Vandam bent to shout in the man’s ear. “How many firstclass coaches?” The guard held up two fingers. Vandarn nodded and unbent. He looked at the door. Suddenly he was not sure that he had the nerve to go through with this. He thought that Wolff had never got a good look at him-they had fought in the dark, in the alley–but he could not be absolutely sure. The gash on his cheek might have given him away, but it was almost completely covered now by his beard; still be should try to keep that side of his face away from Wolff. Billy was the real problem. Vandam had to warn his son, somehow, to keep quiet and pretend not to recognize his father. There was no way to plan it, that was the trouble. He just had to go in there and think on his feet. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Stepping through, he glanced quickly and nervously at the first few seats and did not recognize anyone. He twmed his back to the carriage as he closed the door, then turned around again. His gaze swept the rows of seats quickly: no Billy. He spoke to the passengers nearest him. “Your papers, please, gentlemen.” “What’s this, Major?” said an Egyptian Army officer, a colonel. “Routine cheek, sir,” Vandam replied. He moved slowly along the aisle, checking peoples papers. By the time he was halfway down the carriage he had studied the passengers well enough to be sure that Wolff, Elene and Billy were not here. He felt he had to finish the pantomime of checking papers before going on to the next coach. He began to wonder whether his guesswork might have gone wrong, Perhaps they weren’t on the train at all; perhaps they weren’t even heading for Assyut; perhaps the atlas clue had been a trick . . He reached ihe end of the carriage and passed through the door into the space between the coaches. If Wolff is on the train, I’ll see him now, he thought. If Billy is here-if Billy is here- He opened the door. He saw Billy immediately. He felt a pang of distress like a wound. The boy was asleep in his seat, his feet only just THE KEY TO REBECCA 319
reaching the floor, his body slumped sideways, his hair falling over his forehead. His mouth was open, and his jaws were moving slightly: Vandam knew, for he had seen this before, that Billy was grinding his teeth in his sleep. The woman who had her arm around him, and on whose bosom his head rested, was Elene. Vandam had a disorienting sense of d6jA vu: it reminded him of the night he had come upon Elene kissing Billy good night … Elene looked up. She caught Vandam’s eye. He saw her face begin to change expression: her eyes widening, her mouth coming open for a cry of surprise; and, because he was prepared for something like this, he was very quick to raise a finger to his lips in a hushing sign. She understood immediately, and dropped her eyes; but Wolff had caught her look, and he was turning his head to find out what she had seen. They were on Vandam’s left, and it was his left check which had been cut by Wolff’s knife. Vandam turned around so that his back was to the carriage, then he spoke to the people on the side of the aisle opposite Wolff s. “Your papers, please.” He had not reckoned on Billy being asleep. He had been ready to give the boy a quick sign, as he had done with Elene, and he had hoped that Billy was alert enough to mask his surprise rapidly, as Elene had done. But this was a different situation. If Billy were to wake up and see his father standing there, he would probably give the game away before he had time to collect his thoughts. Vandam turned to Wolff and said: “Papers, please.” It was the fint time he had seen his enemy face to fam Wolff was a handsome bastard. His big face had strong features: a wide forehead, a hooked nose, even white teeth, a broad jaw. Only around the eyes and the comers of the mouth was there a hint of weakness, of self-indulgence, of depravity. He handed over his papers then looked out of the window, bored. The papers identified him as Alex Wolff, of Villa les Oliviers, Garden City. The man had remarkable nerve. Vandam said: “Where are you going, sirT’ “Assyut.” “On business?” 320 Ken Follett