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Walter’s expression was impossible to read. Elena knew he was trying to look chagrined, and at the same time not to laugh.
The guard did not bother. He laughed outright. “Get your money’s worth, friend,” he said to Walter. And then he left, clanging the door shut behind him.
“Sorry,” Elena murmured.
“Don’t be, it was brilliant!” he commented. “We’re free to go now. Do you want to stretch your legs, get out of here for a few minutes?”
She could sense that he wanted to. “Yes, by all means. A little fresh air.”
She did not realize how close the air was inside the train until she took Walter’s hand to steady herself down the steep drop to the platform. It was dark and windy, gusts pulling at her hair and skirt, and far colder than she expected. For the first moment or two, it felt refreshing, and then it was just cold. She was glad of Walter standing windward of her, shielding her.
“There’s a coffee stand over there. Would you like some? It’s probably pretty rough, but it’ll be hot.”
“Yes, please,” she said, certain that he would, too.
He walked beside her and she kept up with him. There were already
at least twenty other people standing uncomfortably, uncertain how to use the brief time before they continued their journey. Some groups talked and some stood silently, glancing at the train every few moments. She wondered if any of the other people standing in little huddles on the platform were escaping something. Police? Gestapo? Were any of them Jews, going while they could? Leaving behind the people they loved.
She could not read their faces in the yellow artificial glow. Could they read hers?
The train was higher than the platform, its metal sides slightly curved, catching the lights with brilliant sheen. Drifts of steam blew from the engine, briefly obscuring the stars.
Walter handed her a coffee. She had not even noticed he’d been gone.
“Thank you.” She took it gratefully.
“I don’t know if you take sugar, but there wasn’t any anyway,” he apologized.
She smiled. “I don’t. I grew up unused to it, and now I don’t really like it very much.” She sipped the coffee. It wasn’t bad. She looked yet again at the train. People were still getting off farther up the platform. That must mean the passport officers were not finished.
There were groups of men in work clothes moving around. Perhaps the steam engine would need coal, more water? They all seemed bent on some purpose or other. She was so nearly safe! The last few moments seemed to drag out with all this activity.
The engine belched steam again, startling her. It was difficult to remain outwardly calm when she was minutes from safety, and yet not quite there. She drank several more mouthfuls of coffee. It seemed the border crossing formalities were taking ages, but it could not have been too long: The coffee was still hot, even in the cardboard cup.
The passport officers came off the train at the last carriage and she turned to Walter. She did not even need to speak.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s time, for goodness’ sake. We are going shopping in Paris, remember?” He looked at her directly and smiled.
She deliberately put on a brave, eager face and took his arm back across the cold platform and up the steep steps, back into the carriage. They found their seats again and within a few minutes there was a piercing whistle, a belch of steam, the cloud drifting around them as they lurched forward once, twice, then settled into increasing speed as they crossed the German border into France.
Walter looked at her. He seemed happy, relaxed, as if he, too, had passed a dangerous crossing and was safe on the other side.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Elena waited until the train had gathered full speed and was roaring through the night before she stood up. “I’m going to the cloakroom.”
“Three carriages that way.” Walter indicated the direction.
She nodded her thanks, then set out. They were moving very rapidly now, and it was not easy to keep her balance in the corridor, where there was nothing to grasp. All the compartment doors were closed, blinds drawn across the windows. People were probably trying to sleep. Her watch said it was half-past one in the morning.
The corridor lights were dim. The outer windows were mirrors reflecting only her own face and the scarlet dress. There were no lights outside, no signs of human life at all. She could see no towns or villages. They could have been anywhere. Or nowhere, for that matter.
The speed settled steadily and the rattle and sway of the train were rhythmic, soothing, like the life signs of some medieval beast.
She reached the toilets and was there only a few minutes. When she washed her hands—so careful with the burned one—she glanced in the mirror, then stared at the stranger reflected back at her. She saw a striking woman with high cheekbones and soft, pale hair. For a moment she admired her reflection. This was who she would like to be. Daring, reckless, brave, positive about everything. Then the moment after, she felt ridiculous. Did it really reflect any part of her?
She dried her hands on the towel, then opened the door and went out. It was dark in the connecting corridor, especially after the light in the toilet. She almost bumped into the guard standing there. “Sorry,” she said in German. She did not dare use English yet.
