Dead of Winter

53

After lunch, Laura and Steph go for a walk in the park. Laura talks about that Lucia night in 1987 without holding back on any of the details this time, not even the most painful ones. The phone call, the fight, the fire. How her aunt carried her across the ice and plunged her into the water. The winter fire she took with her, which many years later probably killed her and Andreas’s little girl. She tells Steph about the sleep suit and the tiny hand- and footprints that she keeps hidden down in the cellar. She brings Steph up to speed with everything that’s happened over the past few days. The only thing she keeps to herself is the discovery about Hedda, Johnny Miller and Jack, mainly because she thinks it doesn’t belong with all the rest, but maybe also because she wants to hang on to one secret.

‘What a story!’ Steph looks floored by Laura’s revelations. ‘That poor girl! Well, poor all of you.’

They walk on in silence for a minute or two.

‘Why have you never told me this before?’ Steph asks quietly.

‘Because I was ashamed.’

‘But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t start the fire.’

‘If I hadn’t called Iben’s brothers and said she was seeing Jack, then none of the rest of it would have happened.’

‘You can’t know that. Tomas clearly isn’t well – nor that other girl. What was her name?’

‘Milla.’

Steph counts Milla’s ‘qualities’ off on her fingers.

‘Manipulative, a pathological liar, lack of empathy. A textbook psychopath.’

Laura has never analysed Milla like that, but Steph undeniably has a point.

‘So what are you going to do with the holiday village and all the rest of it?’ Steph wants to know.

‘As I said, both the council and Vintersjöholm have made offers. There’s a lot of money involved.’

‘Whose bid is the highest?’

‘Your friends Pontus and Erica are offering four hundred thousand more.’

Steph raises an eyebrow.

‘So why are you hesitating? The council’s bid involves Iben’s father, an evil bastard who abused his own daughter. Sell the dump to Pontus and Erica and be done with it.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘No?’ Steph looks sceptical. ‘I really don’t like being on the same side as your mother but she’s right – your aunt’s death seems to have stirred up a lot of old crap. Family feuds, incest, arson . . . But instead of doing what any sensible person would do – sell up and get the hell out of Dodge – you stay around. Carry on poking around in the mud and slime even though you’ve had more than one warning, and all this clearly isn’t good for you.’

Her tone becomes serious.

‘This isn’t about your childhood sweetheart any longer, the Prince Charming you keep hoping will show up; this is about you, Laura. Do you really want to get dragged down into this mess?’

She leaves the question hanging for a few seconds, then goes on:

‘Your aunt didn’t contact you once in thirty years. Nor did Prince Charming. Ask Erica and Pontus to name a road or something after Hedda, then you’ll be quits. Go and meet someone who cares about you. You deserve it, Laura. You deserve to be happy, whether you believe that or not.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Laura says eventually.

‘Good.’ Steph puts an arm around her. ‘How about wrapping everything up over the next couple of days, then we can return to civilisation? All this nature is making me nervous. I need to see tarmac, inhale exhaust fumes.’

Laura has almost forgotten that she promised to have dinner with Peter and Elsa. Steph isn’t happy about being abandoned, and for a moment Laura considers cancelling, but then she thinks about Elsa. She likes the girl, or the young woman – whatever she is. She likes Peter too, so she explains to Steph that this is a farewell dinner, which improves her mood a little.

Laura’s car is still at Gärdsnäset, but Steph solves the problem with a quick phone call.

‘Heinz will take you to Peter’s and pick you up, so we can carry on drinking wine. He offered before I’d finished speaking.’

Heinz Norell’s car is waiting outside the main entrance five minutes before the agreed time, which Laura appreciates. They make small talk on the way into the village, mainly about the weather.

He is obviously still embarrassed about his faux pas during lunch, and tries hard to make up for it. He asks polite questions, but stays well away from anything that could possibly relate to business.

She directs him to Peter’s house and he stops right by the door.

‘Do you have any more of those brochures?’ she asks as she’s about to get out of the car.

‘Sorry?’

‘About the Vintersjön project? I left the one you gave me at Gärdsnäset and I haven’t had time to look at it yet.’

For a moment he looks confused, then his face breaks into a broad smile.

‘Of course.’

He opens the glove compartment and hands her another copy. She tucks it into her inside pocket as she walks towards Peter’s front door.

‘Hi, Laura – come in!’

Elsa opens the door before Laura can ring the bell. She looks delighted to see her, and unexpectedly gives Laura a big hug. She frowns when she sees the car.

The entrance hall is generous, with a shiny marble floor and a chandelier. The walls are painted in a coral shade that is a little too brash. Elsa notices Laura’s expression.

‘The décor was down to Mum. As I said before, it’s not really my style, or Dad’s.’

Peter emerges from the kitchen, wearing a leather apron and with his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looks very professional. And handsome, Laura has to admit. His eyes are sparkling in a way that appeals to her.

‘Welcome to our home, Laura.’

She kisses him on the cheek, lingers a fraction longer than last time. She blames the wine she’s been drinking with Steph.

‘Whose is the car?’ Elsa asks.

‘A friend’s.’

‘From Vintersjöholm?’

Laura nods, sees Peter frown.

Dinner is very enjoyable. Peter turns out to be an excellent cook, and Elsa is good company. The wines Peter has selected contribute to the positive atmosphere. They talk about all kinds of things – TV series, politics, which educational path Elsa should follow come the autumn.

‘What did you do?’ Elsa wonders.

‘We lived in Hong Kong, so I went to a private school. You can’t really compare it with the Swedish system.’

‘What was your favourite subject?’

‘Behavioural science.’

Elsa’s face lights up.

‘My first choice is sociology. Maybe you can help me with my homework.’

Peter’s cheeks flush red.

‘Maybe,’ Laura murmurs.

As they clear the table she finally gets the chance to have a quiet conversation with him.

‘I saw the fire all the way from Gärdsnäset,’ she almost whispers. ‘Is Tomas OK?’

Peter looks worried.

‘I don’t know, to be honest. He’s not answering his phone, but according to the fire service the hut was empty. And his car is gone.’

‘Have you told anyone that he was living there?’

Peter shakes his head, then gives a meaningful nod in the direction of Elsa, who is on her way into the kitchen.

They have coffee in the living room at the back of the house. The garden is lit up, just like the front. A sun terrace, a pool, various exotic plants – all beneath a thin covering of snow. Whoever designed this garden invested a great deal of time and money. Laura assumes it was Elsa’s mother. At the same time she realises she hasn’t been swimming for quite a while, and that she misses it.

‘So have you decided what to do with Gärdsnäset?’ Peter asks.

‘I think I’m going to sell.’

‘Why?’

Elsa’s question is instant.

‘Because Laura doesn’t have the time to take care of a rundown holiday village,’ Peter explains.

‘Why not?’

Laura and Peter exchange a glance.

‘Because I have a job and a family in Stockholm.’

Elsa’s mouth becomes a thin, straight line. For a second she reminds Laura of someone she knows, but the moment passes. Elsa gets to her feet.

‘Excuse me,’ she says, but her body language and tone are anything but polite. She marches out of the room.

‘Teenagers. You can’t win,’ Peter says with an apologetic smile. ‘So who are you going to sell to? The castle?’

‘I can’t see any other option. The council would give the building project to Ulf Jensen, and as far as I’m concerned he and his fucking family farm can go up in smoke.’

She immediately regrets the clumsy choice of words.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’

Peter waves a dismissive hand.

‘I understand. But what if the council agreed to go with a different construction company? How would you feel about that?’

‘That’s hardly likely. You said yourself that—’

‘But if they did,’ he persists. ‘If Ulf Jensen was out of the picture. Would you consider selling to the council then?’

She shrugs. ‘Possibly.’

She reads his body language, his eager expression, the keen interest in his voice. This is more than a hypothetical discussion.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I might be able to persuade someone to pull a few strings.’

Before she can ask him what he means, Elsa reappears. Her face is bright red and she slams something down on the coffee table in front of them.

‘Are these your plans for Gärdsnäset, Laura? A mini fucking Torekov where only the rich can afford to live?’

It’s the brochure Heinz Norell gave her, the one that was in her pocket.

‘Hedda would have hated the idea!’ Elsa snaps. ‘She loved the lake, she wanted as many people as possible to be able to enjoy it. You’re only thinking of the money!’

Laura’s about to explain that Hedda was also considering selling to the castle, but Peter gets in first.

‘That’s enough, Elsa!’ he shouts. ‘Apologise to Laura immediately!’

Elsa lifts her chin defiantly, struggling to hold back the tears.

‘Fuck you!’

She turns and runs out of the room, leaving the brochure open on the table. Pictures of row upon row of houses made of concrete, steel and glass, each with a private jetty where enormous yachts are moored.

VINTERSJÖ PARK, says the heading across the double-page spread. A PLACE WHERE ONLY THE BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH.

The evening never really recovers after that. Laura and Peter have coffee and a brandy and try to talk about something else, but Elsa’s anger lingers in the air between them. After about half an hour Laura texts Heinz and asks him to come and pick her up.

Peter walks her to the door. He hands her the brochure with an apologetic smile.

‘Elsa means well, but she’s young. She thinks everything is black and white.’

‘Like we did?’

He takes a deep breath.

‘Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. Experience it all again. The summers out at Gärdsnäset, you and me, Hedda, George, Jack, Iben, Tomas. The holidaymakers, the dances. All that happiness we had before—’

He breaks off.

‘Before it was taken away from us,’ Laura says before she can stop herself. They stand in silence for a few seconds, until the beam of Heinz Norell’s headlights sweeps across the front door.

‘Don’t sign right away, Laura,’ Peter says. ‘Give it a day or two.’

He holds her gaze, refuses to let her go until she gives him a nod of agreement.

Heinz makes more polite conversation on the way back, continuing to prove that he is both pleasant and intelligent.

‘Which part of Germany did you say you were from?’ Laura asks as they turn into the avenue leading to the castle.

‘I’ve lived all over the place, but I was born and raised in Hamburg.’

The name rings a bell, but before she has time to marshal her thoughts, they have reached the main entrance.

‘By the way, Erica wonders if you’d join her for a nightcap up in the library.’

That’s the last thing Laura wants. She’s tired and a little tipsy, but she realises she doesn’t have a choice. Heinz holds the door open for her.

‘I hope to see you tomorrow.’

The library is situated in one of the towers and has a fantastic view. The moon is shining on the ice, shimmering in the black eye in the middle of the lake. There are bookshelves from floor to ceiling, with a couple of ladders that run along tracks to access the higher shelves.

The lighting is subdued; there is a candelabra with ten flickering candles in one window. The fire in one corner is burning so brightly that someone must have put on more logs very recently. There is a clear crack running down the chimney breast above the mantelpiece.

The risk assessment part of her brain that has been quiet for several days springs to life, weighing up the combination of an open fire, a cracked chimney breast and tons of old, bone-dry paper over and over again until her palms begin to sweat.

Erica von Thurn is sitting in a wing-back armchair by the window. She gets to her feet as Laura comes in.

‘Laura – how kind of you to keep me company.’ She pours a glass of red wine from the carafe on the table and hands it to Laura. ‘Come and sit down.’ She points to the armchair closest to the fire. Laura hesitates, then sits down. The heat is nice, yet alarming.

‘Did you have a pleasant evening with your . . . friend?’

The dim lighting and the flickering flames create shadows that make it difficult to read Erica’s expression.

Laura takes a sip of her wine. ‘I did.’

‘I wanted to apologise for earlier,’ Erica says. ‘My curiosity got the upper hand – obviously I had no right to bring up that . . . tragedy from your past. I really do hope you can forgive me.’

‘Of course.’

One of the logs gives a loud crack and Laura jumps. A drop of sweat trickles down the back of her neck and continues its way along her scar. The shadows from the fire play with the perfect proportions of Erica’s face.

‘Stephanie tells me you like to swim.’

Laura nods. The red wine seems to have reached her brain.

‘We have a pool house, recently completed. You’re welcome to use it tomorrow if you like.’

‘Thank you.’ Laura realises that something more is expected of her. ‘And thank you for letting me stay here.’

Erica waves her hand.

‘It’s a pleasure. Stephanie’s friends are our friends, and besides – we’re neighbours.’

She raises her glass and Laura mirrors the gesture. Her head suddenly feels too heavy for her shoulders.

‘Vintersjöholm is the apple of Pontus’s eye,’ she hears Erica continue. ‘He loves the castle. Personally, I prefer the lake.’

Erica waves her glass in the direction of the window. ‘This area really does have a fascinating history. You know the castle burned down? Several times, actually.’

Laura nods, she can’t stop glancing at the open fire.

‘Gärdsnäset is a wonderful place,’ Erica goes on quietly. ‘It must have been amazing to grow up there.’

Laura’s head is getting heavier and heavier, while the sweat-snakes on her back are multiplying.

Erica leans closer, her face distorted by the shadows. It looks like a mask.

‘We’re having a little party here the day after tomorrow. Pontus and I would be delighted if you’d join us.’ Her teeth are chalk-white, perfect porcelain veneers. ‘You’re welcome to invite your friend, if you like.’

Laura nods. Her mouth is as dry as dust, her eyes dart between the dancing flames and Erica’s face. She’s seen all this before, she’s sure of it.

Or maybe it was a dream. Erica’s voice drifts away.

‘. . . a party to celebrate Lucia.’

The word makes Laura give a start. Is it the tenth already?

How has the time passed so quickly? She takes another sip of her wine, notices that the glass has magically emptied.

Erica quickly tops it up. ‘Listen, I know we’re not supposed to be discussing business.’

Her face reminds Laura of the nymph in her nightmares.

‘I just want you to know that Pontus and I are prepared to increase our offer on Gärdsnäset. Have you had time to look at the brochure, by the way?’

She produces yet another brochure, identical to the one Elsa slammed down on the coffee table just over an hour ago.

‘If you like,’ Erica continues eagerly, ‘and this is just an idea – but if you like, we could reserve a house for you. Here, in the best position.’

She points to a plan of the proposed development, but Laura can’t take her eyes off the fire. The flames are so high now that they are reaching into the room, eagerly seeking out the bookshelves. The crack in the chimney breast has widened, it’s getting bigger by the second. Sweat is pouring down her back, irritating and scalding her scar.

She can see the closest books beginning to curl and smoke in the heat, she can smell burning paper. The first book catches fire with a puff, and is immediately followed by several more.

The flames lick the shelves, consuming more and more books and racing towards the ceiling.

Erica’s voice echoes through the room, but Laura can’t hear what she’s saying because the fire is roaring now. The crack opens wide, lets out a stream of liquid fire that flows across the floor. She wants to stand up, scream, run for the door, but instead she sits there as if she’s turned to stone while Erica goes on talking, apparently oblivious to the danger.

A door opens, and Laura hears Steph’s voice.

‘Laura! I thought you’d gone to bed ages ago.’

Steph places a hand on her shoulder, ice-cold against the heat of her skin. In a second the fire is back where it belongs, the crack in the chimney breast is barely visible. The books and shelves are untouched.

‘You must be exhausted, you poor thing,’ Steph says, helping Laura to her feet. She glares at Erica. ‘Come on, let’s get you to your room.’