Fatal Quest Read Free Page B

too wrapped up in his work to eat it.
    â€˜You get yourself off to bed,’ Woodend said.
    â€˜An’ what about you?’
    â€˜I’ll just have a last fag, an’ then I’ll join you,’ Woodend promised.
    â€˜Make sure you do,’ Joan warned, as she headed for the bedroom.
    Woodend slouched back in his chair, lit up the cigarette he’d promised himself and traced in his mind the events that had led him, a Northern lad who had always considered Southerners a breed apart – and who had never even
been
to London before the War – to be actually
living
there now.
    â€˜How
did
you end up in London, Charlie?’ Paniatowski asked.
    Woodend smiled. ‘A few minutes ago you were clamourin’ to hear how I got a man killed, an’ now you’re askin’ for my life story. Which is it you want?’
    â€˜Both,’ Paniatowski said.
    And she meant it. By asking about Woodend’s first case, she had inadvertently found the key to a part of her boss’s life she had known nothing about – had stumbled on the opportunity to build up a more complete picture of the man she was
already
missing, even as she sat there opposite him.
    â€˜I suppose the decision was taken in Berlin, back in 1945,’ Woodend said. ‘You should have seen the place at the time.’ Then he noticed Paniatowski shudder, and added, ruefully, ‘I’m sorry, lass, you
did
see it, didn’t you?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Monika agreed. ‘I did.’
    But though she had managed to keep her voice flat and emotionless, her heart was beating faster and there was a pounding in her head.
    It was all over half a lifetime ago! she thought.
More
than half a lifetime! So why does it feel like it only happened yesterday?
    After six years of wandering Europe as refugees, she and her mother, hoping to make contact with the victorious Allies, had reached Berlin just after it had fallen. And what they had found was a city devastated by RAF bombs and Russian shells.
    A wasteland.
    A true vision of hell.
    They had looked on as German civilians, clad in little more than rags, sifted desperately through the rubble, looking for something they could use or something they could sell. Or perhaps even just something
– anything
– that would remind them of their old lives, before the inferno.
    They had looked on, and they’d felt something they’d thought they’d never feel for the enemy –
pity
.
    â€˜Anyway,’ Woodend said hurriedly – as if he could see the pictures in Monika’s head himself, and felt a strong urge to distract her – ‘anyway, I was sittin’ in this jeep with Major Cathcart, who I was servin’ under at the time, when the major turns to me an’ says, “So what are your plans once you’re demobbed, Charlie?” An’ I told him the first thing I was goin’ to do was to get married.’
    â€˜To Joan?’ Paniatowski asked, as a little of the colour returned to her cheeks.
    â€˜Of course to Joan. There was never anybody else
but
Joan. So then the major says, “Good idea. We could all do with a little of the peace and stability that marriage brings.” An’ that was when I made the mistake of askin’ him if he was married himself.’
    â€˜Why was that a mistake?’ Paniatowski wondered.
    â€˜Firstly because it’s not an NCO’s place to go askin’ officers intimate questions. But secondly – an’ more importantly – because of the effect it had on him.’
    â€˜What effect was that?’
    â€˜He was older than me by a good ten years, but suddenly he seemed much younger an’ much more vulnerable. “No,” he said. “No, I … er … never quite seemed to get around to it.” Well, I apologized for pryin’, an’ he told me it didn’t matter – though it clearly did. Then he shifted ground – which