lodger had seen me dancing withBjørn, the caretaker, and that’s not how I behave when I am sober. Besides, I’d foisted aquavit on him without any rye bread and pickled herring. I decided not to comment. I had no desire to argue with Abby, yet her disdain was palpable.
Although I was looking down at my plate, I couldn’t avoid noticing the glances across the table. Not every single one, only the prolonged ones. ‘Do you two know each other?’ I asked, putting down my knife and fork.
‘No. Do we look as if we do?’ Abby replied. She almost sparkled.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact you do.’ I said. The lodger must have been quite a lot older than her. How much older I couldn’t say; I was rubbish at guessing people’s ages. Anyway, schoolchildren now drove cars and I had a teenager for a bank manager. Pensioners turned out to be my peers. ‘What are you actually doing at the museum?’
‘Looking at old photographs of the area for my next book,’ the lodger said. ‘Oh, hell! The bloody dog!’
‘Is the dog still at Brandt’s? Why hasn’t his sister come to collect it?’
‘She’s in the Canary Islands. Thanks for the dinner. I’m sorry to rush off, but I really must take it for a walk. I only came to tell you about Brandt going missing.’
‘Can I come?’ said Abby. ‘I love dogs! What sort is it?’
I remained seated. ‘Will you be coming back?’ I called after her. ‘Will you be staying the night?’ It didn’t really matter. I could leave the door on the latch. I wanted to sleep. I felt too exhausted for the Grand Reconciliation. I no longer had the energy to contemplate how that might happen. Perhaps we had already reconciled without my noticing.
26
I feel so poverty-stricken when I see others full of emotional élan.
Karin Michaëlis, ELSIE LINDTNER
Early the next morning, I grabbed my umbrella and walked over to the churchyard. I had woken up with a headache and what I could only call a guilty conscience. I hadn’t visited Halland’s grave since Friday evening. Was that awful of me? I felt as if I had neglected him but I suspect he wouldn’t have cared less. It was earlier than I thought, not properly light yet and rather chilly, and the square retained its night-time appearance. The churchyard seemed much quieter than usual, which made my own noise all the more conspicuous. Shadows flitted between the headstones . I wasn’t afraid, though I found myself wondering about ghosts. Or was it just the mist? The flowers still lay on Halland’s grave, but they had clearly been disturbed, scraped aside at one edge, to expose bare soil. I dutifully contemplated the grave and realized I wouldn’t come again. Halland wasn’t here. He wasn’t even missing, because he had never been here when he was alive. I followed the fjord out of the town, then walked back up to the high street and across the square.
Inger opened her window as I approached the house. Leaning out, she wished me good morning. She approved of my visit to Halland’s grave.
‘I saw ghosts…’ I said.
Her look shifted to match the one people usually adopted when they took what I said literally.
‘There were ghosts flitting about. And someone had disturbed the flowers.’
Inger looked relieved. ‘That’ll be deer. Don’t you remember how they wanted them shot last year? Peter Olsen made such a fuss when they wouldn’t let them.’ Her expression became distant. We stared at each other.
‘Aha,’ I said.
‘What do you mean, “aha”?’
‘Can no one in this town put two and two together?’
‘The thought only just occurred to me.’
‘What was his name again?’
‘Peter Olsen. He’s on the Parish Council, or he was. I don’t think he is any more.’
‘Has he got a hunting licence?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Would the pastor?’
Inger clutched at her dressing gown and made to close her window. ‘For all we know, the police may already have been informed.’
Abby clattered around
Although I was looking down at my plate, I couldn’t avoid noticing the glances across the table. Not every single one, only the prolonged ones. ‘Do you two know each other?’ I asked, putting down my knife and fork.
‘No. Do we look as if we do?’ Abby replied. She almost sparkled.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact you do.’ I said. The lodger must have been quite a lot older than her. How much older I couldn’t say; I was rubbish at guessing people’s ages. Anyway, schoolchildren now drove cars and I had a teenager for a bank manager. Pensioners turned out to be my peers. ‘What are you actually doing at the museum?’
‘Looking at old photographs of the area for my next book,’ the lodger said. ‘Oh, hell! The bloody dog!’
‘Is the dog still at Brandt’s? Why hasn’t his sister come to collect it?’
‘She’s in the Canary Islands. Thanks for the dinner. I’m sorry to rush off, but I really must take it for a walk. I only came to tell you about Brandt going missing.’
‘Can I come?’ said Abby. ‘I love dogs! What sort is it?’
I remained seated. ‘Will you be coming back?’ I called after her. ‘Will you be staying the night?’ It didn’t really matter. I could leave the door on the latch. I wanted to sleep. I felt too exhausted for the Grand Reconciliation. I no longer had the energy to contemplate how that might happen. Perhaps we had already reconciled without my noticing.
26
I feel so poverty-stricken when I see others full of emotional élan.
Karin Michaëlis, ELSIE LINDTNER
Early the next morning, I grabbed my umbrella and walked over to the churchyard. I had woken up with a headache and what I could only call a guilty conscience. I hadn’t visited Halland’s grave since Friday evening. Was that awful of me? I felt as if I had neglected him but I suspect he wouldn’t have cared less. It was earlier than I thought, not properly light yet and rather chilly, and the square retained its night-time appearance. The churchyard seemed much quieter than usual, which made my own noise all the more conspicuous. Shadows flitted between the headstones . I wasn’t afraid, though I found myself wondering about ghosts. Or was it just the mist? The flowers still lay on Halland’s grave, but they had clearly been disturbed, scraped aside at one edge, to expose bare soil. I dutifully contemplated the grave and realized I wouldn’t come again. Halland wasn’t here. He wasn’t even missing, because he had never been here when he was alive. I followed the fjord out of the town, then walked back up to the high street and across the square.
Inger opened her window as I approached the house. Leaning out, she wished me good morning. She approved of my visit to Halland’s grave.
‘I saw ghosts…’ I said.
Her look shifted to match the one people usually adopted when they took what I said literally.
‘There were ghosts flitting about. And someone had disturbed the flowers.’
Inger looked relieved. ‘That’ll be deer. Don’t you remember how they wanted them shot last year? Peter Olsen made such a fuss when they wouldn’t let them.’ Her expression became distant. We stared at each other.
‘Aha,’ I said.
‘What do you mean, “aha”?’
‘Can no one in this town put two and two together?’
‘The thought only just occurred to me.’
‘What was his name again?’
‘Peter Olsen. He’s on the Parish Council, or he was. I don’t think he is any more.’
‘Has he got a hunting licence?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Would the pastor?’
Inger clutched at her dressing gown and made to close her window. ‘For all we know, the police may already have been informed.’
Abby clattered around
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