pieces.
‘Perhaps a young woman like you should be a
little realistic and not develop too strong an
attachment to a man who, in all probability, you
will never see again. Incidentally, that shawl really
suits you, Helena. Is it a family heirloom?’
‘I am surprised and happy to hear your
considerate words, Doctor, but I can assure you
they are completely redundant. I have no special
feelings for this patient. Meals have to be served
now, so if you would excuse me, Doctor . . .’
‘Helena, Helena . . .’ Brockhard shook his head
and smiled. ‘Do you really believe I am blind? Do
you think I can watch the pain this is causing you
with a light heart? The close friendship between
our families makes me feel there are bonds which
tie us together, Helena. Otherwise I would not talk
to you in this confidential manner. Please forgive
me, but you must have noticed that I bear warm
feelings of affection for you, and —’
‘Stop!’
‘What?’
Helena had closed the door behind her and now
she raised her voice.
‘I’m a volunteer here, Brockhard. I’m not one of
your nurses whom you can play with as you will.
Give me that letter and say what you have to.
Otherwise, I’ll be on my way immediately.’
‘My dear Helena,’ Brockhard wore an expression
of concern, ‘don’t you understand that this is up to
you?’
‘Up to me?’
‘A full bill of health is an extremely subjective
thing. Especially with regard to a head injury of
that kind.’
‘I see.’
‘I could provide him with a medical certificate
for another three months, and who knows if there
will be any Eastern Front in three months’ time?’
She looked at Brockhard, puzzled.
‘You’re a keen reader of the Bible, Helena. You
know the story of King David, don’t you? Who
desires Bathsheba even though she is married to
one of his soldiers? So he orders his generals to
send the husband to the front line so that he will be
killed. Then King David can woo Bathsheba
unhindered.’
‘What’s that got to do with this?’
‘Nothing. Nothing, Helena. I wouldn’t dream of
sending your heart’s desire to the front if he was
not fit enough. Or anyone else for that matter.
That’s exactly what I mean. And since you know
this patient’s state of health at least as well as I, I
thought I might consult you before I make a final
decision. If you consider him not to be fit enough, I
ought perhaps to send a further medical certificate
to the Wehrmacht.’
Slowly the nature of the situation began to sink in.
‘Or what, Helena?’
She could hardly believe her ears: he wanted to
use Uriah to force his way into her bed. How long
had he spent working this one out? Had he been
waiting for weeks for just the right moment? And
how did he actually want her? As a wife or a
lover?
‘Well?’ Brockhard asked.
Her head was racing as she tried to find a way
out of the labyrinth. But all the exits were closed.
Naturally. Brockhard wasn’t a stupid man. As long
as he had a certificate for Uriah, as a favour to her,
she would have to obey his every whim. The
posting would be deferred, but only when Uriah
was gone would Brockhard cease to have any
power over her. Power? Goodness, she hardly
knew the Norwegian man. And she had no idea
how he felt about her.
‘I . . .’ she began.
‘Yes?’
He had leaned forward in his eagerness. She
wanted to continue, wanted to say what she knew
she had to say to break free, but something stopped
her. It took her a second to understand what it was.
It was the lies. It was a lie that she wanted to be
free, a lie that she didn’t know what Uriah felt for
her, a lie that we always had to submit and to
degrade ourselves to survive, it was all lies. She
bit her lower lip as she felt it begin to tremble.
24
Bislett. New Year’s Eve 1999.
IT WAS MIDDAY WHEN HARRY HOLE GOT OFF THE
TRAM AT the Radisson SAS hotel in Holbergs gate
and saw the low morning sun reflecting briefly on
the residential block windows of the Rikshospital
before disappearing back behind the clouds. He
had been in his office for the last time. To clear up,
to make sure he had collected everything, he had
told himself. But the little that constituted his
personal effects found enough room in the
supermarket carrier bag he had taken from Kiwi
the day before. Those who weren’t on duty were at
home, preparing for the last party of the
millennium. A paper streamer lay across the back
of his chair as a reminder of yesterday’s little
leaving party, under the direction of Ellen, of