Free The Transatlantic Conspiracy by G. D. Falksen Page A

business?” Rosalind asked.
    â€œMy father owns a steel factory,” Erich said. “After I finish university, he wishes me to work for him there.” He spread his hands. “But I have no interest in manufacturing. I wish to go into politics, not into business.”
    That did not surprise Rosalind. She could certainly imagine him in political office.
    â€œOh, ho!” Jacob laughed. “Yes, say that, my friend, but you will still take your father’s tickets.”
    â€œWhat?” Cecily asked.
    Erich sighed and explained, “My father’s company helped build the railway, so we did not have to pay for our passage.”
    â€œReally?” Rosalind asked, careful to hide the extent of her curiosity.
    â€œYes, yes,” Erich said. “My father provided the chromium steel for the tunnel we are traveling in. It is, my father says, impervious to salt water corrosion. And I certainly hope that is true.” He paused. “I have no wish to go swimming in the North Atlantic in the middle of the night.”
    â€œHow very unadventurous of you,” Rosalind said.
    â€œThere’s something you and Rose have in common, you know,” Cecily said.
    Erich raised an eyebrow and asked, “Sea bathing?”
    â€œBoth of your fathers are responsible for the railway,” Cecily corrected. “Rosalind’s father built the train.”
    â€œBy himself?” Erich joked. “It must have taken him a long while.”
    Rosalind allowed herself a chuckle. “What she means is that he owns it.” But she was privately irritated that Cecily had pointed out that she was the daughter of the man who owned the train. Now she had no choice but to embrace the label. “My father is Alexander Wallace, the industrialist,” she explained, with a quick glare at Cecily. “He owns the Transatlantic Railway.”
    Erich and Jacob exchanged grins with each other.
    â€œVery fortunate indeed that we were seated here!” Jacob exclaimed. “I cannot wait to write home about this. Such an exciting journey. So many new and interesting people to meet.”
    â€œWell,” Cecily said, looking away, “one considers it impolite to brag . . . ”
    â€œOne does,” Rosalind agreed under her breath. “ You do not.”

Chapter Six
    B idding good night to Erich and Jacob proved more difficult than Rosalind would have wished. They lingered over the table, perhaps hoping one of Rosalind’s companions would suggest they meet again tomorrow, or prolong an already exhausting day.
    If Charles had been there, the boys wouldn’t have joined them for dinner at all. She hadn’t regretted their company, but Charles’s absence was almost too outrageous to be believed. Perhaps it was an elaborate joke at her expense. How could he be so irresponsible as to abandon them at the very last minute, no matter what the reason? He could have tracked them down on the platform before they’d departed. What he had done was cowardly.
    â€œWould the ladies like some ice cream?” Jacob asked as they stood.
    â€œI must declare the evening finished,” Rosalind stated firmly. “No offense to our new friends,” she added with a smile at Cecily, “but it is growing rather late and it has already been a very busy day.”
    â€œOh, pooh,” Cecily said, pouting.
    â€œHave you forgotten that I’m your chaperone?” Rosalind said, playing the one card she had.
    â€œI am beginning to regret that now,” Cecily grumbled.
    â€œIt is late, isn’t it?” said Jacob. “I think bed sounds very sensible.”
    â€œYou have no sense of fun, Jacob,” Erich said.
    Jacob laughed. “I have plenty of fun. But I am . . . an early morning person. It is the military life, you know? Up at dawn every day.”
    â€œPoor you,” Cecily said absently. “Well, I hope that we shall see you both again