Now she could hear voices in the distance, a commotion starting. Unsteady, she got to her feet, feeling like her legs would barely support her. God, he’d frightened her half to death. And now . . . now what?

The guard would come. Maybe the driver too. And there must be other male passengers somewhere on this train, men who would take a dim view of some perverted bloke hassling a married – and pregnant – lady.

That would do it. She’d blub and tear her hair and say he’d been hassling her ever since Harrogate, which was nothing more than the truth, and then . . . but no. She cast a cold look at Donny. He was really out of it. He’d knocked his head as he fell. He couldn’t look like the aggressor, and she couldn’t look like his victim, if he was unconscious.

The voices were getting nearer.

Think, think!

His warrant card.

She forced herself to approach him. Nervously she stretched a hand inside his coat, searching for his police ID. It wasn’t there. She tried his inside breast jacket pocket and suddenly Donny let out a loud moan.

Dora stiffened and froze.

Christ! He’s coming round!

But then he settled again. Feeling her heart beating nineteen to the dozen, stress sweat streaming down her face, Dora gulped down a breath and put her hand back inside his jacket, fearing that at any moment he would grab her hand and his eyes would open. He would grin up at her and say Gotcha, Dora! I was only fooling, see? And now I’m going to make you pay for all you’ve done to my family.

She could feel his heart beating under her hand. Strong and steady. Bastard wasn’t about to die, more’s the pity, hanging a girl out over the tracks like that, a pregnant girl, too. Shuddering, trickles of sweat worming their way down her back, she drew out a small plastic folder. Opened it up. It was his warrant card. She had it. Voices. They were coming closer all the time now. Suddenly she had an idea. She grabbed her handbag and took out two of Aunt Min’s purloined miniatures. Beer and whisky. She uncapped both quickly and poured them over the front of Donny’s coat, then shoved the empty bottles and the caps back in her bag.

Then she reached up and hauled her suitcase down, slid open the compartment door, and was out in the empty corridor again. She closed the door after her and walked, fast, along the corridor, looking for another compartment well away from that one, preferably one with someone in it.

She came upon a compartment with one tweed-clad elderly gent sitting inside. He looked up as she slid the door open and came in.

‘What’s going on out there? Why did we stop like that?’ he asked her as she bustled inside and flung her suitcase up into the rack. She sat down beside him. There were six seats in these compartments, but she sat close to him so that anyone glancing in would take them as travelling together, maybe father and daughter.