Hornet Flight by Ken Follett Page B

Juel believed the illegal newspapers were harmless, if not actually beneficial as a safety valve, and refused to pursue the publishers. This attitude infuriated Peter. Leaving criminals at large, to continue their offenses, seemed madness to him.
    The Germans did not really like Juel’s laissez-faire attitude, but so far they had not pushed the matter to a confrontation. Juel’s liaison with the occupying power was General Walter Braun, a career soldier who had lost a lung in the battle of France. Braun’s aim was to keep Denmark tranquil at all costs. He would not overrule Juel unless forced to.
    Recently Peter had learned that copies of Reality were being smuggled to Sweden. Until now, he had been obliged to abide by his boss’s hands-off rule, but he hoped Juel’s complacency would be shaken by the news that the papers were finding their way out of the country. Last night, a Swedish detective who was a personal friend of Peter’s had called to say he thought the paper was being carried on a Lufthansa flight from Berlin to Stockholm that stopped at Copenhagen. That was the breakthrough that accounted for Peter’s feeling of excitement when he woke up. He could be on the brink of a triumph.
    When the oatmeal was ready, he added milk and sugar then took the tray into the bedroom.
    He helped Inge sit upright. He tasted the oatmeal to make sure it was not too hot, then began to feed her with a spoon.
    A year ago, just before petrol restrictions came in, Peter and Inge had been driving to the beach when a young man in a new sports car had crashed into them. Peter had broken both his legs and recovered rapidly. Inge had smashed her skull, and she would never be the same.
    The other driver, Finn Jonk, the son of a well-known university professor, had been thrown clear and landed in a bush, unharmed.
    He had no driving license—it had been taken from him by the courts after a previous accident—and he had been drunk. But the Jonk family had hired a top lawyer who had succeeded in delaying the trial for a year, so Finn still had not been punished for destroying Inge’s mind. The personal tragedy, for Inge and Peter, was also an example of the disgraceful way crimes could go unpunished in modern society. Whatever you might say against the Nazis, they were gratifyingly tough on criminals.
    When Inge had eaten her breakfast, Peter took her to the toilet, then bathed her. She had always been scrupulously neat and clean. It was one of the things he had loved about her. She was especially clean about sex, always washing carefully afterward—something he appreciated. Not all girls were like that. One woman he had slept with, a nightclub singer he had met during a raid and had a brief affair with, had objected to his washing himself after sex, saying it was unromantic.
    Inge showed no reaction as he bathed her. He had learned to be equally unmoved, even when he touched the most intimate parts of her body. He dried her soft skin with a big towel, then dressed her. The most difficult part was putting her stockings on. First he rolled the stocking, leaving only the toe sticking out. Then he carefully eased it over her foot and unrolled it up her calf and over her knee, finally fastening the top to the clips of the garter belt. When he started doing this he had put runs in them every time, but he was a persistent man, and could be very patient when he had his mind set on achieving something; and now he was expert.
    He helped her into a cheerful yellow cotton dress, then added a gold wristwatch and bracelet. She could not tell the time, but he sometimes thought she came near to smiling when she saw jewelry glinting on her wrists.
    When he had brushed her hair, they both looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was a pretty, pale blonde, and before the accident she had had a flirtatious smile and a coy way of fluttering her eyelashes. Now her face was blank.
    On their Whitsun visit to Sande,