Death in Focus Read online

  He hesitated, as if startled by the passion in her.

  Next to him, the connecting door to the adjoining carriage burst open, knocking him hard, but only his arm. He swung around, his face surprised and angry.

  For two seconds, no one moved. Walter stood frozen, horrified.

  The guard was the first to move. He pushed Elena even harder against the wall with his right hand, then threw all his weight behind a charge at Walter, carrying him back through the doorway into the connecting platform between the two carriages. Walter stepped backward, reaching for the exit doorway and touching the handle.

  The guard followed after him, missing a step and staggering. He was far bigger and heavier than Walter. If he caught him, it would be over in seconds. He had the uniform, the authority. What he said would be believed.

  He reached Walter and drew back his arm to lash out at him. He could break his neck with a blow that was just right.

  Walter staggered against the door, caught hold of it, and threw it open, then dived onto the floor. The guard stumbled. Walter rolled over and used both feet to kick at him as hard as he could. The guard swayed, arms flailing, reaching for the door handle and missing. His mouth opened wide as he slipped out of the doorway into the darkness, his scream lost in the night.

  Walter climbed to his feet slowly, his face slack with shock. He reached for Elena’s hand to steady himself.

  “Hang on!” She gripped his hand and leaned backward as he grasped the door, still swinging, and slammed it shut. Then he fell back against the wall.

  A hundred things flooded Elena’s mind, but none of them contained words that were enough.

  Walter straightened up. “Are you all right?” he said loudly enough to be heard, even above the roar of the train.

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No, not…” Elena took a deep breath. “No! He made me bloody angry!”

  Walter started to laugh, almost as if he wouldn’t be able to stop. He pulled her toward him and put his arms around her, still laughing, and buried his head in her shoulder.

  She wanted to say thank you, but it seemed wildly inadequate. Instead, she hung on to him with infinite relief.

  CHAPTER

  31

  The train slowed down and came to a stop, but they were far short of the platform.

  “What’s wrong?” Elena asked.

  “Probably nothing,” Walter replied, but there was uncertainty in his voice. He looked around, obviously wondering why they were stopped where they could not reasonably get off.

  There were a few moments of silence and then the compartment door opened and a guard with an anxious expression regarded them. “One of our guards is missing,” he said grimly. “Totally missing! It is a very serious matter.”

  “Are you sure he got back on the train at the border?” Walter asked helpfully.

  “Why would he get off at the border?” the guard said irritably. “This is no joke. He has a good job! One a man would want to keep!” He turned to Elena. “He said he was coming to…question you? Is that so?”

  Her mind raced over all the possibilities. What could she say that would demand no further response from them? They were so nearly there! They were actually in Paris!

  Silence.

  Walter leaned forward. “I saw him, toward the back of the train. He had a bottle of schnapps. Are you sure he is not asleep somewhere in a baggage car? He was…staggering a bit…” He left the suggestion in the air.

  Elena forced a smile. “Maybe when you have off-loaded everything…?”

  The guard shrugged. “Drunk again! Serves the fool right. If…if we found him…”

  He went out, and after what seemed like ten minutes, but was perhaps only two or three, the train lurched forward again, and then stopped. This time they were beside the platform.

  Elena was weak with relief when at last she stepped out of the carriage onto the platform and heard the sound of French voices around her. The few police she could see were gendarmes in French uniforms. Even the air smelled different. It was like a familiar embrace. Paris!

  She turned and smiled as Walter stepped down onto the platform behind her.

  He took her arm. “We’re almost there. Last leg. You’ll be home tonight. Now we’d better get out of here, so they don’t connect us with the Berlin train. A cup of coffee, perhaps. It’ll be French coffee!”

  “Are you still coming with me…all the way?” she asked. She wanted him to, too much to dare show it. After the terrible night, she was still more afraid than she wished him to know, or even to acknowledge to herself. There was a search under way for the guard. Word would come soon enough that they had found his body on the tracks. She had no idea where they had been, but definitely in France. It was after they had crossed the border.

  “Of course I am!” Walter said, pushing her forward and then walking beside her toward the exit.

  She caught his urgency. Once they were out in the street, no one would know they had come in on that particular train. Unintentionally, she increased speed.

  “Hold on!” Walter said, a momentary sharpness in his tone. “Don’t go so fast. We look as if we are running away!” His hand tightened on her arm and reluctantly she slowed.

  They were nearly there. She must not look back. Head high, she walked out of the station. She had no idea if anyone was watching her. The street was already crowded with the early rush-hour traffic. They would be invisible in moments.

  Elena tried not to think of the people she had left behind. She could not feel guilty. She was no use to anyone in Berlin, especially dead. But she was aware with a grinding pain deep inside her that Jacob was still there, in Berlin, with Eli and Zillah, helping where they could, a terrible risk. There were people like the man in the camera shop, prepared to lie to save a stranger whose pictures scorched the mind. And God knew how many more would give their lives to fight the darkness she now knew was coming.

  They found a little bistro and took a table near the back. There was nothing to say that had not been said already. Their silence continued as they drank dark, aromatic French coffee and ate croissants…hot, flaky, delicious.

  Elena and Walter returned to the Gare du Nord and went to the platform for the Calais train. They bought tickets and stood waiting, Elena too tired, too emotionally exhausted, for conversation. They still had three more legs of the journey: the train to Calais, the cross-Channel ferry, and then the journey from Dover to London.

  Walter did not speak either, but when she glanced at him she saw the concern in his expression. She forced herself to smile. “We’re free,” she said quietly. “It’s just traveling from now on.”

  He hesitated a moment, and she saw a flicker of doubt in his expression.

  “Probably,” he agreed. “But we must still be careful. I’m not leaving you until I hand you over to someone who will take care of you. From what you’ve said, that’s your grandfather. Safer than your father. It would be easy enough for them to find out who he is and where he lives. In fact, they will certainly know already. For my safety, as well as yours…”

  “Yes. I’ll go to my grandfather’s, please. He’s anonymous, as far as they’re concerned. There are lots of Standishes in London. Probably most of them in the telephone directory. Thank you.”

  “Did you think I was going to leave you on a railway platform in London?” He raised his eyebrows. “In that red dress? I’ve seen enough of what can happen to you.”

  She meant not to let her fear show, but she knew it did—in her face, the clenched hands, the shivering she could not control, no matter how hard she tried.

  He reached over as if to touch her hand, and then pulled back again.

  * * *

  —

  The journey from Paris to Calais was easy, and they had a while to wait for the next
ferry, but they would still be in Dover before dark. Once or twice Elena thought she recognized a face in the crowd, gestures, attitudes she had seen before, but she said nothing, even when she caught a look on Walter’s face, as if he, too, had noticed.

  She was tense going through Customs and Immigration, and apologized to the officer when she dropped her passport out of nervous fingers. “Not much sleep,” she added.

  He made no comment, and she passed through the barrier drenched in sweat and shivering with relief.

  “Is that all your luggage?” the Customs officer asked her incredulously.

  Her mind raced. “It was mislaid,” she said quickly. “I’m sure they’ll find it, and then send it on after me. I’m going home, so I shall be all right.”

  He opened her bag and searched it. “Nice camera,” was all he said. He closed the bag and handed it back to her, shaking his head.

  She had no idea whether he believed her or not. It did not matter anymore.

  Walter had arranged to hire a car. He told Elena he had wired from the Paris railway station. It was waiting for them, and they took charge of it and set out on the road inland. The last leg home.

  There was traffic out of Dover, but soon they were clear of it, and the wide, pale evening sky was fading, shadows lengthening across the road. The air through the open window smelled sweet.

  Neither of them spoke. Perhaps Walter was as emotionally drained as she was and, like her, might find it hard to believe that the adventure was nearly over…at least for them. Germany was behind them.

  She directed him when he asked, but most of the road was plainly signed, and she had told him the general area. It was comfortable to be silent. The night darkened, but outside the air was still warm.

  She was wondering how much she could tell Lucas. Had the photographs arrived yet? What did he think of them? Would he know how they could best be used? In fact, were they as good as she thought? Would he berate her for being stupid? Not if he knew what the stakes really were. Not if he had seen the violence, the fear, the hatred. Sitting at home, safe in England, he couldn’t even imagine it, though everyone knew the loss of war, the carnage, the crippling of mind and body that went on and on…all life long, for some.

  But did they really know the alternative? The humiliation, the terror, and the shame? The corruption of all you thought you believed in, when the gun was pointed at your head? Or at the head of someone you loved more than your own life? Was there nothing so precious that you would pay the final price, rather than betray it? Most of us live and die without ever having to find out. But Elena had seen it too closely to plead ignorance anymore. How could she tell Lucas that?

  Walter swung the car around the corner. “Somewhere along here?”

  Her attention snapped back to the present. “Yes…yes, we’re home, next house.”

  Walter drew the car up against the curb, familiar to Elena even in the near dark. The curtains were closed, and there was no light visible from the windows, but the lamp was lit over the front door.

  She turned in the seat and smiled at Walter, overwhelmed with gratitude and, at last, peace. “Please come in and have something to eat. Stretch your legs. I expect you want to get to wherever you’re going, but if you don’t, you’ll be welcome to stay the night, and then go on in the morning.”

  “I don’t think so, not now. But thank you, I do need to straighten my back. I don’t know if my driving scared you, but it certainly scared me.” Without waiting to see her acknowledge it, he opened the driver’s door and climbed out, moving a little awkwardly for a moment, and then easing himself to stretch. “I’ll get your bag.”

  She climbed out of her side before he came around to open it. It was a relief to stand. She turned to make sure he was following her, and saw him close the trunk, her bag in his hand. She walked slowly up the front path, intending to push the doorbell, but the door opened before she reached it and Lucas stood on the step under the light.

  She had never seen anything more welcome in her life. He represented everything that was bright and good and safe, everything that was worth fighting for. She could not recall his ever saying “I love you,” yet it was the one thing she had never doubted in her whole life.

  “Hello, Grandpa,” she said almost steadily. She gave a brief glance over her shoulder, then back again at Lucas. “This is Walter Mann.” She would tell him all the rest later—maybe.

  Lucas smiled, and for a moment his face filled with intense emotion. Then he looked beyond her to Walter. “How do you do, Walter?” He gave a slow, charming smile. “We’re very grateful. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea, or even a meal? If you’re in a hurry, we understand, but it would be nice if we had a chance to express our gratitude.”

  Walter stepped forward to be just behind Elena. “Thank you, sir. That would be very kind. A cup of tea that wasn’t made by the railway would be wonderful. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “Not at all, come in.” Lucas stood back, pulling the door wide open, and Elena and Walter followed him into the hall, Walter still carrying the bag.

  Josephine was coming forward from the drawing room, arms wide. She hugged Elena so hard that, for a moment, it actually hurt.

  “Lavatory is at the top of the stairs, straight ahead,” Lucas continued to Walter. “How about a decent sandwich? We’ve got cold roast beef. A little French mustard, or the hot English stuff, if you prefer?”

  “French mustard is excellent, sir,” Walter replied, showing the deference due a man two generations older than himself.

  Elena stepped back, now overwhelmed with relief, and turned to Walter. She wanted to show him something of the gratitude she felt, and to make sure he was comfortable, that indeed he felt welcome. He was standing in the hallway looking a little confused, almost as if some deep emotion stirred him. She realized that she had told him that this was her grandparents’ house, but she had not mentioned their names. How thoughtless of her.

  “Walter, I’m sorry. This is my grandfather, Lucas Standish, and my grandmother, Josephine.” She turned to Lucas again. She would tell him the whole story later, how deeply it had changed her, but she should acknowledge at least some of it now, so he knew how much she owed Walter. “Walter rescued me from one or two unpleasant situations. And then he drove me here from Dover. He’s an economic journalist.”

  Lucas regarded Walter with considerable warmth. “Then we are doubly grateful to you.”

  Josephine’s face was alight with pleasure. “And we are happy to offer you anything you care for,” she said warmly. “After roast beef sandwiches, I have an apple pie and cream. They’re last year’s apples, of course, but they store very well.”

  Walter smiled, color rising up in his face. He looked tense, as if his shoulders were stiff, but he had driven a long way, and sometimes at dangerously high speeds. Elena saw that he was exhausted.

  “Thank you,” he said a little awkwardly. “It sounds perfect.”

  Josephine smiled back at him. “Then I’ll get started. Would you like the pie warmed? I do.”

  “Yes, please,” he accepted. But he did not look as if she had put him at ease. Rather the contrary.

  “Top of the stairs,” Elena reminded him, smiling also. “We’ll be in the drawing room.” She pointed to the nearest door.

  Walter put down Elena’s bag and went up the stairs.

  Lucas led the way to the long-familiar drawing room with its blue curtains and the arch where the dividing wall had been removed, so the room ran the full length of the house. At the far end, there was a second fireplace and French windows opening onto the garden. This was the house where Elena had been born, and she still felt bone-deep that it was home. There was the copy of a Delft painting over the fireplace, all in deep blues and greens, shadows and light on water, the outlines of ships resting in the harbor, the ghosts of buildings b
ehind them. No one pretended it was the original, and she had seen many among the world’s great paintings, but none she loved as she did this one.

  There was a small fire in the hearth. Even in May, the weather growing warm, there was a coolness in the air after sunset.

  Now that they were alone, Lucas looked at Elena more closely. If he even noticed the scarlet dress, he made no comment.

  “Are you all right?” he said gravely.

  “I will be,” she replied to the far deeper question. “I’ve got a burn on the back of my hand and a few bruises, but otherwise I’m not hurt, just tired…” She left all the rest of the fear and pain unsaid. She would tell him about it later. “It’s…bad in Berlin. The books…” She gave a little shrug. “Later.”

  “I know about the books,” he said. “And I got your photographs. We’ll talk after Walter’s gone.”

  When Walter returned, Elena went upstairs to find the ointment and a clean bandage to put on her hand. The burn looked angry and sore, as indeed it was. Tomorrow, she might see the doctor, but for tonight anything was bearable. She was home. Safe.

  At least the photographs were here, and in a way that was all that mattered.

  Downstairs again, she went into the kitchen and began to take cutlery out of the drawer.

  “You don’t need to do that, my dear,” Josephine said briskly. “It’ll be a little while yet. I have to heat the pie slowly or it will burn. Go and be pleasant to Mr. Mann. I dare say it’s your gratitude he would rather have than Lucas’s.” She frowned. “And you look exhausted. It’s good to know you’re home. You’ve been rather a long time and we’ve been concerned. You should telephone your parents and let them know you’re back. Margot sent a telegram to your parents to say she’s on her way back to London, too, with interesting news.” She looked at the bread, butter, beef, and mustard sitting on the kitchen table. “I think I’ll start the sandwiches now.”