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There was too much to say, and no words were strong enough to convey the gratitude she felt. A weak “thank you” was almost worse than none at all. It reduced the enormity of the emotion.
They searched for a compartment where there was room for them. The third one along the corridor was empty. They went in and sat opposite each other, next to the window, exactly as she had done in the train from Milan to Rome, less than a week ago. So much had happened, it seemed to be part of another lifetime.
Elena hadn’t known Walter before this, and yet he had been there in the most desperate times and helped without question. Perhaps he was MI6, too? He wouldn’t tell her if he was. Ian had only told her when he was dying, so she would finish his mission in Berlin. Except she had fallen into the trap set for him and made a complete mess of it.
But even if she did not get out of Germany, the pictures had already gone, and Lucas would know how best to use them. They did not need any explanations. The faces spoke more than any words could. They were fixed in history forever, the time and the place: the book-burning, the insanity of the attempt to obliterate the spiritual light of an entire culture.
Perhaps that was what Walter cared about?
The train started to move and she relaxed into the seat. It was comfortable, even quite warm. She might go to sleep—she was certainly tired enough, and as the train sped up, the rhythmic passage of the wheels over the tracks and the gentle sway of it felt comforting. They were alone in the compartment, which was pleasant.
She woke up with a jolt, feeling her hands held by the wrists, quite hard. She gasped and pulled away.
“Elena!” It was Walter’s voice.
She opened her eyes and saw his face a couple of feet away, filled with concern.
“Were you dreaming? We’re on the train to Paris. We’re coming toward the border. They’ll stop here for a little while. You can stretch your legs if you want.”
“No.” She did not know why she refused. It was a good idea, but she was filled with fear that the train would somehow go on without her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was…dreaming.”
His face tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said very gently. “If there had been any other way of leaving except train, I’d have taken it. But this is the last hurdle. Once we’re in France, we’ll be all right.”
“Will we? I know the German authorities can’t get us, but they could follow us, couldn’t they?”
“They’ve no authority to arrest us…” he began. Then, understanding flashed in his eyes. “They don’t know it’s you,” he said more gently. “If they did, they’d have stopped you in Berlin, not followed you onto the train. Think about it. I know Newton was killed on the train to Paris, but that was…”
“Yes?”
“I was going to say ages ago, but I suppose it was barely a week. It seems like longer. I sometimes think counting time is ridiculous. It’s totally elastic. When you’re exhausted, an hour of sleep is nothing. It’s here and gone. But if you’re in pain, in a dentist’s chair, it’s eternity.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “And if you’re waiting for someone, and they’re late, then in your mind a hundred different things have happened to them. It only takes one time that something really has, and all waiting after that is—”
“Endless. I know.” His voice caught with emotion and he stopped speaking.
She searched his face, perhaps seeing him for the first time as a person with his own life, his own griefs and fears that had nothing to do with her, or Scharnhorst, or any of this. She touched his cheek gently. “I’m sorry. You must think me terribly self-centered, and you’re right. I have been.”
The train was already slowing down. The rhythm was different. She could feel the drag of the brakes on the wheels. Walter sat back in his own seat. She wondered if perhaps, by taking her mind off her own fear and thinking of him, she had made him afraid she would intrude in his personal life. She would have to be careful not to. There was something elusive in him, perhaps badly hurt. And he had helped her twice now, at the risk of his own life. She owed him far more than just the sensitivity not to intrude.
They were rolling into the station now. Would they be asked to get off, maybe one coach at a time, to go through the Customs and Passport Control? Or would the officers come on the train?
She sat back and realized that her hands were clenched. A diligent border guard would notice that and see it as fear. Deliberately, she relaxed them. If she was innocent, she should not be afraid.
The train slowed even more, and a few moments later it stopped altogether. She heard doors slam as people came aboard. They were ordered to stay in their seats. They could get up after they were cleared by Customs and Passport.
It seemed like forever before their compartment door opened and a uniformed officer came in. He looked at them both carefully. Elena’s heart was beating so violently she thought he must be able to see her body shake.
“Passports, please,” he asked.
She wanted to look at Walter, but she dared not. The guard would wonder why. The instruction was clear enough. She fumbled in her bag for it. While the guard was waiting, he took Walter’s passport, glanced at it briefly, then turned back to Elena. Why was he more interested in her? Were they specifically looking for a woman? An ordinary-looking Englishwoman with long, mousy fair hair, dressed in something conservative. She was not that woman. She was Marta Lindt, with short, fashionable pale blond hair, wearing a stunning scarlet dress!
She found the passport and handed it to the guard with a charming, friendly smile. She was beautiful. All men took notice of her. She felt as if she was sweating. Did it show? She was hot one moment and cold the next.
Walter drew in his breath as if to speak, and then changed his mind.
The man closed the passport and handed it back to her. “Thank you, fräulein. Is that your luggage? Have you not any more?” There was suspicion in his eyes. A woman dressed as she was must have more luggage than one overstuffed bag.
She smiled at him charmingly. “Yes, it is. Why do you think I’m going to Paris? I promise you I shall come back with more…far more!”
