Echoes Page 0,135
without ceremony, and drove back to Melun, just as they had on the way up, in the borrowed car. But this time they were entirely at ease with each other. It really felt as though they were man and wife. She had even slept next to him for two nights, although they had done so like sister and brother. He still remembered her in the peach silk nightgown, and she him in the silly too-small pajamas. He was a tall man, and it was hard to find even trousers long enough for his long legs.
“You did a fine job,” he said to her as they drove back. “A very fine job. You did good work.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” she said, no longer feeling shy with him.
“You can call me Rupert.” They had switched back to French again, just so they did not make the mistake of speaking German if they were stopped. “You know, you talk in your sleep in German,” he said, smiling at her. “That's the sign of an impeccable agent. She talks in her sleep in the language of the mission she is on.” Amadea found it a bit confusing now to be speaking to him in French again.
“I liked speaking German to you,” she admitted. “It's awful to say in these times. But it reminds me of my childhood. I haven't spoken it in a long time.” Not since she'd come to France.
“Your French is remarkable. So is your English,” he said admiringly.
“So is yours.” They both had German mothers, so it wasn't surprising that German was their native tongue. Although he had grown up in Britain with an English father. And she in Germany with a French one.
“I'd like to work with you again,” he said simply.
“I'm not sure I've got the nerves for this kind of work,” she said in French. “Not at the level you operate at. I kept waiting for the Gestapo to come to the door and deport me.”
“That would have been disagreeable,” he said dryly. “I'm glad that didn't happen.”
“So am I,” she said, looking sobered. It had been an interesting experience, working with him. “You know, I keep wanting to tell you how much I admire what you did with the Kindertransport. What an incredible thing to do.”
“It was a wonderful thing. I'm glad we were able to get so many out. I have twelve of them at home myself.” He said it as though admitting that he had a radio, or a lovely plant. As though there were nothing remarkable whatsoever about offering a home to twelve foster children, which was in effect what they were. They all had parents, or had when they left Germany. And those whose parents were still alive after the war would be going back one day. He had already made a decision to adopt the ones who didn't, and said as much to Amadea. He was an extraordinary man. She had seen that in the past two days. And even under extreme tension, which he had been under, too, he had been polite, considerate, respectful, and kind at all times. He had been in constant danger of exposure and arrest at all times, just as she had. More than likely he would have been shot if they were caught.
“It must be quite something to have twelve children at home.”
“It's entertaining,” he admitted with a smile. And it took the edge off his own grief of losing his wife and sons, although it wasn't the same. But it warmed the heart. “They're wonderful children. I speak German with them too. I have eight boys and four girls, from the ages of five to fifteen. The youngest was six months old when they put her on the train. She came with her sister. Two of the older boys are twins. Some families in England only wanted one or two from a family when there were actually more—we did the best we could to keep families together. Some of them have had to be re-placed, but most of the placements have been a success. They get terribly homesick sometimes, poor things. Not my little one, of course. She doesn't remember any other family but me and the other kinders. She's a little vixen. She has bright red hair and freckles.” He smiled as he described her, and Amadea could see in his eyes the love he had for them. She suspected he must have been a good father, too, when his sons were alive.
They reached Melun