Buried Angels

FJÄLLBACKA 1939

Laura studied her husband as he sat at the breakfast table. They’d been married a year. The day that Laura turned eighteen she had accepted Sigvard’s proposal, and a month later they were married in a quiet ceremony in the garden. Sigvard was fifty-three, old enough to be her father. But he was rich, and she knew that she would never again have to worry about her future. She had sat down to make a list of arguments, for and against the marriage, and the positive side had won out. Love was for fools. It was a luxury that a woman in her situation could not afford.

‘The Germans have invaded Poland,’ said Sigvard, sounding agitated. ‘Mark my words, this is only the beginning.’

‘I can’t be bothered with politics.’

Laura made herself half a sandwich. She didn’t dare eat more than that. Constant hunger was the price she had to pay for being perfect, and at times she struggled with how absurd this was. She had married Sigvard for security, for the knowledge that she’d always have food on the table. And yet she went hungry as often as she had when she was a child and Dagmar was spending her money on booze instead of food.

Sigvard laughed. ‘Your father is mentioned here too.’

She gave him a frosty look. She was willing to put up with a lot, but she had repeatedly asked him not to speak of anything having to do with her lunatic mother. She needed no reminders of what her life had once been. Dagmar was safely locked up in St Jörgen Hospital, and if Laura was lucky, she would stay there for the rest of her miserable life.

‘Must you talk about that?’ she said.

‘Forgive me, darling. But there’s no need to be ashamed. On the contrary. Göring is Hitler’s favourite, and he’s head of the Luftwaffe. Not bad.’ He nodded pensively and then went back to his newspaper.

Laura sighed. She wasn’t interested. For years she’d had to put up with her mother’s demented fantasies, and now she was forced to hear about that man all the time, simply because he was one of Hitler’s closest associates. Good Lord, what did it matter to them in Sweden if the Germans invaded Poland?

‘I was thinking of redecorating the drawing room. May I?’ she asked, using her softest tone of voice. It hadn’t been long since she’d had the entire room redone. It had turned out lovely, but it still wasn’t perfect. Not like the drawing room in the dollhouse. The fancy sofa that she’d bought didn’t quite fit, and the prisms in the crystal chandelier were not as shiny and sparkling as she’d expected.

‘You’re going to drive me to rack and ruin,’ said Sigvard, but he gave her an adoring look. ‘Do whatever you like, sweetheart. As long as it makes you happy.’