AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But of course, it wouldn’t: It was real. It must be faced, and dealt with, like the deaths of Mike and Paul. Life goes on, with or without you, and that would never change.
A woman bumped into her and apologized in Italian. Elena could not react quickly enough to reply. Walter said something, but she did not hear the words.
She was behaving badly. Ian deserved better than this. She forced herself to straighten up. No one else knew her dress was cold, sodden wet, still stained with Ian’s lifeblood. She must not make anyone suspicious.
The train jolted again. They were at the end of a platform, she saw the name of the station, but it went by too rapidly to read it. They were somewhere east of Paris, that was all she knew. They had to be, because Paris was the terminus.
The corridor was filling with people. At least half a dozen seemed to want to get off here. Why? Where were they? Please God, no one would open the door to where Ian was. She felt such a traitor leaving him there alone, on the floor, as if nobody cared. She must force it out of her mind, though it was unbearable, a pain that tore her apart.
Was it any worse or more anonymous than a battlefield?
Yes. He lay on the floor of a railway carriage—alone—and yet his death was intensely personal: Someone had murdered him.
There was nothing she could do about it, except pull herself together and fulfill the promise she had made him.
The train jerked to a stop. Immediately, Walter opened the door and stepped out onto the platform. Then he put down the cases, swung around, and held out his arm to take Elena’s hand and steady her. It was a steep drop, but he took her weight for a moment; then as she straightened her shoulders and picked up her bag, he lifted the cases and started forward along the platform. It was the still of the night. She had very little idea of the time, but there were sufficient lights to see where they were going, and that there were a dozen or so other people getting on or off the train. Far ahead of them, the engine blew steam into the air, catching the light in a pale silver fog.
Walter moved quickly, crossing to the far side of the platform, away from the carriage doors and anyone else getting off.
Elena ran a couple of steps to keep level with him, then walked to his left so he sheltered her from sight. She was more noticeable than he, with his coat collar turned up and hat brim down a little. It was May, very nearly summer, but still at this hour most men would have a coat, especially traveling north. He could have been anyone. But with her well-cut green coat and fair hair, with its heavy wave, she would be far more easily recalled.
He had said she was memorable—her face. Was that a compliment, normally? Right now she would rather be one of those English girls of no particular coloring or feature who one saw and instantly forgot, just like ten thousand others.
“I’m going to the other platform,” he said, “where the light’s blinking. Looks as if there’s a train due in any moment.”
“Where to?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter. Right now, anywhere will do.”
“I’ve got to get to Berlin!”
“We’ve got to get anywhere that’s away from here,” he corrected her bleakly. “We can get off at the next stop.” He did not ask why she was going to Berlin, when they had been on a train to Paris. He probably did not care. Why should he?
She ought to thank him properly. She would, later, when she had more breath to spare and was not so busy hurrying along the ill-kept platform, with its cracked asphalt and occasional broken lights. At least hurrying like this made her a little warmer, although the wet skirt of her dress flapped around her legs like icicles.
They came to the steps of
a rickety bridge over the track and climbed them as fast as they could. Behind them the whistle blew on the train they had left. Doors clanged shut. Was it possible no one had found Ian yet?
Elena was relieved, but at the same time felt an ache of loneliness tightening around her. It was frightening that anyone could die so terribly, and nobody even notice. She felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal at having to leave him.
Walter was going faster than she was able to keep up with. He must have realized it, because he slowed a little. There was hardly anyone around, no one else on the flight of steps going down.
At the bottom, the sign was lit, but there was no train. Why were railway platforms so windy? Was hell like this? A cold railway platform in the dark, with a train that never came? The station suddenly seemed terribly silent.
On the far side of the track, she could see an official of some sort. The one functioning light cast a gleam on the rim of his cap. He was smoking a cigarette, the thin trail wafting upward and the end glowing occasionally as he drew the nicotine into his lungs.
Walter went to look at a timetable posted up on a board, then returned to wait beside Elena.
She stood still, silent and growing colder. She lost track of time. Perhaps it was really only minutes, but then there was a movement at the far northern end of the track, a distant clatter, and the man on the farther platform dropped his cigarette and stepped on the butt.
“Are we on the right side?” Elena said urgently.
“It’s single track,” Walter replied reassuringly. “It’s just a local train. We’ll get off at the next big station. It’s the second one along. We might have to wait half an hour or so, but from there we can catch a train to Munich, and from Munich to Berlin will be no difficulty.”
“We? Are you coming?” She realized how much she wanted him to. Her mind was not capable of thinking clearly. Grief engulfed her.
“We’ll have to stop this side of the German border,” he answered, “and do something about our papers. The Italian border guards will know you were traveling with Newton. When his body is discovered it won’t take them long to realize you’ve disappeared. Whatever they think—that you killed him, or that you were abducted—they’ll want to find you. If they catch you crossing into Germany alone, they’ll have to conclude you killed him…I know you didn’t.” He smiled, as if he felt the absurd horror of such an idea. “But do you want to take that risk?”
