Chapter Eighteen
The city had woken up dusted white. Snow was falling; fat, dry flakes of the sort that stayed perched on her nose for a few moments before body heat worked its magic.
Body heat.
Aksel’s flat had been cold and for most of the night she had slept curled around him. The big spoon. At least he slept hot, a heat stone under the duvet.
She had woken before him this morning – roused by a headache that was only getting worse – and she’d left before he could even turn over. She figured a discreet exit would be a mercy for them both after last night.
It was almost half eight; too late to get back to the apartment to change, but she didn’t think Viggo would notice, or even care, that she was in yesterday’s clothes. She just needed fresh air, some coffee and toast and a painkiller to shift this hangover.
She walked up the steps to the gallery with a heavy tread. The lights were on, the reception staff already setting up the tills with fresh rolls of receipt paper and readjusting their stool heights as they chatted.
‘Good morning,’ Darcy smiled wanly, a familiar face now as she stamped her feet lightly on the mat and unbuttoned her coat.
‘Heavens, it is snowing hard now!’ one of the ladies said, her gaze falling to Darcy’s hair. Darcy glanced down and saw it was thick with flakes.
‘Oh yes.’ She hadn’t really noticed, walking through the parks blindly, lost in her thoughts. ‘I guess it is...’
‘You must be perished! You’re white as a sheet.’
‘Oh...I’m okay...’ she protested feebly. Nothing Viggo’s hourly coffees couldn’t fix. ‘Have a good day.’ She walked across the reception area, looking down and reaching for her pass in her bag, so that she didn’t notice the door was already opening –
She fell back as it swung towards her, almost hitting her. ‘Oh!’
It missed her by millimetres and she saw Max on the other side, looking just as startled. ‘Darcy!’
She swallowed, the events of yesterday coming back in a rush. Of all the people to have to see, this morning of all mornings.
‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘Evidently.’ She looked away, catching sight of the tips of his leather-soled shoes: beautifully polished. No scuffs, no cracks. As the shoe, so the man. ‘I take it you’ve just had your daily briefing on what work I got up to yesterday afternoon?’ she asked coldly, making no attempt to hide the hostility in her voice or the hardness in her eyes.
A moment pulsed as he read the situation between them now. Not colleagues. Not friends. Certainly no possibility of something more...Had he really thought that carousel was going to stop her from hating him for what he’d done?
She was in no fit state for a conversation, much less an argument, and she went to move around him. He stepped aside to allow her to pass, his gaze fixing upon her pale cheeks, then travelling down the length of her.
‘Nice top,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The colour suits you.’
Darcy’s head whipped back at the echo of yesterday’s words. She knew exactly what he was saying – what he knew – and her cheeks burned as he stared at her in silence for several long, drawn-out moments. But his look wasn’t cold. It was hot. A roiling boil.
He was angry.
She watched him walk away without another word. A bad start to both their days.
Freja was already at their favourite table by the time Darcy barrelled up for the late lunch. As ever, the place was packed, the hanging rail at the top of the stairs laden with coats, windows steamed from hot chocolates and non-stop conversation. There was no ‘quiet’ time at Paludan cafe – breakfast service merged seamlessly into brunch, lunch and mid-afternoon tea, students congregating at every hour for much-needed caffeine and carbs. Darcy was grateful to be back on university turf, away from the reach of the Madsens.
The snow was falling heavily now and small puddles of water collected on the strip wood floor where coats were shrugged over chairbacks.
‘I already ordered chilli for us,’ Freja said, as Darcy hugged her and took her seat opposite.
‘Thanks. I am ravenous .’
‘Hangover?’
‘Of course.’
‘Another good date, then?’
‘We went to Bar Poldo. Know it?’
‘Sure,’ Freja nodded. ‘Buzzy there. Good olives.’
‘Yeah, exactly. The olives were good,’ Darcy agreed a little too enthusiastically.
Bu Freja wasn’t interested in the snacks. ‘And?’ she asked, cutting to the chase. ‘Did you seal the deal?’
‘We went back to his, if that’s what you mean,’ Darcy hedged.
‘How was it?’ Freja’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Don’t tell me...after all that playing coy, he’s an absolute animal between the sheets!’
Darcy bit her lip. ‘If by animal, you mean a sloth hit by a tranquilizer dart, then yes.’
‘...Huh?’
Darcy looked around furtively, to make sure no one was listening. ‘Let’s just say the mind was willing, but...’ she whispered, raising an eyebrow.
‘The flesh was weak?’ Freja gasped.
‘We drank way too much,’ she shrugged. ‘And then he basically passed out.’
Freja gave a slow blink. ‘Please tell me that’s a joke?’
‘The only joke around here is my love life, Frey.’
There was a long pause. ‘This is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘I know. I’m destined to spend Christmas alone – if not, in fact, my life.’
‘Stop,’ Freja admonished. ‘I’ll not tolerate despondency. For as long as there is breath in our bodies and padding in our bras, there’s always hope...He didn’t bill you this time, did he?’
It had clearly been intended as a joke but Freja caught sight of her expression. ‘Fuck off! He didn’t do it again?’ she gasped.
‘Oh, but he did.’ Darcy felt a laugh begin to bubble up inside her. It was so ridiculous it was funny. She had hardly been able to believe it when the invoice had come through as Viggo was handing her the first of her many daily coffees. ‘But get this – he’d had a bottle to himself before I even got there and he billed me for that too!’
‘The cheek!’ Freja screeched. ‘I hope you didn’t pay it?’
‘Ugh, I couldn’t be bothered not to. He was so wasted, I don’t think he even remembers who had what.’
‘Does he remember...?’ She pulled a face.
‘Not sure. I left before he woke up and he hasn’t texted me yet. I don’t know if he’s annoyed that I snuck out, or if he’s embarrassed?’ She shrugged.
‘I don’t understand why he’s so sneaky about it? Why not split the bill like any normal person?’
Darcy shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but now it’s like this...weird thing. It’s the pattern he’s established between us. He invoices me, I pay without quarrel, and neither one of us ever mentions it.’
‘It’s a taboo ,’ Freja whispered.
‘It is. The last taboo,’ Darcy agreed, giggling. ‘So I’m afraid that’s the end of your great experiment. The Christmas deal is off. I’ve had three strikes, I’m out.’
‘No! Really?’
‘Of course. Erik went out for a duck.’
‘And Max—’
Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t get me started on him.’
‘I’d rather not – but from your stricken look, I’m suspecting something else has happened? What’s he done now?’
‘What hasn’t he done? Just this morning, he called me out on my walk of shame. As if he can talk!’
‘I hope you didn’t tell him you were shame-less?’
‘Of course not.’ Darcy gave a satisfied smile. ‘He looked really pissed about it.’
‘So it bothered him, then?’
‘Such is his ego, he can’t imagine that what’s good for the gander is also good for the goose.’
The waitress came over with their lunch and they both allowed the hot steam to warm their faces for a moment.
‘Anyway, he’ll be in my rear-view mirror soon enough. I’ve had a breakthrough on the portrait.’
‘No!’ Freja gasped.
‘Yep. We’ve got a name so I can work at pace now, and the sooner I’m done, the sooner I never have to see his face again.’
‘Well hooray to that!’ Freja said, toasting her with a forkful of chilli. ‘...So who is she, our mystery lady?’
‘She’s the wife of the younger Madsen brother.’
‘Oh.’ Freja’s face fell. ‘After all that? She turns out to be just another Madsen?’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean, although if there’s one thing she seemingly isn’t, it’s boring. I’ve been going through the family archives since yesterday afternoon and that woman may have been rich, but lucky she was not.’
‘No?’
‘She doesn’t warrant her own file because she only married into the family with the “spare” son. He was the black sheep, so they’re trying to play down his existence – although he seemingly did them a favour by dying young.’
Freja frowned. ‘Harsh. What was so terrible about him?’
‘You’ve heard of the goulash barons?’
‘Sure. The Edwardian version of the brokers who shorted 9/11. Profit from tragedy.’
‘Well, he was one of those.’
‘Okay. Morally questionable, sure – but talk about pot-kettle-black. That’s nothing compared to what his old man did!’ Freja said, her mouth full. ‘He was by far the worst of the bunch.’
‘What do you mean? Bertram Madsen was a Nobel Prize nominee.’
‘Absolutely he was. A brilliant scientist. His fertilizer helped farmers produce more crops and feed millions of people; he was shortlisted for the Nobel Prize for Chemistry – in 1912, I think it was – on the back of it. That’s what made his name . But not his money . Not the serious money. That only came when he “diversified”’ – Freja made sarcastic speech marks with her fingers – ‘during the war.’
‘Diversified how?’
‘His chemical engineering company produced the poison gases that were used for military deployment.’
Darcy’s mouth dropped open. ‘You mean – mustard gas?’
‘Yes. And ammonia, chlorine and bromine gas too.’
Darcy stared at her. ‘How do you know this?’
Freja rolled her eyes. ‘Darce, I’m a scientist. This is my world. Old Bertram Madsen was the godfather of chemical warfare.’
Darcy stared at her in astonishment. ‘So why doesn’t anyone else know this?’
‘They do,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s not a secret per se. I know it; science geeks know it; it’s just that the world has moved on. Joe Public doesn’t care any more about who exactly did what. They whitewashed their reputation, made themselves into a brand. When people hear the Madsen name now, they associate it with a famous art collection, a gallery in the capital, a wing in a kids’ hospital, a chemistry building at the university...not trench warfare in the Somme.’
‘Right,’ Darcy mused, taking all this in and remembering Helle Foss’s evident disdain for Casper.
‘Anyway, you were saying...’ Freja prompted her bossily. ‘Our tragic heroine. Tell me more about her. Why so sad?’
‘Oh, well I think she was abandoned with the Madsens during the Great War, when she was a young girl. She was a friend of the little sister, Lotte. There are various photos of them together and from reading Lotte’s diary, it seems Lilja’s parents and the Madsens were all friends. According to the marriage certificate, her maiden name was Von Braun, which is German, and I think her parents moved back there to support the Kaiser after the outbreak of war. I’ve managed to find one reference to some Von Brauns – in a court circular – who were part of the Kaiser’s circle.’
‘Von Braun is a High German name,’ Freja nodded. ‘Von tends to indicate the aristocracy.’
‘Right, well, if those same Von Brauns are Lilja’s parents, then they ended up on the wrong side when the war was over and were imprisoned. Lilja was left over here with the Madsens. From what I can gather, she never saw her parents again and went on to marry the younger brother.’ She paused. ‘Note, I said young er brother, not young brother.’
Freja looked up.
‘Your sixteen-year age gap with Tristan doesn’t seem so bad, seeing as you met him when you were twenty-six. But our girl was...wait for it... fourteen when she was married off to a guy sixteen years her senior.’
Freja’s fork clattered into her bowl. ‘That’s gross! You can’t tell me it’s not.’
‘I have no intention of it – but Viggo says it wasn’t that unusual for the time. Apparently, twelve was the age of consent here until 1971! He reckons it was an arranged marriage. You know, the merging of fortunes; maybe some lingering feeling of guardianship, the Madsens owing it to her parents to see her looked after and giving her their younger son?’
‘But a fourteen-year-old girl and a thirty-year-old man?’ Freja winced.
‘Could you imagine being with Tristan back then?’
Freja pulled a face. ‘Please don’t.’
Darcy shrugged and they ate in companionable silence for a few moments. ‘Are you seeing him tonight?’
‘Not tonight. I’ve got to pack.’ She looked up with a wink. ‘He’s taking me to Amsterdam for the weekend.’
‘Ugh, he’s not!’ Darcy groaned, sitting back in her seat in protest. ‘You kept that quiet!’
‘He only told me yesterday. He wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘...Can’t I third-wheel?’ She pressed her hands together in a prayer pose. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Amsterdam.’
‘I haven’t told you the best part yet.’
‘There’s more?’ Darcy tried not to wail.
‘He also gave me his credit card and told me to buy a dress. Like, a really special dress.’
‘Freja,’ Darcy objected. ‘We are modern women. We don’t take men’s credit cards and go dress shopping with them! This isn’t Pretty Woman . We’re not—’
‘He told me to go to Valentino.’
Darcy’s jaw dropped. ‘...He said what now?’
‘There’s a big industry awards dinner next week and the lab is up for prizes in three categories. He wants me to be his date.’
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘So he wants you two to go public?’
‘Public. Official. In front of the whole company – go with him, sit beside him, the whole caboodle.’
‘ Fuck ,’ Darcy hissed.
‘I know.’ Freja’s eyes were wide.
‘Does your boss know? Like, your immediate boss?’
‘Not yet.’ Freja pulled a nervous face. ‘We’ve been so careful about keeping it quiet but Tristan says it’s time to stop hiding.’
Darcy looked at her with concern. ‘Freja, I know this all sounds exciting, but you’ve only been together a few weeks.’
‘Almost six.’
‘Okay, yes, exactly. That’s a big bloody statement to make in front of the entire company, especially when you’re there on a placement. It will complicate things with your manager. Why rush into this?’
Freja shot her a sheepish look. ‘Because it’s not actually as rushed as you think...There were mutual feelings for a while before anything happened between us.’
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Define a while.’
‘Since the first day I got there.’
‘In September?’ Darcy was shocked. ‘But you never said anything.’
‘Of course not! He was the top dog, and I just figured it was a crush. I never for a minute thought anything would happen between us –’ she leaned in closer, dropping her voice – ‘but any time I would see him, my body would go into full blue light mode – sirens in my head, lights flashing. I could hardly breathe in his presence, Darce.’
‘Please do. I prefer my friends breathing.’
‘Then when we first got it on at the conference, I still just assumed it’d be a fling. I figured I’d just enjoy it for whatever it was. You know me.’
‘I certainly do,’ Darcy nodded.
‘But the thing is...it’s not a fling. I actually think this is the real deal.’ Freja looked nervous as she spoke, as if she was admitting to a dirty secret. ‘He’s the one, Darce.’
‘Stop that Hallmark talk!’ Darcy scoffed. ‘There’s no such thing as The One. You told me you can have plenty of Ones.’
But Freja looked at her pityingly. ‘It’s true what they say: when you know, you know. The body knows. It always knows. This –’ she pointed to her heart – ‘knew long before this did.’ She pointed to her head.
‘It’s called lust. It’ll pass.’
‘Darce, you know me. I’m a scientist. I’m a logical person. I live by rules and metrics. I’m not “that girl”. And yet...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘And yet, now everything is puppies and poems?’
Freja grinned. ‘Exactly. Shoot me already.’
‘I fully intend to,’ Darcy muttered, eating her chilli with appetite. ‘...Well, just so long as you don’t want me to be happy for you both.’
Freja laughed. ‘I’m worried your heartbreak and celibacy are going to kill my vibe! We could always hit up another three guys on Raya for you?’
‘No!’ Darcy said quickly. ‘Uh-uh. I’m far too busy now, and this first trio have caused me quite enough drama already.’
‘True...I still can’t believe you struck out on all three.’
‘Thanks!’ Darcy gave a sarcastic thumbs-up. ‘So, the dress, then – did you get one?’
‘You better believe I did. I was in the changing rooms before he could say -lentino .’ Freja gave an excited squeal.
‘Describe.’
‘Long. Red silk. Tight. It sort of drapes a bit at the front and drops off on one shoulder.’
‘So...quiet and discreet, then? No one will notice you in that.’
‘If I’m going to have a Valentino dress, it may as well be a Fuck-Off Valentino dress. I’ll probably never have another one for the rest of my life.’
‘Well, unless you marry the g—’ Darcy looked up before she finished the sentence and met Freja’s gaze. ‘...Oh God, you don’t think...?...Amsterdam?’
Freja’s mouth had fallen open. ‘...No.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘...No...I mean...he wouldn’t...Would he...?’
‘He might,’ Darcy breathed. ‘He is old, remember.’
Freja lobbed a kidney bean at her.
‘Has he said anything else to get your radar going?’
‘No...I don’t think so?...But it’s not like I’ve been making notes.’
‘Okay so, then...he probably won’t,’ Darcy shrugged. ‘We’re worrying about nothing. Getting ahead of ourselves. It’s just a lovely dirty weekend away. A city break.’
‘...Yeah,’ Freja murmured, staring into her chilli bowl, but seemingly forgetting how to eat.