silvana should be able to open her own jewelry store.
“This is your first time on the Orient Express, signorina?” Fornati opened the conversation, after Tracy was seated.
“Yes, it is.”
“Ah, it is a very romantic train, filled with legend.” His eyes were moist. “There are many interessante tales about it. For instance, Sir Basil Zaharoff, the arms tycoon, used to ride the old Orient Express—always in the seventh compartment. One night he hears a scream and a pounding on his door. A bellis-sima young Spanish duchess throws herself upon him.” Fornati paused to butter a roll and take a bite. “Her husband was trying to murder her. The parents had arranged the marriage, and the poor girl now realized her husband was insane. Zaharoff restrained the husband and calmed the hysterical young woman and thus began a romance that lasted forty years.”
“How exciting,” Tracy said. Her eyes were wide with interest.
“Sì. Every year after that they meet on the Orient Express, he in compartment number seven, she in number eight. When her husband died, the lady and Zaharoff were married, and as a token of his love, he bought her the casino at Monte Carlo as a wedding gift.”
“What a beautiful story, Mr. Fornati.”
Silvana Luadi sat in stony silence.
“Mangia,” Fornati urged Tracy. “Eat.”
The menu consisted of six courses, and Tracy noted that Alberto Fornati ate each one and finished what his wife left on her plate. In between bites he kept up a constant chatter.
“You are an actress, perhaps?” he asked Tracy.
She laughed. “Oh no. I’m just a tourist.”
He beamed at her. “Bellissima. You are beautiful enough to be an actress.”
“She said she is not an actress,” Silvana said sharply.
Alberto Fornati ignored her. “I produce motion pictures,” he told Tracy. “You have heard of them, of course: Wild Savages, The Titans versus Superwoman…”