The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [77]
Not like Elene.
“A painkiller will send me to sleep,” he told her.
“And a jolly good thing, too,” she said. “If you sleep we can be sure the stitches will be undisturbed for a few hours.”
“I’d love to, but I have some important work that won’t wait.”
“You can’t work. You shouldn’t really walk around. You should talk as little as possible. You’re weak from loss of blood, and a wound like this is mentally as well as physically traumatic—in a few hours you’ll feel the backlash, and you’ll be dizzy, nauseous, exhausted and confused.”
“I’ll be worse if the Germans take Cairo,” he said. He stood up.
Dr. Abuthnot looked cross. Vandam thought how well it suited her to be in a position to tell people what to do. She was not sure how to handle outright disobedience. “You’re a silly boy,” she said.
“No doubt. Can I eat?”
“No. Take glucose dissolved in warm water.”
I might try it in warm gin, he thought. He shook her hand. It was cold and dry.
Jakes was waiting outside the hospital with a car. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to keep you long, sir,” he said. “Shall I drive you home?”
“No.” Vandam’s watch had stopped. “What’s the time?”
“Five past two.”
“I presume Wolff wasn’t dining alone.”
“No, sir. His companion is under arrest at GHQ.”
“Drive me there.”
“If you’re sure ...”
“Yes.”
The car pulled away. Vandam said: “Have you notified the hierarchy?”
“About this evening’s events? No, sir.”
“Good. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” Vandam did not say what they both knew: that the department, already under a cloud for letting Wolff gather intelligence, would be in utter disgrace for letting him slip through their fingers.
Vandam said: “I presume Wolff’s dinner date was a woman.”
“Very much so, if I may say so, sir. A real dish. Name of Sonja.”
“The dancer?”
“No less.”
They drove on in silence. Wolff was a cool customer, Vandam thought, to go out with the most famous belly dancer in Egypt in between stealing British military secrets. Well, he would not be so cool now. That was unfortunate in a way: having been warned by this incident that the British were on to him, he would be more careful from now on. Never scare them, just catch them.
They arrived at GHQ and got out of the car. Vandam said: “What’s been done with her since she arrived?”
“The no-treatment treatment,” Jakes said. “A bare cell, no food, no drink, no questions.”
“Good.” It was a pity, all the same, that she had been given time to collect her thoughts. Vandam knew from prisoner-of-war interrogations that the best results were achieved immediately after the capture, when the prisoner was still frightened of being killed. Later on, when he had been herded here and there and given food and drink, he began to think of himself as a prisoner rather than as a soldier, and remembered that he had new rights and duties; and then he was better able to keep his mouth shut. Vandam should have interviewed Sonja immediately after the fight in the restaurant. As that was not possible, the next best thing was for her to be kept in isolation and given no information until he arrived.
Jakes led the way along a corridor to the interview room. Vandam looked in through the judas. It was a square room, without windows but bright with electric light. There were a table, two upright chairs and an ashtray. To one side was a doorless cubicle with a toilet.
Sonja sat on one of the chairs facing the door. Jakes was right, Vandam thought; she’s a dish. However she was by no means pretty. She was something of an Amazon, with her ripe, voluptuous body and strong, well-proportioned features. The young women in Egypt generally had a slender, leggy grace, like downy young deer: Sonja was more like... Vandam frowned, then thought: a tigress. She wore a long gown of bright yellow which was garish to Vandam but would be quite à la mode in the Cha-Cha Club. He watched her for a minute or two. She was sitting quite still, not fidgeting, not darting