The Woman on the Train Read Free

worse – my exchange with the woman had made me nervous. I knew it was obvious but I lacked the strength to control my trembling hands. While I fumbled in my pockets for my card and papers, the woman passed her documents to the German. He glanced at them and with a nod of the head returned them to her. ‘ Dankeschön ,’ she said, putting them back in her inside pocket.
    ‘And you,’ he said to me, while his squared-headed colleague hovered behind. I passed them to him, knowing that I had guilt written all over my face. He considered my card carefully, glancing from the photograph to me and back again, his eyes narrowing. I tried to calm my nerves conscious of the sweat forming on my brow. ‘Why are you going to Saint-Romain?’
    ‘To visit–’
    ‘The real reason.’
    My stomach caved in. I didn’t know what to say.
    ‘Well?’
    It was the woman who spoke next – in German, talking quickly.
    He considered her words for a few moments, bowed in a slightly exaggerated fashion, and exited, pushing away his colleague, who slid the door firmly shut behind him.
    The woman looked at me again, without expression. I wasn’t sure what to say. If I thanked her it would only confirm my guilt. What had she said to them, I wondered.
    We sat in silence as before – me pretending to read the score, she gazing out of the window. I knew I was far from safe – I still had to run the gauntlet of getting past the guards at the station.
    Finally, the train began slowing down – we were approaching Saint-Romain. She stretched her arms and took a deep breath. I realised then that she too was getting off here. I returned the music to my satchel.
    The station came into view, a much larger place than our local one, boasting several platforms with trains coming and going. We both stood. While checking the contents of her briefcase, she spoke: ‘As we pass the guards on the platform, you’ll have to walk beside me. Have your documents ready. Say nothing.’
    I nodded. Clicking shut her briefcase, she waited for me to open the door.
    The platform here was far busier – lots of people, both French and German, some with heavy baggage, boarding, a few alighting. A porter rushed passed us, pushing a trolley laden with suitcases, a newspaper vendor enjoyed a brisk trade, as did a kiosk selling tobacco and sweets. The woman strode briskly, sidestepping others, while I tried to keep up. At the far end of the platform, I could see the barrier decked with swastika flags and manned by numerous Nazis in their ugly uniforms, with Alsatian dogs straining on their leashes. It was a foreboding sight. They had stepped up their presence since the last time I’d been here. I knew I could never have done this alone, and I was relieved to have at my side my newfound companion. We had to queue for some time as the guards ahead of us were stopping everyone and frisking them and searching their bags. I looked round for a bin in which I could ditch my incriminating envelope. The woman, sensing my concern, looked at me and mouthed, ‘Don’t worry,’ before staring straight ahead again. 
    Slowly, we reached the head of the queue. My companion passed over her documents and signalled me to do the same. Again, she spoke to them in that same authoritative voice in German, and again it did the trick. The guard bowed, returned her papers and indicated to his colleagues to let us through. No one, apart from one of the dogs, even bothered to look at me. We were through to the main part of the station with its high, curved roof and the hustle and bustle of so many people. I felt a surge of relief, almost of adrenalin. This time, in my enthusiasm, I did thank her.
    ‘Please, do not say another word.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    I think she may have smiled a moment. ‘This is where we part.’
    ‘Yes.’ I offered my hand. She didn’t take it.
    ‘Can I ask your name?’ I asked, lowering my arm.
    ‘No.’ She turned to leave. Before she left me, she stopped and,