Chapter 12: A Meeting

I have always enjoyed railway stations. Their existence speaks of the energies of our Victorian forebears.

I had been happy when Mr James had suggested Euston as the venue for our meeting as he passed through London en route to some meeting or other. Entering the terminus of the London and North Western Railway through Hardwick's great Doric propylaeum is one of life's pleasures for me.

The first class traveller's lounge sits high above the platforms looking out across the concourse and the magnificent wrought iron roof of the shed. The station was the scene of considerable construction effort. The decision to adopt Mr Brunel's Broad Gauge as the standard, while controversial in terms of the investment needed and disruption caused was delivering a railway network of unrivalled comfort and capacity.

Mr James was already there when I arrived, enjoying a pot of Earl Grey tea. He stood up as I arrived and shook me warmly by the hand. "Good day!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed it is, I replied.

"An impressive sight," James waved to the mass of humanity pouring from a recently arrived train, the commuters jostling to get through the ticket barrier as they pressed to get from the standing room only carriages of their trains to the equally packed Underground Railway or General Omnibus services that would take them on to their places of work. Their parliamentary tickets – a penny a mile, a rate set in 1844 and still unchanged – at least ensured that those who wished to enjoy the pleasures of the iron road, or those whose employment required it, could afford to do so.

"The seething masses that sustain us all."

"Ah, I had meant the Mogul." He nodded to the locomotive at the head of the platform.

"Ah, yes." I've always felt that the modern fashion of cladding locomotives in fairings to improve their aerodynamic performance has taken away much of their romance. The enclosed boiler heaters and recycled steam may be cleaner and more efficient but I still recall with nostalgia the clouds of steam shrouding a locomotive as it hauled its way up some bank or other; a sight lost to us today.

A waitress appeared. James enquired if I would take tea and I accepted his offer. A further pot, this time of my preferred Assam, arrived. The waitress poured a stream of the orange liquid into a fine china cup and left us to our discussions.

"How is my wife progressing?" Mr James leant forward, his tone one of evident concern for his wife's well being as much as for the success of her training.

"She is well," I said.

"I was concerned that she might find the experience," he paused, groping for the words that would describe his worries, "difficult to come to terms with."

I try to avoid passing comment on those that are part way through their time with me. It is often difficult to judge the final outcome until the combination of circumstances has had the opportunity to work its effect. Nevertheless, it was not uncommon for my clients to seek some form of interim report on the progress of those in my care.

"I quite understand," I replied. "Indeed, - if I can be candid," James nodded and picked up his tea. "I had felt myself that her background and history might have inhibited her ability to benefit from her experience. However, I am pleased with how well things are going. I believe we can achieve your aims. I am quite confident."

Mr James looked relieved. "I am pleased to hear it. This is important to me and it is a significant investment."

Something about the way that he spoke made me feel that it was not just a financial concern to which he was referring. "You must miss her," I said. "I am sorry but I fear that it is only by a period of separation that the adjustments that you seek can be achieved."