Dancing With Mortality (14 page)

And after a while fatigue and shared warmth did the trick,
and they both slept.

He woke early, alone. He had to be
at work, so he dressed quickly and found Sabine in the kitchen making coffee.
She asked him how he had slept and if he wanted breakfast. He said he’d settle
for coffee. She seemed a bit distant, almost formal.

‘Are you angry with me?’ he asked.

‘Just with myself. I don’t like being deceived. You used me to
get to Michael, and I let you do it.’

He had nothing to say to that, other than ‘Sorry.’ She said
she’d call him a taxi, so he finished his coffee as fast as he could, and said
he’d wait in the street. She didn’t dissuade him.

As he put on his coat he asked if he could call her again,
just to assure her there would be no further questions from anybody.

‘I think that’s the least you can do, Harry. It was nice to
meet you. Take care.’

Then he was in the street and he saw the taxi ascending the
hill to meet him.

Sophie wasn’t at Heathrow to meet
him the day he flew back. It was a Saturday morning, and she’d told him she
wanted to go down to the house in Tunbridge Wells on the Friday night to fill
the fridge and warm the place up. If the temperature in London was anything to
go by, that was probably a wise move. He sat idly thumbing the in-flight
magazine as the Heathrow Express train rumbled its way to Paddington. He still
needed to negotiate the Circle Line to Charing Cross, but engineering works
notwithstanding, he should make it home by mid-afternoon.

The German ‘mission’, if he could call it that, was done.
He’d reported back to Jack a day after returning to Frankfurt. Yes, she had
remembered him from the hospital, and no she didn’t know where O’Reilly was.
Could he resume normal life now, and for that matter, could Sabine?

‘Was she telling the truth, Harry?’

‘If she wasn’t then she’s a pretty good liar. Will you leave
her alone now?’

‘No need for you to get protective. There’s no point in
pursuing that line of enquiry any further. It could get a little messy if we
were to put a German National under duress.’

Anger and relief vied for supremacy. Relief won by a short
head, and Harry kept his voice level. ‘Good, she had enough duress from yours
truly. I’ll let her know. What will you do now?’

‘We’ll try O’Reilly’s father. Mother’s dead I think. He’s in
Belfast, so we can take a more official line with him. Depends how stubborn he
is I suppose.’

‘Right. Well, do you need anything more from me?’

‘Not right now, Harry. If I find out anything that throws
light on Natalie’s death in the course of my enquiries I’ll let you know. But
for now, thanks for your help.’

And that was that. He’d phoned Sabine and relayed the good
news. She didn’t sound particularly reassured.

‘I hope you’re right, Harry. Are you finished with your part
in this now?’

‘Nothing more for me to do. I’m sorry I lied to you. But I’m
glad we met. You told me enough for me to think Michael wasn’t involved after
all, and maybe after all this time I can start to move on. So it wasn’t all
bad, for me at least.’

‘I’m glad, Harry. I apologise for being so rude the morning
you left, but it was a bit disturbing having the past dragged up like that.
Anyway, if you’re ever near Heidelberg again, let me know. I’ll make another
Pavlova.’

He laughed, suddenly happy. ‘Sure, you can depend on it.’

He made it back to Tunbridge Wells
without delays. He phoned Sophie on the way and she picked him up from the
station. He slung his two cases in the boot and claimed the driver’s seat.

‘Nice to drive on the right side of the road again,’ he
said.

‘This is the left, darling,’ replied Sophie with a straight
face.

He placed his hand on the back of her neck, as if to
throttle her. ‘Thank you for that.’

‘Any time.’ She grinned. ‘Good flight?’

He looked at her. ‘You look gorgeous. I think I should
exercise my conjugal rites when we get in. Last time you slept with me you were
incapable.’

She cast him a sideways glance. ‘Laying down the law now? I
had too much beer last time. But if you’re patient and very nice to me...’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ It was good to be back. No more
cloak and dagger, and maybe no more dreams about Ireland either. He felt a
cautious optimism emerging as they pulled into the drive. It became so
pervasive that as soon as they got inside he found himself casting patience
aside as he reached for his only slightly protesting wife, and took her
straight to the bedroom.

They emerged a couple of hours later, and it was already
dark.

‘I get first shower,’ said Sophie. ‘There’s mail for you
downstairs.’

He went down to the lounge in his dressing gown and turned
on the lights. It was getting dark so early already, he thought, and the
temperature outside was no doubt plummeting. The lounge was warm. His mail lay
on the coffee table, and he sorted the envelopes. Statements and bills mostly,
but there was also something from St. Thomas’s. He opened it and skimmed the
contents.

They wanted him to have a biopsy. An appointment had been
made for the 15th November. It was all explained. Someone would slide a needle
between his ribs under local anaesthetic and take a small liver sample for
analysis. He should be prepared to stay in for six hours afterwards just to
ensure there was no internal bleeding following the procedure. Apparently this
was the best way of ascertaining just how damaged his liver might be. Please
direct any questions he might have to Dr Ashe on the following extension. And
so on.

He sat down, placing the letter on the table as he did so.
While he’d been away he’d completely forgotten he had this bloody condition.
And of course he’d pledged to become the new, improved Harry, who would
henceforth subsist on only lentils and pomegranate juice, and no doubt live to
be 100 years old. Or perhaps it would only seem that long.

Sophie came down the stairs, scrubbed and dressed. ‘All
yours,’ she said. ‘I’m going to cook something.’

‘Ok. See you in a minute.’ He went back upstairs to the
bathroom and stood under the shower. He put his left hand on the right side of
his body, over his ribs. Before he discovered hep C he didn’t even know where
his liver was. We take so much for granted, he reflected, certainly feels the
same as ever. And they want to stick a needle in there. Well, I suppose there
are worse places to put it.

The shower was refreshing after so much travelling. He got
dressed and then took the letter into the kitchen for a second opinion. Sophie
took it with an enquiring look and started to read. ‘Stir that for me, will
you?’ she said. There was what looked like a casserole simmering on the stove.
He stirred as instructed, and waited.

‘This doesn’t seem like much fun,’ she remarked, after
reading it twice. ‘You should go though.’

‘Yes, you’re right. At least afterwards I’ll know what I’m
up against.’

‘And they can treat it?’

‘Mmm. The drugs sound horrendous, and not too effective
either. I’ll need to weigh up the pros and cons first.’

‘I think we should worry about it tomorrow.’ She looked
worried nonetheless.

‘Don’t be too concerned, I’ll work something out.’

‘I know. Right now I’m more concerned about the casserole.
Keep stirring.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ He smiled to himself and did as he was told.

Work assumed its normal routine once
the inevitable jibes on his time away had been delivered. Certain colleagues
felt obliged to let him know that now he was back the German economy could
resume its normal upwards trajectory in spite of his best efforts to derail it,
and that the women of Frankfurt would once again feel free to go out unaccompanied,
as reported by the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung only that morning, should he
require confirmation.

Bloody wits, he thought without rancour. Gina wanted a run
down of his time in the Frankfurt office and a discussion of what he needed to
do now he was back. They went out for a lunch meeting, at which she made it
clear that she was satisfied with what her German counterpart had told her
about him. No mention was made of private clients in Heidelberg, for which he
breathed a silent sigh of relief. Neil dragged him out for a drink that
evening, but he cut it short after two beers. He was mindful that he needed to
cut back on the booze, and that it wasn’t going to be a trivial undertaking
given his liking for it. His willpower was about to be tested.

The 15th arrived, and having booked
the entire day off he arrived as scheduled at St. Thomas’s. A doctor he’d never
met before escorted him to a cubicle, where he removed his shirt and lay on a
hospital trolley while the needle was inserted. Even with the local it was an
uncomfortable sensation, and then they wheeled him off to a recovery area,
where his blood pressure was taken at hourly intervals. His shoulder hurt,
which he thought was strange, and they told him it was referred pain and
nothing to worry about. After six hours they discharged him, saying that in two
weeks Dr Ashe would have the results. And would he make sure he had someone in
the house with him tonight, just in case. He assured them that he’d find
someone and left, feeling glad it was all over. He went straight to the
station, just in time for the 4.15 train. The Mercedes was in the station car
park and he was back in the house by 5.30.

There was a jiffy bag on the hall floor when he opened the
door. He picked it up and saw that it was postmarked Heidelberg. Must be the
CDs Sabine promised, he thought. What he really wanted at that moment was a gin
and tonic, so he made one and sat down at the kitchen table with it. Should I
do this after a biopsy? he wondered. Probably not. He opened the envelope and
two CDs slid out. The first one had a cover showing her and the group he’d seen
at the Jazzhaus, clearly a studio recording, with a list of tracks and some
blurb in German on the back. The second was a plain CD, no cover. And there was
a letter, also in German. He began to read it.

‘Dear Harry, the first disk is an album I recorded in 1998.
The second is a mix of tracks I played on over several years, and that I like
the most. I hope you will too. Let me know what you think. On a separate subject
– the phone number below is a public call box in Universitätsplatz. I will be
there on Monday, 19th November at 11am. There is something I want to discuss
with you privately. Do not call me from your mobile please, but either from a
call box or your office. When you get this either text me with “Thank you for
the CDs”, meaning yes I will call you at 11am, or “Where are my CDs?” for no,
not available. Love, Sabine.’

He was intrigued, she didn’t want to chance being overheard,
that much was clear. Whatever it was it must be important if she’d gone to all
this trouble. He texted her the ‘yes’ message and then decided it might be a
good idea to dispose of her letter. He went upstairs to the little study, where
he copied the phone number on to a post it note and then used the paper
shredder. His mobile bleeped, he had an incoming text. It was her. ‘You’re
welcome, speak soon x.’ He wondered what the hell it was about. Roll on Monday.

He realised when he got back to the kitchen and retrieved
his neglected drink, that Sophie knew nothing about his forays into the German
jazz scene, and would wonder about the CDs if he started playing them in the
house. He could invent some story explaining their arrival he supposed, but he
didn’t want to do that. No, he’d keep them in the car, or play them when she
stayed in Fulham, as she did at least one night a week, purely for the
convenience of being close to work. He took them upstairs and found a drawer
for them in the study. She would be home soon, and he was supposed to be
resting. He’d wait for her call and then collect her from the station, and they
would spend a normal evening together doing what married couples do. Which
wasn’t always a hell of a lot admittedly, he thought, but I’d rather do that
with her than without.

As if on cue his mobile rang.

‘Hi, I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘How did it go
today?’

‘It was fine. I don’t like hospitals that much though. I’m
supposed to be taking it easy, and if I bleed to death in the night you need to
be here to call someone.’

‘Harry! Can you drive? I can always get a taxi.’

‘No, I’m ok. I’m leaving now.’

‘Ok, see you soon.’

He found his overcoat and car keys and then made for the
car. He dumped the jiffy bag in the rubbish bin on his way past. It was only
sensible to remove all incriminating evidence he figured. They’d make a spy out
of him yet.

There was a tiny meeting room on the
6th floor of the bank, big enough for two people and a phone. Harry booked it
and made his way there just before 11am on Monday. Before going in he had a
quick look around. There were dozens of people sat at neat rows of desks,
staring at computer screens and tapping at keyboards. He had a fleeting vision
of battery hens, then he stepped inside and closed the door.

He could dial Germany without going through the operator,
which was convenient. He just hoped someone else hadn’t reached the call box in
Heidelberg ahead of Sabine, but the number wasn’t engaged, and she answered
straight away.

‘Harry?’

‘Yes, it’s me. I’m at the office. This is all very
mysterious, Sabine. What’s going on?’

‘Before I tell you, I need your promise that this
conversation stays between you and me. It’s not to go any further. Can you do
that?’

‘Yes, of course.’ There was a short silence. ‘Did you hear
me?’

‘Yes, I heard.’ He could sense the reluctance in her manner
as she continued. ‘After you left Heidelberg I had a conversation about your
visit with someone. That person asked me to contact you with a suggestion.’
Another pause.

‘What suggestion? And who was it?’

She didn’t answer directly. ‘I think this is unwise, but I
agreed to talk to you. The suggestion is that if you still want to know who
killed Natalie, he may be able to help. He thinks the same man is responsible
for the death of his sister.’

‘I see. And how can he help, exactly?’

‘He wants to meet you, Harry. I told him about your
involvement with certain people, but he wasn’t put off. I still think it’s
stupid, and the best thing for you to do is say no. But it’s your decision.’

He thought for a moment. She was right, it was certainly
risky on O’Reilly’s part. He could have no assurance that Harry wouldn’t simply
turn up accompanied by Jack Hudson and anyone else from SIS he might care to
bring along. So why do it?

‘Where do we meet?’ he asked.

‘You come to my place. You’ll need to arrange a week’s
holiday, because we will be taking a long drive. And Harry – this concerns you
and you only. Give me your word on that.’