A Feather on the Water(69)

He opened one eye. Seeing her, he reached out, his hand finding hers. “Kitty,” he murmured. “We don’t have to get up yet, do we?”

“Yes, we do!” She pulled back the sheets. “Our train’s due to leave at ten forty—we have to get to the station.”

He leapt out of bed and stuck his feet into his shoes. Then he remembered he was in the wrong room. “I’ll be five minutes,” he said, as he headed for the door. “Meet you in the lobby.”

They made it onto the train by the skin of their teeth, not helped by the Russian official at the barrier who insisted on seeing every document they possessed before waving them through.

“Thank goodness,” Kitty breathed, as they sank into their seats. “We’d have been stuck here for another night if we’d missed it.”

“That might not have been so bad.” Charlie gave her a teasing smile.

She dug the heel of her hand into his arm. “Don’t get any ideas, buster.”

He grunted a laugh, but she saw that her words, even though spoken in jest, had hit home. There was a despondent look on his face that hadn’t been there before.

“Thank you for staying with me last night—it was kind of you.” Too late, she realized she’d made things even worse. It sounded as if she wouldn’t have wanted him anywhere near her unless she’d been desperate. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him—sometimes the strength of the attraction overwhelmed her. But if she told him that, he’d take it as a signal that she was ready to go further.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “I’d do anything for you, Kitty. I . . .” He fixed her with his beautiful pale brown eyes. “I love you.”

She stared back at him, taken by surprise, unable to find a response. Leaning forward, she took his head in her hands and kissed the tip of his nose.





CHAPTER 20


The snow came early to Bavaria that year. On the day Kitty returned to Seidenmühle, a light dusting of flakes covered the roofs of the blockhouses. By the time the three women gathered for their evening meal, the snow was deep enough for their shoes to leave imprints on the path outside the cabin.

“Thank goodness you got back when you did,” Delphine said. “Imagine if you’d got stuck somewhere!” She ladled some of the steaming contents of a saucepan into a bowl and passed it to Kitty.

“Mmm . . . Cabbage and meatball—my favorite!” Kitty gave her a wry look. “Although, I have to say our DPs get better food than people in Vienna.”

“What was it like there?” Martha pulled out a chair and sat down beside her.

“It was grim,” Kitty replied. “The only people with full stomachs were the soldiers. Ordinary people have to stand in line for hours to get a loaf of bread. From what Clara told me, the black market there is much worse than what goes on here. I wanted to give her something as a thank-you, and she said a couple of packs of Lucky Strike would get her enough to feed the family for a week.”

“And they’re supposed to be the lucky ones,” Delphine said. “The ones who still have somewhere to call home.”

Kitty nodded. “Clara said she was just grateful that her family survived the war. I think she felt terribly guilty that she hadn’t been able to help my parents.”

“I’ll call the major in the morning,” Martha said. “Ask him about sending a wire from the base.”

Kitty nodded. “I’ve sent a letter, but it could take weeks to get there.” She stared at the solitary meatball floating in the bowl of soup. “I wish I knew if they really did make it to China. It seems . . .” She trailed off, unable to say the words that had been echoing around in her head since Clara had shown her the address in the notebook. It was such a long, long way. Was it possible to have successfully reached their destination when every country they traveled through was at war?

“I can only imagine how you must have felt, hearing that,” Martha said. “It must be torture, knowing that they got away, but not having any clue what happened after they left.”

“It is,” Kitty murmured. “And I can’t bear the thought that when they escaped from Vienna, they believed I was dead.” She took in a long breath. “I was terrified of going to find Clara. I was expecting her to tell me what I’d been dreading—that they’d been rounded up by the Nazis and never seen again. I thought that because they couldn’t get visas for Britain, they’d have been trapped in Austria. It never occurred to me that there might be some other place they could go.” She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the bowl, moving it around but not bringing it up to her mouth. “Before, when I was going through the Red Cross lists, finding nothing, Father Josef told me not to give up hope. I thought he was just trying to comfort me—that there was no real chance of them being alive.” She submerged the meatball in the watery soup and watched it pop up again. “I do have hope, now. But I’m almost as afraid as when I first came here. I guess I’m scared to allow myself that hope because the odds against them having survived seem so enormous.”

Martha and Delphine exchanged glances. There was nothing either of them could say that would not sound hollow.

“It’s good to have you back.” Delphine stood up. “We should drink to that. I think there’s a little of the cognac left.”