6
Rudi Fischer felt suddenly positive, cheerful even. A kernel of optimism
was growing in the pit of his stomach, and spread itself to his face in a
happy grin. Maybe there was a God after all, and He’d finally decided to
throw His muscle behind Rudi.
It was the first time he felt that escape might be more than just a vague
hope, but a realistic idea. The thought made him whistle as he polished the
car. The big old vehicle couldn’t really be polished, for like most military
vehicles of its kind it was just a dull mat green. But Rudi polished away
enthusiastically with his rag as if you might see your reflection in it, and
while he was at it, he polished the silver boot latch with equal vigour.
He’d already tried the latch and it had moved smoothly. And the two
long hinges at the top of the boot hadn’t even groaned as he’d expected, but
moved easily to lift the thing like a lid. He’d always thought of his own
nation as excellent engineers and manufacturers, for German cars were
reliable. Precision, it was a German trait. But maybe the British knew a
thing or two as well. Probably used German engineers before the war,
though.
He smiled and patted the boot of the car affectionately. It was roomy
enough, even though there was a spare tyre in there. Could have been
worse. Finally, the sun had decided to shine on him.
He looked at the others busily drying off the car. Four of them had been
ordered to wash and polish the thing. Some of them had grumbled under
their breath, but not him.
Rudi set about his task with a renewed vigour and cheerfulness, which
he suddenly realised might seem suspicious. He cut off his whistle, mid
flow.
The woman in the army uniform turned her head to look at him. He
guessed she was the vehicle’s driver for she seemed to have a personal
interest in the car and had once even patted the bonnet like the thing was a
family pet. He’d laughed at that and when their eyes met, there had been
laughter in hers as well, and she’d shrugged her shoulders, a kind of
admission that she’d been caught out being foolish.
Her eyes were blue. Sparkling blue, like he imagined the purest ocean to
be, and fizzing with life and laughter. And her hair, a curtain of silky blonde
tresses sneaking out from under the uniform cap and framing a strong, but
nevertheless pretty face. Not long hair, or the style favoured by Fräuleins in
his homeland, but attractive all the same, and the colour of new mown hay.
She was unusually tall too. For a woman. At least any of the women Rudi
had come across. Her height easily matched his own and gave her a natural
elegance that made her stand out in the stark and bleak surroundings. A
jewel in the middle of a rubbish heap was the description that came to
Rudi’s mind when his eyes were tugged hypnotically towards her. Another
time, another place, he thought wistfully, and things might have been
different.
He might even have been brave enough to overcome his natural shyness
and start up a conversation with the woman, tap into the humanity that lay
behind that smile. He suspected that she had understanding and empathy,
for she’d already apologised to them for having been forced to wash her car.
She’d even argued with the sergeant that the men shouldn’t be treated like
slave labour, should be given the dignity captured prisoners of war
deserved.
Rudi had been impressed by the young woman’s spirit, but the fat
sergeant had only laughed and trotted out some vague insult about allowing
women to wear uniforms. Rudi’s grasp of English was still only basic, and
the sergeant’s strange accent hard to decipher, but the downward slope of
the woman’s shoulders and the sadness in those deep blue eyes hadn’t
needed a shared language to interpret: that bastard sergeant had made her
unhappy.
And for some irrational reason that he couldn’t possibly begin to fathom
or explain, Rudi Fischer wanted to protect this lovely woman, this stranger
he had only just met and never even spoken to. Protect her from any more
pain.
Maddie knew nothing about the man, other than the fact he was a POW. A
German. An enemy. Someone she should hate. But when he’d smiled at her
like that, she could find no hate in her for the tall man with the hypnotic,
ice-blue eyes. He struck her as someone who would laugh easily, despite
whatever sadness the world threw at him, and even now the skin around his
eyes crinkled readily into laughter lines. It was a strange contradiction,
humour playing across a face with sunken cheeks and sallow skin.
Despite the smile, the man looked ill, emaciated, his impressive height
seemed designed for a body with more meat on its bones. Skeletal was a
word that floated into Maddie’s head; she shrugged it off. For she guessed
that someone like him, who could find humour in a grim POW camp, would
never consider himself a victim.
Gracious!
What? she asked an invisible Molly, as a picture of her bunkmate
suddenly thrust itself again into her mind. Molly, the friend who could find
romance lurking under every rock. Well, he is very striking, Maddie argued
with the image in her head. And those cheekbones – classical, wouldn’t you
say? But of course, Molly didn’t answer back. And what would she have
said if she had? That the man was an enemy?
Maddie had never come face to face with an enemy before, and the
reality was a surprise. He didn’t look at all like a monster or some strange
clone from a race of Hitler’s super-humans that the propaganda described.
He looked like a normal chap; one she might even talk to if circumstances
were different. One thing she knew – some strange chemical reaction had
taken place; one she had never encountered before; an indefinable force that
drew her towards this stranger, a force she had no control over. But one that
she would try her hardest to ignore. She was British, a patriot, proud of her
country, and fraternising with the enemy was number one on a long list of
things you didn’t do.
Even so, after she watched them retreat back to their huts, she wished
she’d asked his name
