home again.”
“Home? You mean
this
home?”
Hardy nodded. Carl had never felt closer to shock-induced collapse.
Morten had to bring the whisky twice.
The night was sleepless, the morning weary and subdued.
Carl was a lot more tired by the time he eventually sat down behind his desk at the office than he had been when he went to bed the night before.
“Any word from Rose?” he inquired as Assad put down a plate in front of him, on which were assembled lumps of some indeterminate substance. Apparently, the man was trying to pep him up a bit.
“I called her last night, but she was out. That is what her sister told me.”
“You don’t say.” Carl wafted away his trusty old friend the fly and then endeavored to pick up one of the syrupy objects from his plate, only to find it surprisingly resistant. “Did this sister of hers say if she would be in today?”
“The sister, Yrsa, will come, but not Rose. Rose has gone away.”
“What? Where’s she gone? Her sister’s coming, you say? Are you winding me up, Assad?” He extracted his fingers from the sticky fly trap on his plate. It felt like he lost skin in the process.
“Yrsa said Rose sometimes goes away for a day or two, but that we should not worry. Rose will return like she always does. This is what Yrsa told me. And in the meantime, Yrsa will come and look after Rose’s job. They cannot afford to lose the money. This is what she said.”
Carl tossed his head back. “You’re kidding? So full-time employees can just swan off whenever it takes their fancy, eh? Not bad, is it? Rose must have lost her marbles.” He would make sure to tell her as much in no uncertain terms as soon as she got back. “And this Yrsa! She won’t get past the desk upstairs, not if I can help it.”
“Oh, but I have already sorted this with the duty officer and Lars Bjørn, Carl. It’s no problem. Lars Bjørn is not arsed, as long as her wages are still paid out to Rose. Yrsa is the temp while Rose is off sick. Bjørn is very happy we were able to find someone so quickly.”
“Not arsed, you say? And Rose is off sick?”
“This is what we call it, am I right?”
It was tantamount to mutiny.
Carl picked up the phone and pressed Lars Bjørn’s number.
“Hello, gorgeous,” said Lis’s voice on the other end.
What now?
“Hi, Lis. I’m trying to get through to Bjørn.”
“I know. I’m taking his calls. He’s in a meeting with Jacobsen and the commissioner about the staffing situation.”
“Can you put me through? I just need to speak to him for five seconds.”
“About Rose’s sister, you mean?”
The muscles in his face tensed up. “This wouldn’t by any chance have anything to do with you, would it?”
“Carl, you know I’m in charge of the temp lists.”
As a matter of fact, he didn’t.
“Are you telling me Bjørn gave the go-ahead for a temp to fill in for Rose, without asking me first?”
“Hey, take it easy!” she exclaimed in English, and snapped her fingers at the other end as though to wake him up from a stupor. “We’re short-staffed. Bjørn’s approving everything at the moment. You should see who we’ve got working in some of the other departments.”
Her laughter did nothing to alleviate his frustration.
K. Frandsen Wholesalers was a limited company with equity amounting to little more than two hundred and fifty thousand kroner but whose value was estimated to be in the region of sixteen million. In the last financial year, ending in September, its paper stocks alone were set at eight million, so at first blush the company hardly seemed to be in financial difficulties. The only problem was that the company’s clients were primarily weeklies and free newspapers, a sector that had taken a hammering during the current financial crisis. Which, as far as Carl could see, might well have impacted rather suddenly and with considerable force on K. Frandsen’s coffers.
This line of inquiry became all the more interesting when
“Home? You mean
this
home?”
Hardy nodded. Carl had never felt closer to shock-induced collapse.
Morten had to bring the whisky twice.
The night was sleepless, the morning weary and subdued.
Carl was a lot more tired by the time he eventually sat down behind his desk at the office than he had been when he went to bed the night before.
“Any word from Rose?” he inquired as Assad put down a plate in front of him, on which were assembled lumps of some indeterminate substance. Apparently, the man was trying to pep him up a bit.
“I called her last night, but she was out. That is what her sister told me.”
“You don’t say.” Carl wafted away his trusty old friend the fly and then endeavored to pick up one of the syrupy objects from his plate, only to find it surprisingly resistant. “Did this sister of hers say if she would be in today?”
“The sister, Yrsa, will come, but not Rose. Rose has gone away.”
“What? Where’s she gone? Her sister’s coming, you say? Are you winding me up, Assad?” He extracted his fingers from the sticky fly trap on his plate. It felt like he lost skin in the process.
“Yrsa said Rose sometimes goes away for a day or two, but that we should not worry. Rose will return like she always does. This is what Yrsa told me. And in the meantime, Yrsa will come and look after Rose’s job. They cannot afford to lose the money. This is what she said.”
Carl tossed his head back. “You’re kidding? So full-time employees can just swan off whenever it takes their fancy, eh? Not bad, is it? Rose must have lost her marbles.” He would make sure to tell her as much in no uncertain terms as soon as she got back. “And this Yrsa! She won’t get past the desk upstairs, not if I can help it.”
“Oh, but I have already sorted this with the duty officer and Lars Bjørn, Carl. It’s no problem. Lars Bjørn is not arsed, as long as her wages are still paid out to Rose. Yrsa is the temp while Rose is off sick. Bjørn is very happy we were able to find someone so quickly.”
“Not arsed, you say? And Rose is off sick?”
“This is what we call it, am I right?”
It was tantamount to mutiny.
Carl picked up the phone and pressed Lars Bjørn’s number.
“Hello, gorgeous,” said Lis’s voice on the other end.
What now?
“Hi, Lis. I’m trying to get through to Bjørn.”
“I know. I’m taking his calls. He’s in a meeting with Jacobsen and the commissioner about the staffing situation.”
“Can you put me through? I just need to speak to him for five seconds.”
“About Rose’s sister, you mean?”
The muscles in his face tensed up. “This wouldn’t by any chance have anything to do with you, would it?”
“Carl, you know I’m in charge of the temp lists.”
As a matter of fact, he didn’t.
“Are you telling me Bjørn gave the go-ahead for a temp to fill in for Rose, without asking me first?”
“Hey, take it easy!” she exclaimed in English, and snapped her fingers at the other end as though to wake him up from a stupor. “We’re short-staffed. Bjørn’s approving everything at the moment. You should see who we’ve got working in some of the other departments.”
Her laughter did nothing to alleviate his frustration.
K. Frandsen Wholesalers was a limited company with equity amounting to little more than two hundred and fifty thousand kroner but whose value was estimated to be in the region of sixteen million. In the last financial year, ending in September, its paper stocks alone were set at eight million, so at first blush the company hardly seemed to be in financial difficulties. The only problem was that the company’s clients were primarily weeklies and free newspapers, a sector that had taken a hammering during the current financial crisis. Which, as far as Carl could see, might well have impacted rather suddenly and with considerable force on K. Frandsen’s coffers.
This line of inquiry became all the more interesting when
Similar Books
