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It was breathtaking. Scarlet silk, it seemed to radiate its own light in the small room. It was impossible to tell its cut without a body inside it, to make it hang exactly right. A dress hanger would not do it, not even a padded one.
“Well?” Walter asked. There seemed to be a look of anticipation in his face.
She put out her hand and touched the dress softly. She looked up and met his eyes. “It’s gorgeous!” She was praying silently that it fit her. “Wearing that, I should be able to slay…” She wouldn’t be predictable and say “dragons,” as she had intended to. “…rabbits,” she finished. “Really angry ones.”
Walter burst into laughter. Perhaps it was relief.
Max looked totally lost. He shook his head. “Not German rabbits,” was all he said.
Elena took off the blanket and slipped into the dress. For a horrible instant she was afraid it was going to be too small, but then she fastened it and found it was perfect. She looked at Walter and saw the same delight reflected in his face.
“Superb!” he said, breathing out slowly. “You look fit to take on anyone.” He put his head to one side a little. “Are you ready to?”
“Of course,” she lied. “Even furious German rabbits.” It was going to take a mighty effort to make that true. But too many people had risked their lives for her not to succeed. She had every hope of getting out—of going home—to be free of the hunger and the fear. How dare she not be grateful for it? She turned to Max. “Thank you. You’ve done the outside very well. I’ll do the inside.” She touched the red silk with her fingertips.
Walter picked up Elena’s camera bag and handbag, and put them all into one larger bag. Commandant Beimler must have made sure her vital belongings were in the getaway car for her! “Come on. We’ve got to get to the station.”
“Papers?” she asked, squashing a moment’s panic, while Max handed her a jacket and some light gloves to cover her injured hand.
Walter patted his pocket. “I’ve got them. I only need to buy tickets to Paris. From there we’ll go to Calais. Different terminal. Not far.”
“I know!” Then cold reality gripped her again, just for a moment. “What’s my name, please? I think I ought to know…” She tried to make it light.
He looked for a moment at the ceiling, and then down again. “Anna Hermann,” he replied.
“Thank you.” She thanked Max again and followed Walter out to the darkening street.
Walter took her arm a little sharply. “Don’t be so…innocent!” he said. “Don’t look like a fugitive, but you’ve got to damned well think like one! Max doesn’t need to know your new name.”
“Oh…” She realized her mistake. She had relaxed completely. How stupid. Walter had seemed to trust Max, so she had also, and let her guard down.
He pulled her more gently. “It’s Marta Lindt, like the chocolate. You ought to be able to remember that, and spell it. Martha, but without the h, and then L, I, N, D, T. Remember Lindt chocolate.” He smiled as if he meant it. “I don’t suppose you’ve had much really good chocolate lately. We’ll buy some when we get to London, to celebrate.”
She was surprised. “Are you coming all the way to London?”
“Yes. I’m going to take you right to the door. You’re not fit to be alone.” Then he gave a sudden smile that lit his whole face.
“Thank you,” she replied. It was the only thing she could say, in the circumstances.
CHAPTER
29
“Come on, Toby,” Lucas said at last. He had been standing in the bluebell woods, looking at the light slanting through the high branches of the wild pear trees. They held small flowers, like drifting snowflakes, high up, catching the sun. It was time to go. He had accepted the decision that perhaps he should have made earlier, even years earlier. He would tell Charles as much of the truth as he wanted to know.
Toby arrived and sat at his feet, looking up expectantly.
“Time to go home,” Lucas told him. “Stand still a minute.” He always said that to him, although Toby very rarely fidgeted while his lead was being clipped onto his collar. “Come on.” Lucas set out to walk back to the car.
It would be difficult talking to Charles now, but he would understand. His own work was highly confidential. The difference was that his family had always known what he did in principle, if not in detail. With Lucas, everything was hidden, secretive.
What Lucas was really thinking, and what drove him to tell Charles now, was the very real fear gnawing, like an ulcer in the soul, that Elena might not come home. No wonder they called some of them “rodent ulcers”; he could feel the pain of it chewing his insides.
Charles might believe that the political climate in Germany was a spring storm that would pass, and that better times would come. Lucas knew, or thought he knew, that it was the beginning of a long winter that would kill much of the landscape, including the parts they held dearest. They would need each other. There was no room for quarrels. The real wounds would be deep enough; all others needed to be dealt with first. That meant now…today.
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