The Quiet Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

It was like Romeo and Juliet. Even in the heat of passion and love at first sight, in the upper righthand corner there was always a space set aside for balancing the account.
    He handed her the girl's map. She decoded it immediately, without asking any questions.
    "There are thirteen county hospitals and sanatoriums," she said. "Køge, Gentofte, Herlev, Glostrup, Hvidovre, Rigshospital, Frederiksberg, Amager, Roskilde, Hillerød, plus the smaller ones in Hørsholm, Helsingør, and Frederikssund. None of them are by the water. None of the private hospitals are either."
    "Clinics?"
    "North of Copenhagen and south of Avedøre Holme, all together perhaps a hundred health centers and special clinics. How old was the person who drew this?"
    "Ten years old."
    She pointed at what he had interpreted as outbuildings.
    "They could be wings of the building. Children first start to understand perspective when they're about eight. That would make th  building too big to be a private office. It doesn't look like anyplace I know."
    She started the car.
    "How many midwives in Copenhagen?"
    "Perhaps fifteen hundred."
    "How many are named Lona?"
    "They're registered with the Midwives Association. I can find out for you."
    "Within an hour?"
    She nodded.
    They drove to the other side of the lakes, down Gother Street. He listened to her; she didn't know where she was going. She pulled over to the side, blinded by something or other. She sat fumbling with the steering wheel. He got out of the car in order to give her time and peace. They were parked by a barricade.
    The barrier was made of watertight plywood, like a fence around a building site; it blocked off part of the road and a row of houses facing Gammel Mønt Street. Some fifty yards ahead it was interrupted by a glass booth, a gate, and two attendants in overalls.
    He walked over to the booth; a woman in a civil-defense uniform sat behind the speaker.
    "May I deliver a note to someone I know?" he asked. "Close family. A matter of life and death."
    She shook her head.
    "We have seven hundred journalists swarming around here. From all over the world."
    "A telephone call?"
    She shook her head. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the top name on a board with a list of salvage companies, relief organizations, and entrepreneurs.
    "I'm the son of the senior Mr. Hannemann," he said. "He's just become an honorary member of the Søllerød Golf Club. The lifelong dream of an old man."
    "He won't be able to appreciate it," she said. "He died in the eighties."
    Kasper caught sight of his own face in the window. It was as white as a full makeup job. The woman's eyes grew worried.
    "Shall I call a taxi for you?"
    Her sympathy went to his blood like a shot of glucose. He wanted to sit on her lap and tell her everything. He nodded toward the car.
    "My chauffeur and personal physician are waiting."
    "Did you have another name besides Hannemann?"
    "Stina Claussen. Engineer."
    "Dark-haired?"
    He nodded.
    "Something to do with water?"
    "She's made of water."
    She looked at a printout lying in front of her.
    "She has a pickup agreement. With the taxi companies. That's a special arrangement for the VIPs. It means she lives at a hotel. The Three Falcons or the Royal. If word gets out that you got this from me, I'll be fired."
    He drew a deep breath.
    "Angels," he said, "can't be dismissed."
    * * *
    He got into the car beside the doctor. She was sitting in the same position as when he left her.
    "He's going to die now," she said.
    He had known that was what she wanted to say. For him personally it wasn't a problem. He had reconciled himself to death long ago. Padre Pio once said that, seen from a slightly larger perspective, we all lie at death's door. The only difference is that some lie a littlecloser than others.
    So it wasn't that something happened to him; it was the surroundings that changed. One moment the city was a picture postcard with no reflections, the next moment the car sailed through a