The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [147]
“THAT’S MY DAD!”
He looked up. Billy was running along the aisle, toward him, stumbling, swaying from side to side, bumping against the seats, his arms outstretched.
Oh, God.
Beyond Billy, Vandam could see Wolff and Elene standing up, watching; Wolff with intensity, Elene with fear. Vandam opened the door behind him, pretending to take no notice of Billy, and backed through it. Billy came flying through. Vandam slammed the door. He took Billy in his arms.
“It’s all right,” Vandam said. “It’s all right.”
Wolff would be coming to investigate.
“They took me away!” Billy said. “I missed geography and I was really really scared!”
“It’s all right now.” Vandam felt he could not leave Billy now; he would have to keep the boy and kill Wolff, he would have to abandon his deception plan and the radio and the key to the code ... No, it had to be done, it had to be done ... He fought down his instincts. “Listen,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m watching over you, but I have to catch that man, and I don’t want him to know who I am. He’s the German spy I’m after, do you understand?”
“Yes, yes ...”
“Listen. Can you pretend you made a mistake? Can you pretend I’m not your father? Can you go back to him?”
Billy stared, openmouthed. He said nothing but his whole expression said No, no, no!
Vandam said: “This is a real-life tec story, Billy, and we’re in it, you and I. You have to go back to that man, and pretend you made a mistake; but remember, I’ll be nearby, and together we’ll catch the spy. Is that okay? Is it okay?”
Billy said nothing.
The door opened and Wolff came through.
“What’s all this?” Wolff said.
Vandam made his face bland and forced a smile. “He seems to have woken up from a dream and mistaken me for his father. We’re the same build, you and I ... You did say you were his father, didn’t you?”
Wolff looked at Billy. “What nonsense!” he said brusquely. “Come back to your seat at once.”
Billy stood still.
Vandam put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Come on, young man,” he said. “Let’s go and win the war.”
The old catchphrase did the trick. Billy gave a brave grin. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I must have been dreaming.”
Vandam felt as though his heart would break.
Billy turned away and went back inside the coach. Wolff went after him, and Vandam followed. As they walked along the aisle the train slowed down. Vandam realized they were already approaching the next station, where his motorcycle would be waiting. Billy reached his seat and sat down. Elene was staring at Vandam uncom prehendingly. Billy touched her arm and said: “It’s okay, I made a mistake, I must have been dreaming.” She looked at Billy, then at Vandam, and a strange light came into her eyes: she seemed on the point of tears.
Vandam did not want to walk past them. He wanted to sit down, to talk, to do anything to prolong the time he spent with them. Outside the train windows, another dusty little town appeared. Vandam yielded to temptation and paused at the carriage door. “Have a good trip,” he said to Billy.
“Thank you, sir.”
Vandam went out.
The train pulled into the station and stopped. Vandam got off and walked forward along the platform a little way. He stood in the shade of an awning and waited. Nobody else got off, but two or three people boarded the economy coaches. There was a whistle, and the train began to move. Vandam’s eye was fixed on the window which he knew to be next to Billy’s seat. As the window passed him, he saw Billy’s face. Billy raised his hand in a little wave. Vandam waved back, and the face was gone.
Vandam realized he was trembling all over.
He watched the train recede into the hazy distance. When it was almost out of sight he left the station. There outside was his motorcycle, with the young policeman from the last town sitting astride it explaining its mysteries to a small crowd of admirers. Vandam gave him the other half of the pound note. The young man saluted.
Vandam climbed on the motorcycle and started it. He did not know how the policeman was going to get home, and he did not care. He drove out of town