A Twist of Fate (52 page)

‘Take a look.’

She opened it up and took out the yellow knitted blanket. She held it in her hands, then buried her face into it, smelling it. It was the only thing that she’d ever truly owned.

A week later Thea was on a plane to Germany to meet Michael. True to his word, he’d called in the favour from his colleague, who had run Walchez’s name through some
old databases. On Tuesday Michael had found Rena, Walchez’s wife.

According to Rena, Thea had been delivered to them in the dead of night, by a huge bear of a man called Udo. Udo hadn’t been hard to find, Michael had told Thea on the phone. He’d
been a permanent fixture at the small town’s main bar. Part-bouncer, part-furniture. He hadn’t wanted to talk, but money had lubricated his tongue, although the only thing Michael had
got out of him was that he remembered a man called Volkmar and his driver, Sebastian Trost.

The records that Michael’s military police contacts had got showed that Volkmar had died in jail years ago. He’d tried to bury his past after the Wall had come down, but his
illegitimate business practices had caught up with him. Michael had then turned his research to the driver. When he’d told Thea on the phone how much he’d found out, she’d come
over straight away.

Now, as they drove from Berlin airport, where Michael had picked her up, deep into the heart of the former East Germany, Thea stared out of the car window, the windscreen wipers batting away
slushy snow. She tied her light-blue cashmere scarf tighter around her neck.

Along the forest road the shadows were lengthening. She’d never seen pine trees so dense. On the right was an old burnt-out building – two ten-foot-high rusting gates propped up
askew against its hinges. It was like the set for a ghost movie.

Shouldn’t she feel some sort of affinity for this place? she wondered. This, after all, was where she’d come from.

‘I think we should stop at the next village,’ Michael said. ‘We won’t be able to do anything until the morning. We’ll find somewhere to stay the night.’

‘OK,’ Thea said, straightening up in her seat.

The lights of a lorry on the other side of the road briefly illuminated Michael’s face, and Thea felt a momentary dart of desire – even here, amongst all the apprehension that she
otherwise felt – but she pushed it away.

They would stay in separate rooms tonight. She knew that. They were friends, she reminded herself. Just friends. Nothing more. Michael had never indicated that he wanted more. Or was ready for
more.

She remembered again how he’d once described himself as damaged goods. But she’d proved herself to be more scarred than he’d ever be. And after the way she’d been these
past few weeks, she couldn’t imagine that Michael would ever desire her.

A resigned half-smile crept to her lips. What a mess of a couple they’d make.

But there was no point, either, in denying that all the time he’d been away this time in Germany, she’d missed him like crazy. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how
much he’d done for her. Or how dejected she felt without him by her side.

He’d been there for her when she’d most needed him. He’d started this whole search, which had given her something to focus on other than losing control of Maddox Inc. She
wondered how she could ever repay him. But even as she thought it, she knew the answer. She had to repay him with the truth. The truth about what Brett had done to her. And about the film of her
that Brett had in his possession – the one he’d threatened to use against her. Even if it meant losing Michael for good.

She shivered now as they drove towards the centre of Schwedt, with its ugly, uniform buildings all covered in snow, and the weak yellow light of its intermittently lit street lamps illuminating
flashes of grey concrete in their sickly glow. A ‘Vacancies’ sign hung outside a hotel, and Michael pulled up on the potholed road outside.

‘It’s not exactly George Cinq,’ he said, ‘but it might do. We can check in in a little while. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a beer.’

Everyone stopped talking as Thea and Michael entered the local bar. It was probably as much their clothes, she thought, as the fact that they were strangers. Or her clothes, at least. She was
wearing a DKNY leather coat with fur trim, while Michael had dressed more appropriately in an old Barbour-style coat and jeans.

She sat down at a small wooden table in the corner of the bar, beneath a pair of antlers on the brick wall, and took a menu out from behind a green bottle encrusted with layers of dried candle
wax. That Lady Gaga song, ‘Bad Romance’, was playing and Thea suddenly remembered the compilation tapes Michael had made for her all those years ago. She wondered if he remembered them
too.

She looked down the printed list of schnitzels and steaks on offer and thought about her sessions in the gym and the pool in the basement of Maddox Tower, and how religiously she’d used to
watch her figure. That Thea – that New York version of herself – seemed so distant now. So unreal and absurd somehow.

A waitress in jeans and a scruffy jumper arrived with a basket of bread. Michael ordered and started chatting easily to her in German. Thea knew enough to know that he was asking her if she knew
of Sebastian Trost.

‘Are you American?’ the waitress asked, suddenly switching to English.

‘Yes,’ Michael said.

‘When I was little the Trosts ran the bakery,’ she said, clearly charmed by him. ‘You could try there.’

Thea smiled, watching her go. She saw the waitress look back over her shoulder at Michael, but she caught Thea’s eye and blushed. Did the waitress find Michael attractive too? What if he
got whisked away from her by someone like that? Thea remembered the woman soldier at Landstuhl and how much she’d flirted with Michael. She felt her own inadequacy swamping her.

‘You know, I never knew you had such good German,’ Thea said. ‘You’ll have to teach me.’

‘You end up with a lot of spare time in hospital.’

Thea remembered when she’d first met him at Landstuhl and how she’d been afraid of all the things he’d seen. How she’d been afraid of asking, in case she’d upset
him with her questions, and in case he’d upset her with her answers too. But now she found herself longing for him to confide in her. Longing to know everything about him. Longing for him to
trust her.

And so – as they ate their food – she did ask him. About his army training and how it had been when he’d first gone out to Iraq. And she listened to what he had to say as he
told her everything. About his men and what they’d gone through, and about how scary it had been to be the one making decisions on the front line.

As he opened up more and more, she asked him all the questions she’d never asked – about the car bomb and what had happened. And he told her what he remembered of the explosion. The
pain. About his friends who’d been killed. How he’d shut down after that. How he’d wanted to be dead. About how frightened he’d been, but how the doctors and nurses at
Landstuhl had somehow given him strength. And how Thea had helped him too. How seeing her had made him realize more than ever that there was still a world out there that he could be a part of.
He’d told her all this. He’d held nothing back. And as she’d listened she’d felt humbled by his bravery, by his honesty, and touched that in a small way she’d helped
him to recover.

And later, as they’d trudged through the frozen snow towards the dim, distant lights of the hotel, she’d known that the time had finally come for her to do the same.

‘Michael, there’s something I want you to know,’ she said.

‘What?’ His voice sounded buoyant, maybe as a result of the beers they’d drunk with the meal, or maybe because of everything he’d just got off his chest. Because it had
been good, he’d told her, to talk about it all like that, after all this time.

She almost said nothing then, hating the fact that she was about to bring him down. But still she pressed on.
Now or never. Say nothing to him now and you know you never will.

‘That day,’ she said. ‘That day Brett fired me. It wasn’t just Scolari that made me go,’ she said.

Michael’s eyes grew dark. Every time she’d mentioned Brett it was the same. Thea knew he was still furious with her for not letting him go and confront Brett himself.

She took a breath, bracing herself. ‘He has a film of me and . . . well . . . a colleague.’

She squeezed her lips together, remembering those shaming images of her and Reicke. Reicke, who’d avoided talking to her ever since, who’d hurt her feelings and who, she realized
now, had probably been blackmailed by Brett into trapping her.

‘It was something I never should have done, but Brett had our encounter, our . . . ’ she swallowed hard ‘. . . our sexual encounter recorded somehow. He told me he was going to
send a copy – to you and the board – unless I went, straight away.’

Michael stopped under a lamp-post. ‘He threatened you with that?’

Thea nodded. Her chin trembled. This was the one secret she’d held on to. It was the one thing left that Brett had on her, which he could use against her. And now that it was out, she had
no idea how Michael might react.

‘You promised me. You promised me that you’d tell me if he hurt you again.’

‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ she said, tears suddenly choking her. ‘I was too ashamed. And too terrified about what you’d think, if Brett sent you the
film.’

Michael let out a growl of frustration and put his head in his hands.

‘I’ve been so scared. So scared he’d do it anyway. So scared he’d try and destroy us. You and me.’

‘So you walked away from everything, because of that?’ Michael said. ‘Because of what you thought I might think?’

She nodded, tears tumbling from her eyes.

‘Do you think I’d let him come between us?’ Michael asked her.

‘I don’t know,’ Thea said. ‘All I know is that I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.’ The words came then. She couldn’t stop them. They came
from the deepest place inside her, where she’d refused to look, where she’d kept them buried for so long – not understanding them, refusing to accept them, because she’d
always been too busy focusing outwards on the rest of her life. ‘Because I love you, Michael. Because I think I always have.’

‘Oh, Thea,’ he said, stepping towards her and folding her into his arms.

Then his lips were on hers. His kiss felt so right, so powerful, like a charge running right through her. They stayed there together, as the cold snow swirled around them, locked tight and
kissing more passionately, until she thought that she might faint.

The next morning Thea couldn’t stop smiling as they left the small hotel and stepped into the sunshine. The snow had frozen overnight into twinkling crystals and the sky
was a clear, endless blue.

Michael joined Thea on the steps and put his hand in hers, taking a deep breath of fresh air. It felt as if they were honeymooners. They’d certainly behaved like honeymooners. The sex last
night had been incredible, and although neither of them had slept, Thea felt bright and wide awake.

‘Why don’t we stay?’ she asked, smiling across at him.

‘Here?’

‘Why not? Oh, Michael. I think this is the first time I’ve felt’ – she grinned like a little girl – ‘well,
happy
, for as long as I can
remember.’

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. And as she stared into his eyes, all the other terrible things that had happened to her lately, and all the frightening revelations she’d
undergone, seemed to loosen their grip and their power over her. She and Michael had each other. And they had a future together, she just knew it; but right now she had this moment and she knew she
didn’t need anything else.

‘Me too,’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘But come on. Let’s go and check out the bakery.’

The bell above the door chimed as Thea and Michael walked in, and Thea felt the rush of hot air and the smell of freshly baked bread. Shiny brown plaits of strudel were laid out neatly behind
the counter. Loaves were stacked high on shelves behind the old-fashioned till.

‘We are looking for a man called Sebastian Trost,’ Michael explained in German to the burly man dressed in a white apron who was standing there waiting to serve them.

The man looked immediately suspicious. He glanced towards an old woman who was standing over by a heater in the corner of the shop. Thea noticed how she pulled the knitted shawl around her
shoulders, clearly wary of strangers.

But Michael was charm itself, and soon Thea and Michael were ushered upstairs, where the woman – Thea’s heart was pounding, she could hardly believe their luck – Martina Trost,
lit the small gas fire in the cramped apartment. Embroidered headrests covered the brown utilitarian furniture. Michael chatted the whole time, offering compliments and encouragement, some of which
Thea picked up in her rudimentary German, but all of which seemed to soften Martina.

An old man sat in a chair in the corner. His eyes had an opaque kind of look, but they turned towards Thea and Michael as Martina showed them in.

‘Who’s there?’ he asked gruffly in German.

Martina answered, equally irritably, walking briskly over to him. She whispered something harshly in his ear, which made him sit up straight. She then began neatening him up. She brushed biscuit
crumbs from the grey stubble on his beard and took off the bib he was wearing. Underneath was a neat shirt and jacket. These people may be poor, Thea thought, but they certainly didn’t lack
pride.

‘
This
is Sebastian Trost, my husband,’ the woman said. ‘So what is this news you have brought for us from America?’ she asked.

From the look on her face, and the sudden look of concentration on her husband’s brow, Michael had done more than suggest they were bringing news, Thea deduced. He’d clearly implied
there might be something – such as money – in it for them too.

‘We are looking for information,’ Michael explained, leaning close to Sebastian now. He delivered the bullet then. ‘We know you were Volkmar’s driver.’

Martina hovered. ‘Volkmar?’ Her voice was shrill. Thea noticed her backing into the corner, scared now of Michael, eyeing the door, no doubt thinking of her own son downstairs.
Sebastian said nothing. But Thea noticed his grip tightening on the brown wooden arm of his chair.