Rites of Spring

71

The journey takes just over half an hour. Hubert pulls up outside the emergency entrance and helps Thea to carry Emee inside.

The dog is barely conscious. She is showing the whites of her eyes, and her breathing is laboured. Thea has phoned ahead, explained the situation and told them what she’s already done. Two nurses and a vet are waiting and immediately take over.

‘She’s in good hands,’ one of the nurses reassures them. ‘If you take a seat in the waiting room I’ll come and speak to you as soon as I can.’

Hubert fetches coffee from a machine while Thea sinks down on a plastic chair.

How can Emee have ingested glycol? She goes through the previous day, trying to think of an opportunity when the dog could have eaten something she shouldn’t.

Emee was only out of her sight on three occasions. The most likely scenario is that it happened when she ran off into the forest, but where would she find glycol in a forest, several kilometres from the nearest road and even further from a garage?

The other two occasions were when she locked Emee in the surgery during the information meeting, and after she fell asleep in the coach house. There is no source of glycol in either of those locations.

Could someone have deliberately poisoned Emee? She can’t shake off the thought.

She tries calling David, leaves a message when he doesn’t answer.

Hubert hands her a cup of coffee and sits down beside her.

‘I used to have an animal I loved too,’ he says after they’ve sat in silence for a while. ‘Nelson. A pure-bred Arabian. He was wild and hard to handle, but I loved riding him. He made me feel strong, invincible.’ He pauses, lost in his memories. Then he straightens up.

‘Would you like another coffee? Something to eat? I can go and look for somewhere that’s open.’

She shakes her head. ‘What happened to Nelson?’

‘Another time. It’s not the right story to tell you just now.’

She places a hand on his arm. ‘What happened?’

He sighs, gives in.

‘Father sent me away to say with relatives in England. Just after I left, Nelson injured his leg. Father . . .’ Hubert takes a deep breath, eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘He shot him. Per Nyberg was there, he told me that Father did it himself. Led Nelson behind the stable and shot him in the forehead. Had the body collected and incinerated that same afternoon.’

Hubert shakes his head slowly.

‘My father was a hard man. He had no patience with weakness.’ He gives a wry smile. ‘I warned you it wasn’t the right story for tonight.’

‘You did.’

Thea’s body feels heavy. She closes her eyes, tries not to think about Emee, fighting for her life along the corridor. About Margaux.

How about calling her Emee? She can be our own little ghost. Yours and mine, ma chère.

‘What was your father like?’ Hubert asks.

‘He was a complete bastard,’ she murmurs.

‘What did he do?’

She opens her eyes. Realises what she’s said. ‘Nothing. Forget it.’

The nurse reappears, her expression grave. An abyss opens up in Thea’s midriff. She gets to her feet, holding her breath.

‘You were right, it was glycol poisoning,’ the nurse says. ‘We’ve pumped her stomach and given her Fomepizol. At the moment it seems to be working; that trick with the vodka probably saved her life. However, I wouldn’t recommend trying it.’

The relief is so great that Thea almost bursts into tears, but she manages to compose herself.

‘When can we take her home?’

‘It’s too early to say. Go home and get some sleep. Call in the morning and we’ll be able to give you more information.’

David calls when they’re in the car. It’s just after five; Hubert is driving, because Thea still feels shaky.

‘I just picked up your message – how is she?’

‘OK. She’s going to make it.’

‘What was wrong with her?’

‘Glycol poisoning.’

‘What? How the hell did she get hold of glycol?’

‘I don’t know. Do we have any in the house or at the castle?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware.’

They end the call with exaggerated warmth, as if neither of them wants to acknowledge last night’s quarrel.

‘I have a question,’ she says to Hubert after a little while. ‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

‘Go on.’

‘Did you know Elita Svart?’

The silence is a fraction too long.

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘We bumped into each other occasionally in the forest. Her father was one of our tenants.’

‘What was she like?’

Another silence.

‘Elita was . . . different.’

‘In what way?’

Hubert shrugs. ‘Hard to explain. She looked at life in her own particular way, if I can put it like that.’

‘Do you believe it was Leo who killed her?’

‘I don’t know anything about that. I was in England when Elita . . .’ He breaks off, as if the words won’t come out.

‘I’ve been to Svartgården,’ Thea says.

‘Why?’

‘Because I was curious, I guess. I’m trying to understand what happened.’

‘I thought it was all pretty clear?’

‘Yes, but there are a few anomalies.’

‘Like what?’

For a moment she considers telling him what she found at Arne’s house, and her suspicions, but she decides to hold back. There is another aspect of the mystery that he might be able to help with. Three pieces of the puzzle that don’t quite fit.

‘Elita’s family. They vanished without a trace, and your father had the house boarded up and the track destroyed the very next day.’

Hubert nods slowly.

‘My father and Lasse Svart had been at loggerheads for years. Lasse had been given notice to quit before Elita died. My father made sure they couldn’t come back.’

‘That’s a harsh way to treat a grieving family.’

Hubert shrugs. ‘As I said, my father was a hard man.’

His tone indicates that he’d like to drop the subject. Thea waits, hoping he’ll change his mind and go on, but the moment seems to have passed.

She gazes out of the window, then asks: ‘Are you invited to the preview dinner?’

‘Mm.’

‘Are you coming?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m not very good with people. I prefer to keep myself to myself.’

Thea is disappointed. The dinner is David’s project, and it would have been nice to have someone there who was more like a friend of hers.

When they reach the castle, he gets out of the car and she moves across to the driver’s seat.

‘Thank you so much, Hubert. If you hadn’t helped me, Emee wouldn’t have . . .’

He waves a dismissive hand.

‘We Stanley Kunitz fans must stick together.’

He stops at the corner of the west wing and raises a hand in farewell before going inside.

Suddenly it’s as if something clicks in Thea’s mind. The sound of a piece of the puzzle falling into place.