Maddie drove back slowly and carefully along the way she had come,
feeling every bump in the rutted track reverberating through her. The
Humber’s suspension was usually adequate, but right then, it felt as if
Harriet was getting her own back for the way she’d been treated.
Maddie’s pig-headed determination took her back to the same spot
above Church Cove. There was still the old church and the graveyard to
investigate later, but first she should tackle the repairs to her car. It would
be easier to do that parked on the wide promontory next to the broken-down
barn. She’d need to find the police station in Helston soon and make a
report about the German who’d escaped. But the damage he’d done to the
boot of the Humber made the thing unwieldy to drive. She’d try to fix it
first – it shouldn’t take long.
The car skidded to a messy halt. She felt its wheels sink into soft earth
and stepped out into a quagmire of mud. The brutal rainstorm was over, had
churned up the ground, but the wind still howled eerily up there on the
clifftop. Its ghostly sound reminded her of a horror film Molly had once
dragged her along to see. She’d had nightmares about it.
The icy chill suddenly bit into her and Maddie’s whole body began to
shake with it. Funny. She hadn’t even noticed her wet clothes or the
freezing air when she’d been sorting Harry out. And Maddie thought about
something that had struck her before: the power of mind over matter, and
how your brain could fool your body into forgetting pain, forgetting fear,
and just getting on with stuff when it was necessary.
Soldiers at the front – that’s how it must be with them. Otherwise, how
could they do what they had to and carry on after they’d seen such awful
things? Finding the courage that was needed? Finding the inner strength to
stay sane in an insane world?
Enough! She walked around to the passenger side of the car, opened the
door and pulled out the rug that had covered Harry’s thin shoulders. And
that’s when a tall figure appeared behind her, took the blanket from her
shaking hands, and wrapped it gently around her.
‘You again? Get off me!’ she protested.
He didn’t answer. Just walked her slowly to the barn, his arms around
her trembling shoulders, supporting her shocked body.
Her legs suddenly gave way beneath her, buckling like they didn’t
belong to her body. Why would your legs DO that when they’ve worked
perfectly well up to now – were perfectly normal, functional legs that have
always served you well? Her face suddenly felt tight, and a small trickle of
tears made its way down it towards her lips, leaving a wet trail that she had
no control over. How can your eyes do that all by themselves, without
giving you notice? Like traitors.
She was a traitor. Had committed treason against her own country. He’d
made her do that, even though she might try to excuse her treason. Blame it
solely on him.
The man led her to a corner of the barn, lowered her onto an ancient,
creaking wooden bench and pulled the plaid blanket tighter around her, as if
she was helpless, unable to do such a simple thing for herself. Like some
sort of pathetic, useless female.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t even look back at her as he left the barn. What?
That was it? No apology for ruining her life?
He had ruined everything for her. Her army career would be in tatters.
She might even be court-martialled. For how could she prove she’d known
nothing about his bid for freedom, had been an unwilling accomplice?
Proving a negative was never easy. But, willing or not, the fact was that a
prisoner had escaped in her car. And that’s exactly how the army would see
it. Pleading innocence wouldn’t help, would just make her out as a hapless
victim. And weakness wasn’t encouraged in the army. It was rooted out in
basic training, she knew that.
The unfairness of it all made her angry. She discarded the blanket and
went running after him as another frightening thought struck her: what was
to stop him stealing the Humber, leaving her there in this remote place?
He hadn’t made it far in his bid for freedom. Only to the back of the
Humber, where she found him bent over the boot with a wrench in his hand.
Maddie’s rage flew from her tight fists, pummelling his back.
The German put the wrench down and slowly turned around to face her,
a disarming smile on his face. He took hold of her hands in his. Held onto
them tightly.
But Maddie didn’t return his smile. She didn’t feel like smiling for the
frustration and anger bubbled up inside her, looking for an escape. She
squirmed in his grasp, pulled her hands away.
‘Get away from there. How dare you steal my car? This belongs to the
British Army,’ she shouted.
Rudi laughed. ‘I see! So, I am a thief, you think? I never steal,’ he said,
his expression serious now. ‘Not from army. Not from you. Especially not
from you. I wish no trouble for you, madam. I fix the car for you, is all. I
broke it, I must fix.’
‘Ha!’
‘What is this “ha”? What does it mean?’ asked Rudi.
‘It means, Mister whatever your name is—’
‘Rudi Fischer, Fraulein.’ The German bowed his head respectfully and
politely clicked his heels. ‘And you are?’ he asked.
Flustered, Maddie gabbled her name, her finishing-school education
coming to her rescue, conquering her anger for a moment. ‘It means that I
don’t believe you. Why would you not use my car to get away? Why leave
it for me? Why even fix it?’
‘I wish you no trouble.’
‘Little late for that, don’t you think? I’m already in trouble, thanks to
you. Stable door’s wide open, horse has bolted.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘This horse has what?’ He shrugged his
shoulders in apology. ‘My English,’ he said. ‘Not perfect.’
‘Not important,’ she said. ‘The horse… just an expression.’ Maddie
shrugged as well. ‘You’re an escaped German prisoner. When they discover
you’ve gone, there’ll be a manhunt for you. You’re not fixing that car to
help me, you’re doing it for yourself. So – I think you’re lying.’
‘No, I want to make things fine for you,’ said Rudi.
‘Fine? Ha!’ said Maddie again.
‘Okay, fifty-fifty, I lie. I do not tell you all of the truth.’
‘Same thing,’ she said.
‘Maybe…’
‘So?’ she said.
‘I leave the car for you. And truly, I fix it, so you have no more
trouble…’
‘And…?’
‘I never learn to drive,’ he admitted.
She stared straight into those ice-blue eyes of his. Hers was a
penetrating stare, searching for the truth.
The German held her gaze, unflinching, unsmiling now.
And that’s when Private Maddie Brady threw back her head and
laughed.
It was growing dark before he finally fixed the damage to the car. Apart
from a couple of small scratches inside the boot where the wrench had
slipped when he’d been battling his way out, no one would notice. He
didn’t want the woman blamed for his transgressions.
Rudi was pleased with his efforts. Peculiar that he should feel some sort
of satisfaction, especially about helping the enemy. Although it wasn’t
about that. His contentment came from seeing the results of his own
ingenuity, his resourcefulness.
He had always shown a flair for working with his hands, discovering
how things worked, improving them. His father had been proud of him, had
encouraged the young Rudi’s curiosity; had allowed him to dismantle things
in the workshop, put them back together again. His father had been an
engineer, a man of standing in their small Bavarian village. Rudi Fischer
had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps but the war had intervened.
Gunter Fischer had been a thoughtful man, respectful of others with
different views to his own. A cultured man with liberal, humanitarian
ideals, he himself had been respected by others in his village. People had
come to him for advice, to share his knowledge, for Rudi’s father was not
only a man with practical skills but a little of the philosopher dwelt in him
as well. That’s why he’d engaged with other nations’ ideas, had learnt
languages other than his own. And he’d taught both Rudi and his younger
brother, Werner, to speak a little French as well as English.
That had been fine before the National Socialists came to power. Hitler
and his bully boys changed Germany in 1933. After that, the only learning
encouraged in schools had been the history of the Nazi Party, of Hitler and
the other major figures of the Reich. And no one was expected to speak any
language other than the tongue of the Fatherland. Foreign languages were
suspect, and knowledge of them could get a person in trouble.
The war had changed everything. Especially for Rudi’s father. His
liberalism had been considered dangerous, a rebellion against the new
regime. Especially suspect were his father’s strong views on pacifism.
Some ‘well-meaning’ neighbour had reported him and Gunter Fischer had
been put on a register of conscientious objectors. Refusing to fight because
your conscience wouldn’t allow it was a dangerous thing in this new
Germany – the Nazi Party had made it a criminal offence.
It wasn’t often that Rudi dwelt on the sadness of the past. The loss of his
father was a wound that would always be there. He might put it to the back
of his mind, but he could never forget the day they’d taken his father away.
Nor the courage it had taken for Gunter to refuse to abandon his ideals, and
march off to the camp with his head held high.
The family had never heard from him again. Had no idea if Gunter
Fischer was alive or dead.
Rudi grunted to himself, tried to tap into his optimism again. Soon he’d
need it. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity, for there
was nothing to be gained by dredging up the sadness of the past.
He heard the barn door open, and turned around at the sound of her
voice.
‘You’re still here then,’ said Maddie. ‘Thought you’d be long gone.’
‘All finished,’ he said. He wiped his oily hands on the rag and pointed
at the resurrected boot, pleased with his achievement.
He watched her inspect the running repair.
‘Mm… hmm.’ She nodded her head.
‘What will you do?’ he asked.
‘What will I do?’ she said, looking astounded. ‘I’m not the one with the
problem here, am I? They’ll all be out looking for you: soldiers, police,
civilians. You can’t escape.’
Rudi studied the woman: the confident set of her shoulders, head held
high, chin thrust out in defiance. She was magnificent, courageous, bold.
He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. How brave he thought her. But
the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he said: ‘Maybe there is no escape. But I
can’t go back there, I’ll die.’
‘Such drama,’ said Maddie. ‘Of course you won’t die. I’ll take you
back. We can leave now. I’ll say I found you on the road, and that you gave
yourself up willingly. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. You’ll not suffer for it. We
British have codes – we’re not animals.’
Rudi looked at her with sadness in his eyes, with regret. It would be
good to share a car journey with her, with this lovely woman. To sit beside
her this time, instead of being trapped in a small, terrifying space with little
air.
‘What? You don’t believe me?’ said Maddie.
‘Codes – yes,’ he said. ‘Codes are good. We have codes too, we
Germans.’ He thought about his father. An ethical man, his codes, his
morality. And how he’d suffered for those principles. What the bastards had
done to his Vater. And he thought about that vicious little dictator
Oberleutnant Karl Hoffmann waiting for him back at the POW camp, about
Hoffmann’s code. ‘But not all German codes are the same,’ he said sadly,
sighing. ‘And unhappily for us as a nation, we do have animals.’
‘Hitler,’ she said. ‘Yes, I see that.’
‘Him and others,’ said Rudi. ‘But I was thinking of one much nearer.
Right here.’
‘Here?’ she asked, confused.
‘In the camp. Oberleutnant Hoffmann. An animal, like the rest of those
Nazis. A despicable man.’
‘But you’re a Nazi,’ said Maddie.
‘Never!’ Rudi spat the word. ‘I could never be one of them! It’s why I
had to run – Hoffmann threatened to kill me.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I’m not like them. A German, yes. I love my country. But not
a Nazi. I refuse to join their vicious little club. And I warned Hoffmann. He
was beating up some of the younger men. I told him to stop. He’s a bully
and a fraud, impersonating someone else. I said I’d expose him. Told him
what he could do with his master race and Herr Hitler.’
‘You could have told someone he threatened you,’ said Maddie.
‘And who would listen to a damn troublesome Kraut?’ He said the
words in an exaggerated upper-class English accent. And smiled at her
expression.
He watched her face. Saw the look of confusion turn to something else.
Pity? Did she pity him? No, not that. Not a sad look. Empathy, but more
than that.
And now, the beginnings of a smile, and maybe even friendship.
