The Cruel Stars of the Night

Seven

She walked in the door with a smile, nodded to Ann-Charlotte, entered in the code, and took the elevator to her division. Barbro looked up from her desk in surprise.

“Oh my, Laura, how is everything?”

Barbro loved tragedies, which is why she smiled a little more widely when she discovered who the visitor was.

“How are things?”

“Fine, thank you,” Laura said.

She heard Stig and Lennart’s voices from the conference room. They were bickering as usual.

“Nothing new about your father?”

Laura shook her head.

“How awful for you,” Barbro said sympathetically. She had stood up, walked over to Laura, and placed a hand on her arm.

Let go of me, Laura thought. Barbro’s breath settled like a sticky membrane over Laura’s face.

“How awful,” Barbro repeated and her grip on Laura’s arm hardened.

“I just want to talk a little with Stig,” she said and smiled, disengaging herself.

“Of course, Stickan has been wondering…”

Laura left Barbro without listening to the rest, heading toward the open door of the conference room. She hated it when people called Stig “Stickan.”

She stopped outside the door and listened. They were talking about the German affair. Lennart was dissatisfied with their approach, which Laura already knew. Stig’s voice was calm as usual.

She opened the door completely and stepped into the room. Her colleagues looked up.

“But Laura, there you are! I have sent you three thousand e-mails.”

“I’ve been having some problems with e-mail,” Laura said.

“And you haven’t been answering the phone. We were getting worried. But I’m glad you came by,” Stig Franklin said and got to his feet.

He was wearing the sweater vest. It didn’t suit him, looking-like most of his clothes-out of place, but that was Stig. His scent and his hand gripped her. Lennart remained seated and stared at Laura with a vacant expression.

“We’re talking about our plans in Essen,” he said.

He dropped her hand.

“I took the revised offer with me. I have added some of the missing information,” Laura said. “It makes sense to attach a copy of a calculation for the second year. It will give them a better overview, and Hausmann likes that.”

“Marvellous,” Stig said enthusiastically.

She looked at him. Every day she thought she saw something new in Stig. His beard was freshly trimmed, which she liked. She had an urge to caress his cheek. The messy hair made him look boyish.

“Jessica ran a calculation on the second year,” Lennart said, “and she thought the figures for education and training were on the low side.”

Laura shot him a quick glance.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” she said.

At that moment a woman walked into the room.

“Laura!”

“We were just talking about you,” Lennart said.

“How are you? I’ve been thinking so much about you.”

Laura didn’t answer, just sat down and started digging around in her purse.

“Here is the new one,” she said and threw a folder on the table.

“Have you been working while you’ve been at home?” Jessica Franklin said. “You certainly didn’t need to.”

Lennart snorted.

“But do tell, have the police said anything else about your father?”

Jessica’s voice was pleasant, not at all as shrill as Barbro’s, but it nonetheless made Laura shiver. She saw how Jessica’s red lips moved and how her tongue ran over her lower lip. Her speech was well-groomed, just as her appearance. She was wearing a red dress that Laura would never have worn to work but on Jessica it looked completely natural and it fit her perfectly. She had a little ornament on a thin silver chain around her neck. Laura knew it depicted the love goddess from Bali, a woman who had given birth to twelve children.

Jessica’s hair was bobbed, very blond, and rested on her shoulders. Sometimes she threw her head back and ran her hands through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, especially when she was excited, and it was a gesture that Laura understood that men liked. She probably did not do it consciously, but the sensual movement revealed her beautiful throat. Laura glanced at Stig. He smiled.

Barbro had once called Jessica a slut. Laura had asked what she meant and Barbro had explained that the gesture with her hair was an invitation. She didn’t say anything else. An invitation. Laura looked at Jessica’s throat. It was shapely.

Jessica kept talking but Laura only looked at her with confusion and Jessica broke off.

“But here I am going on,” she said.

Stig put his arm around Jessica.

“You believe in Essen, don’t you?”

He smiled even more widely and squeezed her shoulders.

“If we get this, then the Dutch will come on board, too,” Jessica said. “Won’t they, Lennart?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t believe in your model for B-One,” Laura said.

Stig’s smile froze.

“But my dear, we’ve talked about that,” he said.

B1 was Jessica’s part of the project. Stig had also been critical in the beginning but had changed his mind. Now B1 was included in the offer, with exactly the presentation that Jessica had suggested.

“We talked it through while you were on sick leave,” Jessica said. “They’ll lap it up, you’ll see.”

And then came the head toss. Laura wanted to stab her pencil into Jessica’s throat, drive it in deep, and twist it.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Which we should celebrate,” Jessica continued with unperturbed enthusiasm, adding, “Torbjörnsson certainly won’t be.”

Torbjörnsson & Son Inc. were their greatest competitors. Jessica had worked there for four years before she joined the company. Most of them assumed there was a desire for revenge in her eagerness to land the Essen account. Apparently something had happened at her old workplace. No one knew what but there was talk of Jessica having had an affair with Torbjörnsson junior.

When you die we will celebrate even more, Laura thought and smiled at her colleague. She looked at the pencil in her hand. It was freshly sharpened. She looked at Jessica’s throat. Right there, in that hollow, is where I want to put it and let out all the poisoned blood.

“How are you, Laura?”

Stig bent down and looked at her.

“Everything is fine,” she said. “I’m fine.”

She tested the point of the pencil against her index finger.

Stig put his hand on her knee. She gave him a searching gaze as if to ensnare him in her sphere. He smiled unsurely and tried to take the pencil out of her hand.

“You might cut yourself,” he said.

“Perhaps you want a glass of water?” Jessica said and leaned over Laura. “You look pale.”

Laura held up the pencil with the point vibrating only a few centimeters from Jessica’s neck.

“You can hurt yourself,” she said and smiled. “Wouldn’t it be a pity to get blood on your pretty dress.”

Jessica straightened up and looked anxiously at Lennart. Stig’s smile had become a grimace.

“Would you like a ride home?”

Laura nodded. Stig got up, glanced swiftly at Jessica, and made a dismissive gesture with his head.

“I’m going home soon,” Jessica said, and turned to Stig. “The tile layer is coming at three. Dinner’s at six thirty.”

“Okay,” said Stig, and helped Laura to her feet.

“Do you have your car?”

Laura nodded again. She wanted to stay close to him, feel his hand under her arm, almost so it nudged her left breast.

“We can take two cars, but I want you to come home with me.”

Lennart stood up, gathered some papers together, and left.

Laura placed her hand on Stig’s shoulder. For a split second they stood there like a dance couple. Laura moistened her cracked lips with her tongue. Slowly, as if she was on the verge of losing consciousness, she leaned in toward Stig and rested her chin against his bristly beard.

“Help me, Stig,” she whispered into his ear.

The last time Stig Franklin had visited Laura Hindersten was a cold and clear morning, after several days of heavy snow. It was in February, they were on their way to a conference in Linköping and Stig was going to pick up Laura.

The sun had just risen over the City Forest and shone through the trees with a strong yet mild light. The branches of the snow-laden trees and bushes sagged, conceded defeat, and bowed deeply. Hare tracks ran diagonally across the otherwise undisturbed property.

Now none of that beauty remained. He noted with consternation the garbage that had accumulated in the parking space. She clung to his arm, did not say anything, pulled him up through the bushes to the front door.

“That’s coming loose,” he said and pointed to the place where the front steps met the wall.

Laura looked at him.

“Help me,” she said softly without looking at the stairs.

There was a pedestal leaning halfway into a gigantic rhododendron. He stopped and gently squeezed a dormant bud. It glistened with moisture. Laura looked at his hand fingering the fleshy bud. She pulled him close and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked around as if to assure himself they were not being observed. Laura sighed.

“Everything is fine,” she whispered. “It’s fine when you are here.”

“You should rest a little,” Stig said.

She nodded and he led her up the stairs, took the keys out of her purse, unlocked the door, and shoved it open as he put his arm around her shoulders. A stale burst of air hit them in the face.

In the hall there was a pile of old bed linens and a stained mattress was leaning up against the wall.

“Is that your father’s?”

She didn’t answer, pulled off her coat, and dropped it on the ground.

“Would you like anything?”

He shook his head, picked up her coat, and hung it up.

“Have you talked to anyone? I was thinking if you…”

He stopped abruptly when he realized that Laura had slipped out of her skirt, let it slide down her legs, and now with a rapid movement pulled off her blouse. Everything went very fast. Suddenly she stood there in front of him. Her breaths were warm.

“I have to go,” he said and cleared his throat.

She shook her head.

“Rest with me for a while,” she said.

“I can’t.”

“I know that you want to,” she said and stamped her foot to free herself from her skirt.

She was wearing black pantyhose and a light-colored lace bra. Her skin glowed with unnatural whiteness in the dim hall.

“My father isn’t home,” she continued.

“I know.”

“No one will disturb us.”

He tried to avoid looking at her. She was beautiful in a frail way and Stig had to fight against an impulse to pull her toward him. He was very warm but did not unzip his jacket.

“You know I can’t,” he repeated, much less convincing than he had intended.

“Admit that you want to,” she said. “You can have me here in the hall if you like.”

Without meaning to he looked at the mattress. She pulled off her pantyhose, took his hand and put it on one of her breasts. It just filled his hand. She let go and he stood there passively with his hand on her breast. It was getting dark outside and he could hardly make out her face. Her chest rose and sank.

He was sweating, felt a drop run down his face and it was as if he couldn’t get enough air. He drew a deep breath.

“You want to,” she filled in with the self-confidence in her voice that he knew so well from the office, but that now stood out in such contrast to her delicate body that he had to look closely at her. She is two people in one, he thought.

“Maybe,” he said.

“There is no one here to disturb us anymore,” she said and leaned against the wall.

He quickly pulled his hand back, turned around, tripped slightly on the sheets on the floor, and flew out of the door, ran down the stairs, and was greeted by the chill of the October night. He stopped and swore.

A cat ran off and disappeared between the bushes. He heard her call his name. He hesitated, stared into the thick vegetation, saw something between the bushes. He heard light steps and a voice calling him.

Then she stood there, a fairy-tale creature appearing out of the rose brambles, half naked, panting from her dash out of the house.

They looked at each other. They had known each other for eight years. She had never been more beautiful. The dark hair that framed the pale cheeks, the skin that glowed like ivory, the minimal panty, a little slip of cotton that made him think of whipped cream, the slender legs that were trembling with cold and arousal.

“I’m a virgin,” she whispered.

Stig Franklin came home right when Aktuellt, the news broadcast, started.

“I’m home,” he yelled.

His face in the hall mirror betrayed nothing of the events of the early evening. The worry he had felt in the car on the way home was gone. He had driven with the window down, letting the fresh air blow through the tension and slight nausea.

Now he was both hungry and thirsty and walked into the kitchen. A plate had been left out on the dining room table, also a dish with boiled potatoes and a pork chop with a congealed sauce. He opened the refrigerator and took out a Ruddles County, took a few sips, and sat down on a chair, smiled, and felt now for the first time how tired he was.

He heard the prime minister speaking on the television upstairs but could not tell what it was about. The voice of the reporter was heard from time to time. It was that woman he had never been able to stand.

“You’re drinking strong beer?”

Jessica had come downstairs without him noticing.

“I was thirsty,” he said, and smiled and gripped the bottle as if he was afraid she would take it away from him.

“How was it? It took a long time.”

“She wanted to talk.”

“About B-One, of course. I knew it. What did she say?”

“It wasn’t that. She’s not doing so well.”

“No, anyone can see that. She didn’t talk about the deal then?”

“No, I said.”

“Then what did she want?”

“Nothing in particular. She just wanted to talk. She’s lonely.”

“Living with her father in that haunted house all those years would have broken anyone down. Has she never gotten herself a man?”

“I don’t know,” he said and drank the last of the bottle. “She doesn’t reveal much.”

“If she didn’t talk about work, and doesn’t reveal anything, then what did you talk about?”

“All kinds of things. Her house, that it’s a lot of work. She’s apparently cleaning up after her father. There was junk everywhere.”

Jessica sat down across from her husband. He wanted to have another beer but hesitated. Jessica was a teetotaler.

“She has a crush on you,” she said.

“On me! Never. I’m not her type.”

“Then you’re blind,” Jessica said and stood up. “She hates me at any rate.”

“Now I think you’re exaggerating. She’s just a little jealous of you when you do well.”

Jessica let out a harrumph, left the kitchen, and went to the bathroom. Stig immediately got up and took out another bottle of beer.

The beer did him good. On an empty stomach the rush came quickly. He snapped up a potato and ate it with the skin still on, picked up the pork chop and took a bite. He felt strong in an unfamiliar way. Jessica was bustling in the bathroom. He assumed she was preparing herself for the night and getting ready to spend a few hours in bed with a book. As for him, he wanted to stay at the kitchen table and feel strong, in some way outside his normal life, together with a beer, potato, and a pork chop that tasted heavenly.

“Is there anything on TV?” he yelled, mostly to have something to say.

She didn’t reply, perhaps she couldn’t hear. He got the idea that they should watch a porn film. He had bought a videocassette but the first and so far only time they watched it together was a complete disaster. It made him horny but it only made Jessica mad.

She came out of the bathroom and looked questioningly at the second bottle.

“Tomorrow’s a workday,” she said.

He stood up hastily, but sank just as quickly back onto the chair.There probably won’t be a porn film tonight, he thought. It’s a workday tomorrow.

Jessica disappeared into the bedroom. Stig remained where he was.

“I’m a virgin,” he said quietly and found himself getting aroused as he said it.

Laura was a beautiful woman, but crazy, he had understood that much during the course of the evening. For a while he had even become scared of her. It was unlikely that she was a virgin. What kind of life had she lived anyway?

There was something alluring about her. As if she was a figure from a novel living in a house of horrors, surrounded by the wild and unkempt garden. The chaotic mess in the rooms bore witness to a life in disarray. Or had she only started to live like this now that her father had disappeared?

He had worked together with Laura for many years but had never really gotten to know her. She had always been an isolated and complicated person but it was only this evening that he had seen the extent of her problems. There was little to find fault with regarding her work, of course, quite the opposite, in fact. During their low period a few years ago Laura was the one who had contributed the enthusiasm and creativity.

He regretted the fact that he had followed her in, but at the same time it pleased him that he had seen and experienced something beyond the everyday, as if he had taken a step into the land of insanity and returned. The dark side was frightening but also tempting. He was making a guest appearance. Now he was back in his clean and well-ordered kitchen, lit up by an attractive lamp, cherry cabinets, and gleaming white appliances.

Laura’s kitchen was the complete opposite: an interior from the fifties, as he remembered the kitchen from his childhood, dirty and dark, with a smell that was reminiscent of corruption and stagnation.

He thought about her body. Above all it was the delicate whiteness that he remembered, as if Laura was made of the finest china, light in his hands, pleasing to drink from but nothing to take out every day. She would shatter like a fragile, translucent cup if used too often.

He chuckled and took a sip of beer.

“What’s so funny?” Jessica asked from the bedroom.

“Nothing,” he said.

He felt found out, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t said anything. He felt as if Jessica had seen through him and his thoughts, and it put him in a bad mood. She bothered him. Because what he had gone through was something extraordinary that required thought. He wanted to linger in the feeling of unreality and exclusivity. Laura was no casual hotel-room conquest, but rather a rare experience of a mysterious and original liquid that dissipated in his hands. At the same time as he touched Laura she moved, gliding away with a smile he had never before seen in a woman. He had for a few hours been transported to a human sanctuary of intimacy, a moment of magic.

Now he was going to shower and crawl into bed with his wife.