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“Which is good, because that’s the more likely of the two,” he replied drily.
In spite of herself, she laughed, a little bit out of control, but laughter all the same.
“I’ll get you a red dress. Nice and brave,” he added.
“We haven’t time,” she replied. “You said the night train.”
“There are still lights in it.”
“What?”
“Lights…in the train. They’ll see it’s red.”
“You want me to be noticed!”
“Yes, of course. Skulking around in the shadows in colorless blue, you’ll be suspected…of something! Striding out in scarlet as if you owned the place and are perfectly used to people staring at you, they will never think you are running away from anything. You know, if you tried, you could be really beautiful.”
For once, she was stumped for words. She was not sure if he meant any of it, or if he was trying to make her behave in the best way to survive. And that could be as much for his own sake as for hers. If she was caught, then so was he.
She ignored the compliment. It would be ridiculous to take it seriously. But she sat up a little straighter. “Then you had better get me one that fits properly,” she said with a smile. “I should look as if I always wore such things, not as if I’ve borrowed it.”
“I will,” he promised. “We’re nearly there. You’ll have something to eat, wash, and put some decent makeup on. A woman who wears red dresses doesn’t look like a terrified rabbit!”
“Have you ever been bitten by an angry rabbit?” she retorted.
“Do rabbits get angry?” He began to laugh, and she joined in, because the whole thing was so ridiculous, and dangerous, and maybe they were going to escape after all.
They were going much more slowly now. It seemed to be a residential area. He pulled up outside a fairly small house.
“We’re here,” he announced. “We must be quick.” He opened the car door and climbed out, then came around and opened her door, but she had done it already and was halfway out. He offered his hand.
“Please hurry. We don’t have a lot of time, and we need to catch the night train.” He locked the car and led the way up to the front door. He knocked three times and it was opened immediately.
The man who answered almost pulled them inside, and then slammed the door. He barely looked at Walter, but stared at Elena as if studying her face. He was a little shorter than she, instantly forgettable in appearance, except for the intelligence in his pale green eyes. She noticed that his fingers were stained with ink.
Walter introduced him only as “Max.”
“Come back in an hour,” he told Walter. He shook his head. “You didn’t say she was going to be this much of a mess.”
Elena was stung. Thinking of what a woman wearing a red dress would say, she raised her eyebrows. “Is it beyond you, do you think?”
He was startled for a moment, and then he smiled, a curious, crooked expression. “Nothing is beyond me, young woman. I can make you look as if you were born brave and beautiful; I can’t make you behave like it. Perhaps Walter can do that?” There was more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
“I’ll be back,” Walter said from the doorway. Then he opened it again and went out, leaving Elena alone with the man.
For a moment, she would have given anything to be able to follow Walter, but she thought Max was expecting that, so she stood a little straighter. “My shoes are fine. I’m comfortable in them, and I don’t want to be any taller.”
“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “Not that it would matter if you did. I don’t have any women’s shoes big enough to fit you! A pity. It would be better if people looked at your feet, rather than your face!”
“Well, maybe you could paint a rude verse on them?” she suggested waspishly. “That would draw their attention, long enough at least to read it!”
He looked at her, eyes wide. “You have a sense of the absurd. That’s good. I will try to save you. We need somebody left alive to laugh at us as we sink beneath the slime. Sense of humor isn’t enough; you need to have a real deep awareness of the ridiculous. Come with me. We’ll see what we can do with you. First wash, for goodness’ sake! Where the hell have you been? No! I don’t want to know.” He led the way toward a downstairs bathroom and showed her soap and a small, rather thin towel. At least it appeared to be clean. “You’ll have to keep your underwear. Haven’t anything that’ll fit you. But we’ll get rid of that dress. You look like a fugitive housemaid! The art of disappearing is to look like something else, so people can stare directly at you and not see a fugitive, but someone who has a right to be here, and is afraid of no one. Well, get on with it! And wash your hair. Clean, it’s probably quite good. And don’t use all the hot water! Not that there is that much
.”
Twenty minutes later, Elena was sitting in her underwear with a blanket around her, while Max did her hair and made her face up, then put an old blouse on her to get a passport photograph. By the time Walter returned with the dress and a light coat to go with it, she was ready to put it on.
She watched while he lifted the dress out of its box and held it up. He waited for her to speak.
