Secrets Never Stay Hidden Forever

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***

I slightly cracked open the compartment door and peeked outside. I didn’t see anyone else in the train car corridor, except for the conductor, who had his cap tilted to one side and was smiling.

I handed him my ticket, and he thanked me politely after checking it.

I saw the conductor pass by the next compartment and head toward the other carriage. I was about to close the door when as if out of nowhere, suddenly a tall, blond man with piercing gray eyes appeared in front of me.

He fixed his gaze on my eyes and said, “You’re Annie Taylor, aren’t you?”

A strange chill ran down my spine when I tried to slam the door in his face, only to realize he had placed his foot to prevent me from closing it.

“You’re Miss Taylor; there’s no mistaking you with those unique eyes!” he added with a remarkable calmness.

My unique eyes — again! I had a mild form of heterochromia, with one eye being hazel and the other green, but the difference between them wasn’t that pronounced. At least not everyone noticed it.

“Who are you?” I asked sharply. “And why are you stopping me from closing my compartment? I’ll call the conductor!”

“I don’t think you’d want us to cause a scene! How about we have a drink at the bar?” he said gently.

Seeing that I was hesitating, he added, “Excuse my behavior! There’s a reason for it! It’s a matter of life and death!”

His words sounded quite dramatic, but to be honest, they intrigued me. I had nothing to lose, and besides he was inviting me to the bar. He probably wouldn’t try to kill or kidnap me there.

“And what about me is a matter of life and death?” I asked him after being served a reddish-orange non-alcoholic cocktail.

“It’s not about you; it’s about me!” he said. “Excuse me once again! I’m Anthony Creighton.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Creighton?”

“I…,” he began. “I don’t even know how to explain…”

“Get to the point,” I encouraged him.

“The story is long and complicated, but I… I need you to give me the documents you’re carrying with you!”

I shuddered inwardly but suppressed the urge to recoil sharply and leave the bar. There was more of a plea than a threat in his eyes.

What was happening here?

“You must be mistaken,” I said with a broad smile. “You’re confusing me with someone else. I’m on vacation, and I don’t have any documents with me. I’m just looking forward to relaxing and enjoying my trip for the next few days.”

“In Paris?” he shot the question at me, his eyes turning dark, almost stormy.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, and I don’t owe you any explanations!” I gave him a sideways look. “What gives you the right to harass me?”

“Please, Annie,” he whispered. “I really need to read those documents!”

I pushed aside the glass, which I hadn’t touched, jumped off the barstool, and hissed angrily, “I told you that you’re mistaking me for someone else! Don’t bother me anymore, or I’ll contact the train’s security, and at the station, I’ll report you to the police, Mr. Creighton!”

“Watch out, because you might have problems too, Miss Taylor!” he replied.

I didn’t see the man at the London station and felt relieved.

***

The entire night, I tossed and turned in a half-sleep after meeting that Anthony Creighton — if that was even his real name.

Nasty business!

A strange feeling of insecurity clouded my mood, and the thrill of spending a few days in Paris had been lost due to the worries weighing on me.

Was there really such valuable information in the data stick I was carrying?

Was what I was doing dangerous? To me? To my health? To my life?

Would Sir Philip sacrifice me like some insignificant pawn on the giant chessboard his company played on?

It sounded harsh. And realistic. I wasn’t some fool, after all.

I boarded the train to Paris, but the anxiety wouldn’t leave me. I kept looking around, fearing I’d see the blond hair of that strange Anthony Creighton again. But he didn’t show up.

The trouble came from another direction.

***

At the Paris station, I was detained by security on suspicion of carrying prohibited substances.

Prohibited substances? What on earth was happening?

The only secret item I had was the small memory stick Gerald had given me, but it was perfectly concealed… inside the casing of one of my less-favorite lipsticks, which I was willing to sacrifice for this covert purpose.

You know, just playing the role of Miss Bond!

Although I wasn’t having fun at all at that moment, I tried to stay polite and composed. After all, I wasn’t doing anything illegal — I simply carried confidential company information.

Could all this mess be the work of that Creighton? Quite likely. But why? Was he involved in stealing corporate information? Now I was mad at myself for not asking him more questions last night.

The nonexistent prohibited substances weren’t found, even though the two customs officers thoroughly checked all my luggage, spread out on a large gray table in one of the staff rooms at the Paris station.

Shortly before that, I was allowed to make a phone call, and I dialed the only number I knew belonged to someone living in Paris. It was part of the information Gerald had me memorize.

I knew that the number belonged to Monsieur Jérôme Parfois.

He turned out to be a well-known Parisian lawyer who immediately came to get me from the station. When he appeared in the staff room where I had spent several hours, followed by a huge man who was… well… probably his bodyguard, Monsieur Parfois was quite angry.

To put it mildly.

I was about an hour and a half late for our scheduled meeting.

***

“Miss Taylor, I’m so glad you’re okay!” exclaimed the lawyer, settling me into the back seat of a luxurious black limousine.

I really felt like I was in a Bond movie!

“Sir Philip is a trusted client and a long-time friend!” he continued. “Tell me there’s no problem with the valuable package you’re carrying!”

“No, no problem at all,” I confirmed. “And I have a message to deliver to you as well.”

Monsieur Parfois’ office was in central Paris, on the top floor of a beautiful building. The rooms in his office were bright, spacious, and simply yet elegantly furnished.

When Monsieur Parfois’ secretary appeared, he said, “You know who to bring, Lucille! Please invite him to my office!”

***

“Did anything unusual happen on the night train?” the lawyer asked me suddenly.

I told him briefly about the strange encounter with Creighton.

“And I told him not to get involved in nonsense…” Monsieur Parfois muttered.

“What?” I could not understand anything.

Then Anthony Creighton hurriedly entered the room.

“Looks like you haven’t slept all night, my dear Anthony,” the lawyer smirked. “You young folks are always impatient, running around, making a mess of things!”

“I…” Anthony could not say anything more.

He was as surprised as I was.

What was going on here?

“Sit down, young man, and Miss Annie, whom you frightened last night for no rational reason, will hand over what she’s carrying. Then I’ll explain what’s going on. With Sir Philip’s permission, my dear, don’t look at me so horrified and reproachful!”

I took out the lipstick casing and a napkin, removed the memory stick from inside, and carefully unwrapped the foil I’d used to keep it from getting damaged. I handed it to Monsieur Parfois.

Anthony just watched with a slight frown but with clear interest.

“What is the message, Annie?” the lawyer asked me.

“Dear Jérôme, check the authenticity of everything in the memory stick. I would like to be contacted as soon as possible. An injustice must be righted.” I recited.

Then he started to tell the story of Sir Philip, “Sir Philip had a twin brother, but during the birth of the two babies, there were complications, and the other baby went without oxygen for a while due to a wrapped umbilical cord. This was Sir Philip’s twin — Francis. Due to concerns about his mental development, their father sent Francis far away from England, leaving him in the care of a trusted family who adopted him. They received regular financial support to care for young Francis, who was quite a sickly child and often suffered from strange fits, likely due to birth trauma. Nonetheless, Francis grew up and, shortly after his 20s, married Elizabeth Gordon, with whom he had one child: Anthony Creighton. Francis took the surname of his adoptive family — Creighton. So, dear Anthony, you are the only nephew and heir of Sir Philip, who never married and has no children…”

The lawyer took a breath and continued: “A few months ago, Sir Philip accidentally found his brother’s birth documents while cleaning out his father’s old desk. He then asked me to find his brother and his relatives, because the only thing he knew was that the Creighton family had moved to France.

Imagine my surprise to find that young Creighton graduated in law from Paris and works at my own firm! Fate weaves some incredible plots, my dear friends!”

That’s why Anthony had seemed so familiar to me! He had the same gray eyes as my boss.

“Meanwhile, you, Anthony, were searching for your father’s biological parents because his adoptive mother admitted to him on her deathbed that she wasn’t his biological mother. Your father’s adoptive mother told him his real surname, which served as your starting point! I know that Gerald, Sir Philip’s right-hand man, was helping you… But, dear Anthony, do you know what else Gerald was doing?”

Anthony just shook his head.

“He’s the mole trying to sell company secrets and blackmail your uncle — Sir Philip. “He threatened to expose his family secrets to the tabloid press. That is why Annie Taylor brought all the information about your origin, copied on the memory stick.” explained the lawyer.

“My Goodness!” exclaimed Anthony. “I’ve created a monster!”

“Indeed!” Monsieur Parfois winked at him. “Where do you know each other from?”

“We were colleagues at the uni,” Anthony said.

“I think it’s a good idea for you to accompany Miss Annie back, meet your uncle, and help him catch the mole. What do you think?”

Anthony nodded.

“And… uh… this time, at least, there’ll be someone to keep the young lady safe from overly pushy people on the train…” added Monsieur Parfois.

“We could travel by car, if you don’t mind, Annie,” Anthony suggested.

“You’ll owe me a few days’ tour of Paris, though!” I chimed in.

“You’ve got it!” he winked at me.

***

Thank you for reading.