Well, at least her answer was reassuring. Evander was not remotely reassured – naturally – but nonetheless he appreciated her trying. But just imagine, if they did manage to lose them: a fortnight’s worth of clothes and money and the papers upon which held all the arrangements for the next portkey locations and the other hotels they had booked and the addresses of every foreign Ministry. Not to mention a detailed itinerary.

What would they do all fortnight without an itinerary?

But until they got there and unloaded their suitcases Evander would have to trust that she was right, and these worries were not yet necessary. Though – if they were stuck in traffic – perhaps he should get out and check...?

Evander might have, but she had already taken up his hand and was being – happy, and perfectly content, and perfectly careless, and whatnot.

“I should think it very difficult to lose anyone in a carriage this size,” Evander said, with a little wryness in his mouth as a corner of it twitched. He intertwined her hand better with his where she had hold of it, and as if to prove the thesis another bump in the (terribly-maintained) Parisian street sent him jolting sideways towards her, even closer. He put his other hand to her shoulder briefly in apology, and did his best to straighten back up in his seat. “But perhaps at the hotel,” he joked, as if there was any danger in it; though this too was tinged with complaint, “if we ever make it there.”

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