The Diplomat's Wife(95)

He crosses the carriage to me on his hands and knees. “Careful,” he says, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me back from the edge of the hole. “I don’t need you falling through.”

I look up at him. Our eyes lock. Neither of us speak for several seconds. “Marta, about what happened—”

I cut him off. “We shouldn’t talk about it.”

“I understand. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I never should have kissed you.”

“You didn’t. I kissed you, remember?” Paul does not answer. “Anyway, like I said earlier, I’m glad it happened.”

“Me, too,” he admits, leaning back against the crates. “But it’s kinda difficult, you know? Remembering how good it was between us…”

“And knowing it can’t happen again?” I finish for him. He nods. “I know.”

I lean back beside him and he puts his arm around me. “This is okay, though, isn’t it?” He gestures with his head toward his arm. “I mean, it’s like that night in Salzburg. Innocent.”

Innocent. I look from his face to his arm around my shoulder, then back again. There’s nothing innocent about our feelings. But soon we’ll be home and Paul’s arm around me will be a distant memory again. “It’s fine,” I say at last, reaching up and squeezing his hand.

We bounce along in silence, not speaking. “How long do you reckon until we reach the harbor?” he asks.

“A few hours. I wish we hadn’t left the deck of cards back in the wine cellar. I’d like a chance to redeem myself at gin.”

“True,” Paul agrees. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

“I am a bit tired,” I admit. “But it’s probably not a good idea.”

“You go ahead. I’ll stay awake. Honestly, I’m not at all tired.”

I lean my head against Paul’s chest and close my eyes. His arm tightens around me, drawing me close. Like Salzburg, I think. I can almost smell the turpentine, hear the rain on the roof of the gardener’s shed.

Suddenly, the truck screeches to a halt, jarring me awake. I sit up groggily. “What is it?”

Paul turns around and pulls back the tarp slightly, peering out. “We’ve reached the harbor,” he whispers. “But the trucks are stopped ahead. It looks like there is some sort of checkpoint at the gate.”

Panic rises within me. “What are we doing to do?”

“Maybe they won’t look back here.” But as he continues to look outside, his face falls. “No, they’re inspecting each vehicle very closely. We need to get out of here. The floor,” he says suddenly. “We need to get out through the hole in the floor.”

“But Jan said to stay on the truck, that it would drive us right to the ship.”

Paul shakes his head. “That isn’t going to work anymore.” He crawls over to the hole in the floor. “You go first. When you hit the ground, I want you to move away from the truck quickly so you don’t get hit if it starts to move. Stay low to the ground, out of sight.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Paul replies quickly. An uneasy expression crosses his face. “Now hurry.”

I crawl to the hole, then pause, looking up at him. “Paul—”

He cuts me off. “If anything happens…I mean, the ship is the SS Bremen. Find your way there and get on it.”

I freeze. It had not occurred to me that we might be separated again. I open my mouth to protest. But he touches my cheek, silencing me again. “No matter what happens, you keep going. Get home to your daughter.”

“I won’t go without you.”

“You won’t have to,” he promises, looking deep into my eyes. “I stood you up once in London and look what happened. I’m not about to do it again.” Outside the truck, the footsteps and voices grow louder. He reaches down and kisses me hard and quick. “Now go.”

I slip through the hole, cringing at the soft sound of my feet hitting the ground. Then, remembering Paul’s instructions, I crouch low and crawl from beneath the truck, away from the voices, finding cover beneath some bushes beside the road. I made it, though my heart is pounding. Suddenly, I hear an engine sound. I spin around, looking through the brush at the underside of the truck, searching for Paul in the dim light. But he isn’t there. The truck begins to roll forward, moving closer to the checkpoint. Paul’s still inside!

I hesitate, uncertain what to do. Keep moving, Paul said. Get inside the ship. I duck into the bushes and make my way toward the metal fence that surrounds the harbor. But it is nearly three meters high; I cannot possibly climb over it. I look sideways toward the gate. Where is the truck? Is Paul still on it? The bushes obstruct my view. Keep moving. I crawl along the fence farther into the brush. I spy a small tear in the fence, low to the ground. I drop to my knees, pulling against the bottom of the fence to lift it farther from the ground. Lying on my stomach, I try to force myself through the opening. It is working, I realize, as the jagged edges tear at my clothes and skin.

I stand up. I am inside, I think with relief. Suddenly, I hear shouting and loud noises coming from the direction of the gate. Paul! Crouching low to the fence, I make my way back toward the commotion. The truck is stopped at the gate, a guard standing by the rear. I can see a flashlight shining beneath the tarp, illuminating the inside of the carriage. My heart drops as two guards climb from the back of the truck, dragging Paul behind them.