“But how?” asked Helen. “I really can’t carry any more at a time. I’m practically dragging the bags as it is.” She raised her knees and shifted in her seat. The red leather sofa looked beautiful, but it wasn’t designed with comfort in mind. “And it’d be too dangerous to make multiple trips to the car. Everyone in that hospital is so nosy.” And helpful, she added silently.

Werner was leaning forward in his armchair, his fingertips pressed together. “The waste room is inside the staff area, you say.”

“That’s right. You can’t get in without a pass.”

“Is it far away from the public area?”

“No, it’s right next to the access door.”

“OK,” he said. “What if I bring a couple of bags to the hospital tomorrow? That would save us a day.”

Helen made a quick calculation. Her eyes lit up. “Then it’ll be gone by Sunday. All of it.”

“Exactly.” He picked up a notepad and pen from the table. “Where is it exactly, this waste room?”

She felt a sudden burst of energy as she got up and stood behind him. Watched over his shoulder while he drew a map based on her description. He sketched it out in a few quick strokes and then added a cross. “Right here?”

She leaned forward. His hair smelled wonderful, of shampoo and of himself. “Yeah, right there.”

“What time?”

“My break starts at around midday.”

“Then I’ll make sure I’m in the parking lot just before twelve.”

She threw her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his temple. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He held her hand and planted a kiss on it. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I want to get rid of it all by Sunday?”

“Huh? How come?”

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered. His breath tickled the inside of her wrist.

“A surprise?”

He leaned his head back. “I wanted to tell you on Friday night, but something got in the way.” He paused. “You and I are driving to England on Sunday. To Sussex.”

“What? Really?” Helen ran around the armchair. “That’s amazing! We haven’t been there since—”

“About a hundred years ago?”

“It was definitely in the last century, anyway.”

Smiling, she thought back to the first vacation they had gone on together. All their friends had taken the train to Salou or Malgrat de Mar, but they had borrowed Werner’s mother’s car and driven to the south of England. There, among the green hills, they’d had the vacation of their lives.

“It was like a fairy tale,” she whispered.

“Does it ever rain in fairy tales?” He brushed back a strand of hair from her temple. “It’s going to be even better than last time. Just wait until you see the hotel.”

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