CHAPTER FORTY
It was a freezing cold day in the middle of January when I finally found Magda. John Bull-Halifax had rung the previous day to say that he’d exhausted all possible lines of enquiry and drawn a blank.
“Maybe she likes to keep a low profile. Maybe you should come home.”
“Maybe,” I said.
I’d been in Berlin for over a month by then, missing what my sister termed “a normal family Christmas” in Calderhill and bringing in the New Year by watching the fireworks exploding over the Brandenburg Gate from a park bench in the Tiergarten. I celebrated with a bottle of mineral water and a paper twist of roasted chestnuts.
After I phoned Frau Martin in Leipzig, I cancelled my return flight to London, took the train back to Berlin and found a cheap short-stay apartment in the Friedrichsh
