‘What I need to know is where we go from here.’ She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. They were at a crossroads, she was saying, and not just in their quest. Jamie held her gaze as she studied him. ‘My take is that this has got way out of our control. What happened back there has taken it beyond a fun jaunt looking for a painting that may not exist and with a little sexual tension thrown in to make it spicy.’ She saw his look. ‘Come on, Jamie, don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too. Anyway, people have died and we’re on some Nazi’s hit list and on the run. This isn’t a game, it’s the real thing. These people are cold-blooded killers. The sensible option would be for both of us to get the hell out of here, find a way back to London and disappear for a while.’
Jamie nodded, acknowledging she was correct in every particular.
‘You’re right. You should go. There’s bound to be a train from Fulda to the north coast. You can jump on a ferry and be home by Friday. But I have to stay here. I have my own reasons for keeping going.’
‘And those reasons are?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Magda for one. I’m to blame for what happened to her, no one else. She was a nice kid, trying to make a better world. She didn’t deserve to die, but she was as good as dead the minute we walked into that museum. It’s not about anything as melodramatic as revenge, though I’d surely like to see Frederick behind bars, or better still, in a coffin, but at the very least I need to know why she died. And that’s the second reason. I can’t let Frederick get away with whatever he’s doing. Not now.’
She nodded. ‘I kinda guessed that would be the argument, and it answers one of the questions I was asking myself: what makes it worth going on? You’re right, Magda does. We can argue about who’s to blame when this is all over, but she sure as hell deserves some answers. My second question is, if this is out of control, how do we get back in control?’ She allowed the question to hang in the air and develop an energy of its own. He sensed that the answers she sought went far beyond the meaning of the words she’d used. He had a decision to make.
He reached for the rucksack.
‘Maybe the answer to that is in the journal.’
XXVIII
SHE CLOSED THE book and laid it back on the bedcover.
‘So this isn’t about the Raphael at all?’
‘Not just about the Raphael, no,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose it’s always been about my grandfather.’
‘But Frederick and his Nazis aren’t interested in the painting or your grandfather. They’re interested in this other thing that Walter Brohm discovered.’ She seemed very calm, which struck him as unlikely and possibly ominous. He picked up the journal and flicked through the pages to avoid meeting her eyes.
‘We don’t know that for certain. All Frederick did was confirm he knew about the journal.’
‘I thought this was supposed to be a team effort, but you’ve been holding out on me.’
‘I . . .’
Her face was turning pink below the light tan. ‘All this time we’ve been working together and you’ve got this cute little guidebook while dumb old Sarah has been groping around in the dark. Christ, I’ve only got your word for it that there is a painting. This could just be some kind of elaborate dodge to get me into the sack. But then it couldn’t be, could it? Because you haven’t been trying very hard. How many times does a girl have to wave a Goddam flag before a stiff-necked Englishman finally notices?’
‘But you didn’t—’
‘Shut up.’ She was crying now and the tears turned her mascara into dark blobs around her eyes. ‘Where I come from a girl likes to be asked. But you didn’t have the balls. Just stood there like some Goddam ruptured goldfish with your mouth opening and closing. Well, you’ve had your chance, Mr Saintclair. Sarah Grant isn’t going to play second fiddle to no colouring book.’
He stared at her, not sure how to react. In another time and another place those words would have torn him apart, but the way she said them, a certain inflection buried deep in the rage, made them more consoling than angry. She was letting him know he had let her down, but she wasn’t going to walk away from this. Not yet.
‘I needed to be certain. The same way I needed to be certain about the book. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know where this was going to end up. Let’s face it, I’m not some kind of super-sleuth. I’ve been completely useless; a danger to you and everybody else we’ve come into contact with. And I’m not sure where to go next. The book is all we have now, but without getting a closer look at the Black Sun maybe it’s not enough.’