The Fire Witness

61

Elin Frank gets out of the gym shower and crosses the polished stone floor to the large mirror over the double washbasins. She dries off with a warm towel. Before the shower, she spent some time in the sauna and her skin is still hot and damp as she pulls on the black kimono Jack gave her the year they separated.

She leaves the bathroom and walks over the white parquet floor past all the pale rooms to her bedroom, where she’s already laid out a copper-colored dress from Karen Millen and golden panties from Dolce & Gabbana. She hangs up the kimono, perfumes herself with La Perla, and waits a moment before putting on her clothes.

When she reaches the large salon, she sees Robert quickly hide the telephone behind his back. Worry sweeps through her, landing like a black stone in her gut.

“What’s going on?”

Robert’s boyish, striped T-shirt has pulled free from his white jeans. His round stomach is visible. He shouldn’t have a little stomach.

“The photographer from French Vogue is ten minutes late,” he says, but he avoids her gaze.

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the newspapers,” Elin says, trying to keep her voice light. “Do you know if the police have found Vicky yet?” For the past two days, she hasn’t dared listen to the news or read the paper. Both nights she’s taken a sleeping pill at ten p.m. and another at three just to get some rest. “Have you heard anything?”

Robert scratches his head.

“Elin, I really don’t want to upset you.”

“I’m not upset, but-”

“No one can connect you to any of this.”

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping an eye on the situation,” Elin says, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You’re not a part of any of this,” he says stubbornly.

Elin smiles at him coolly. “Do I have to get angry with you?”

Robert shakes his head and tucks his T-shirt in.

“I caught the end of the news as I was driving over,” he says. “Apparently they’ve found the car in the river. I think they were searching with divers.”

Elin quickly turns her face away. Her lips are trembling and her heart is beating so hard she feels it will break.

“It doesn’t sound good,” she says in an empty voice.

“Would you like me to turn on the television?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” she whispers.

“It’ll be sad, of course, if they’ve drowned.”

“Don’t be so blasé,” Elin says.

She has to swallow but her throat hurts.