The Redbreast(50)

He pulled the shade of the lamp down to see her

better in the dark. ‘What’s going on, Helena?’

She swallowed. ‘And why aren’t you wearing

your uniform today?’ he asked.

This was what she had been dreading most. Not

lying to her mother and saying she was going to her

sister’s in Salzburg for a couple of days. Not

persuading the forester’s son – who was now

waiting in the road outside the gate – to drive her

to the hospital. Not even saying goodbye to her

possessions, the church and her secure life in the

Viennese woods. But telling him everything: that

she loved him and that she would willingly risk her

life and future for him. Because she might be

mistaken. Not about what he felt for her – of that

she was certain – but about his character. Would

he have the courage and the drive to do what she

would suggest? At least he was clear it wasn’t his

war they were fighting against the Red Army in the

south.

‘We should have had time to get to know each

other better,’ she said, placing her hand over his.

He grasped it and held it tight.

‘But we don’t have that luxury,’ she said,

squeezing his hand. ‘There’s a train for Paris

leaving in an hour. I’ve bought two tickets. My

teacher lives there.’

‘Your teacher?’

‘It’s a long, complicated story, but he’ll receive

us.’

‘What do you mean, receive us?’

‘We can stay with him. He lives alone. And, as

far as I know, he doesn’t have a circle of friends.

Have you got a passport?’

‘What? Yes . . .’

He seemed lost for words, as if he was

wondering whether he had fallen asleep while

reading the book about the boy in rags and all this

was just a dream.

‘Yes, I’ve got a passport.’

‘Good. The trip takes two days. We’ve got seats

and I’ve brought lots of food.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Why Paris?’

‘It’s a big city, a city you can disappear in.

Listen, I’ve got some of my father’s clothes in the

car – you can change into civvies there. His shoe

size —’

‘No.’ He held up his hand and her low, intense

stream of words stopped momentarily. She held

her breath and concentrated on his pensive face.

‘No,’ he repeated in a whisper. ‘That’s silly.’

‘But . . .’ She seemed to have a block of ice in her

stomach.

‘It’s better to travel in uniform,’ he said. ‘A

young man in civvies will only arouse suspicion.’

She was so happy she could hardly get the words

out and squeezed his hand even harder. Her heart

sang with such joy that she had to tell it to be quiet.

‘And one more thing,’ he said, swinging his legs

out of bed.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

He already had his jacket on.

26

POT, Police HQ. 21 February 2000.

HARRY CAST HIS EYES AROUND. AT THE TIDY, WELL-

organised shelves of ring-binders neatly displayed

in chronological order. At the walls where

diplomas and distinctions from a career in smooth

ascent hung. A black and white photograph of a

younger, uniformed Kurt Meirik, with the rank of

major, greeting King Olav hung behind the desk

and caught the eye of everyone who came in. This

was the picture Harry sat studying when the door

opened behind him.

‘I apologise for keeping you waiting, Hole. Stay

seated.’

It was Meirik. Harry hadn’t made a move to stand

up. ‘Well,’ said Meirik, taking a seat behind his

desk. ‘How has your first week with us been?’

Meirik sat upright in his chair and revealed a row

of large yellow teeth, in a way which made you

suspect he had overdone the smile training in his

life.

‘Fairly dull,’ Harry said.

‘Heh, heh. It hasn’t been that bad, has it?’ Meirik

seemed surprised.

‘Well, you’ve got better coffee than we have

downstairs.’

‘Crime Squad have, you mean?’

‘Sorry,’ Harry said. ‘It takes time to get used to it.

To “we” being POT now.’

‘Yes, we’ll just have to be a bit patient. That’s

true for a number of things. Isn’t it, Hole, eh?’

Harry nodded assent. No point running at

windmills. Not in the first month, anyway. As

expected, he had been given an office at the end of

a long corridor, which meant that he didn’t see

more of the others working there than was

absolutely necessary. His job consisted of reading

reports from regional POT offices and quite simply