The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [146]
The woman who had her arm around him, and on whose bosom his head rested, was Elene. Vandam had a disorienting sense of déjâ vu: it reminded him of the night he had come upon Elene kissing Billy good night ...
Elene looked up.
She caught Vandam’s eye. He saw her face begin to change expression: her eyes widening, her mouth coming open for a cry of surprise; and, because he was prepared for something like this, he was very quick to raise a finger to his lips in a hushing sign. She understood immediately, and dropped her eyes; but Wolff had caught her look, and he was turning his head to find out what she had seen.
They were on Vandam’s left, and it was his left cheek which had been cut by Wolff’s knife. Vandam turned around so that his back was to the carriage, then he spoke to the people on the side of the aisle opposite Wolff’s. “Your papers, please.”
He had not reckoned on Billy being asleep.
He had been ready to give the boy a quick sign, as he had done with Elene, and he had hoped that Billy was alert enough to mask his surprise rapidly, as Elene had done. But this was a different situation. If Billy were to wake up and see his father standing there, he would probably give the game away before he had time to collect his thoughts.
Vandam turned to Wolff and said: “Papers, please.”
It was the first time he had seen his enemy face to face. Wolff was a handsome bastard. His big face had strong features: a wide forehead, a hooked nose, even white teeth, a broad jaw. Only around the eyes and the comers of the mouth was there a hint of weakness, of self-indulgence, of depravity. He handed over his papers then looked out of the window, bored. The papers identified him as Alex Wolff, of Villa les Oliviers, Garden City. The man had remarkable nerve.
Vandam said: “Where are you going, sir?”
“Assyut.”
“On business?”
“To visit relations.” The voice was strong and deep, and Vandam would not have noticed the accent if he had not been listening for it.
Vandam said: “Are you people together?”
“That’s my son and his nanny,” Wolff said.
Vandam took Elene’s papers and glanced at them. He wanted to take Wolff by the throat and shake him until his bones rattled. That’s my son and his nanny. You bastard.
He gave Elene her papers. “No need to wake the child,” he said. He looked at the priest sitting next to Wolff, and took the proffered wallet.
Wolff said: “What’s this about, Major?”
Vandam looked at him again, and noticed that he had a fresh scratch on his chin, a long one: perhaps Elene had put up some resistance. “Security, sir,” Vandam replied.
The priest said: “I’m going to Assyut, too.”
“I see,” said Vandam. “To the convent?”
“Indeed. You’ve heard of it, then.”
“The place where the Holy Family stayed after their sojourn in the desert.”
“Quite. Have you been there?”
“Not yet—perhaps I’ll make it this time.”
“I hope so,” said the priest.
Vandam handed back the papers. “Thank you.” He backed away, along the aisle to the next row of seats, and continued to examine pa pers. When he looked up he met Wolff’s eyes. Wolff was watching him expressionlessly. Vandam wondered whether he had done anything suspicious. Next time he looked up, Wolff was staring out of the window again.
What was Elene thinking? She must be wondering what I’m up to, Vandam thought. Perhaps she can guess my intentions. It must be hard for her all the same, to sit still and see me walk by without a word. At least now she knows she’s not alone.
What was Wolff thinking? Perhaps he was impatient, or gloating, or frightened, or eager ... No, he was none of those, Vandam realized; he was bored.
He reached the end of the carriage and examined the last of the papers. He was handing them back, about to retrace his steps along the aisle, when he heard a cry that pierced his