Chapter 11
Hanna leans back in the armchair and smiles at Henry. Dinner was fantastic, there is no other word for it. It consisted of a mixture of Norwegian and Swedish ingredients, fish to start and then fillet of reindeer, all prepared with mountain delicacies and a Norrland touch.
The taste of lingonberries and fir cones lingers on her tongue as she looks over toward the other end of the room, where the chef is busy preparing something on a wide kitchen island that also acts as a room divider.
Shining copper lamps are suspended above the island, and a dark stone wall looms up behind the chef.
It is almost as if the restaurant has been hewn straight out of the granite.
Hanna sighs with pleasure.
Only now does it strike her that they are alone in the restaurant. It is eight thirty in the evening, so surely other guests should be hungry by now?
“Where’s everyone else?” she asks Henry. He has just finished mopping up the last of the delicate sauce with a piece of bread. “I haven’t seen a single person since we arrived, apart from the staff,” Hanna adds.
Henry’s mouth is full. He didn’t bother to shave this morning, and his cheeks are covered in gray stubble.
On many men that would be aging, but in Henry’s case it simply makes him more attractive.
Hanna rarely thinks about the twenty-year gap between them, although it did occasionally cross her mind in the early days of their relationship.
“There’s only us here this weekend,” Henry replies, as if this were obvious.
Hanna puts down her glass of red wine, tries to get her head around what he has just said.
“What do you mean?”
“There are no other guests.”
Hanna still doesn’t understand. Surely they can’t be all alone in the hotel? She has secretly googled Niehku, realized that it is a much-sought-after destination and that it is hard to get a room. They have been open for only a few years, but they have already won several international awards.
Niehku means “dream” in the Northern Sámi language, and being here does indeed feel kind of dreamlike.
“They’re actually closed in January and February because it’s too dark and cold to run the hotel at this time of year,” Henry explains. “They don’t usually open until the first weekend in March.”
“But we got rooms?”
“It took a little persuasion,” Henry says with a smile. “But isn’t it wonderful, having the place to ourselves?”
Hanna stares at him as the realization slowly dawns.
“You got the hotel to open over a month early just for us? Seriously?”
Henry raises his glass in a toast. The wine is a Bordeaux, Hanna dare not even guess at the price, but it is unlikely to be less than three thousand kronor a bottle. She has a pretty good idea from her time as a bartender in Barcelona.
Henry is a real connoisseur. He always says that life is too short to deny oneself good food and wine.
He waves a dismissive hand.
“You make it sound so dramatic. It’s not as if I got the hotel owner in an armlock. I simply asked if it would be possible to book us in for this weekend, even though the place is closed to the general public.”
“So you called and said, ‘Hi, please could you open the whole place just for me and my girlfriend?’”
“It wasn’t quite like that.” He winks at her.
Hanna can imagine what happened. No doubt he had one of his assistants take care of the matter—he has several.
Highly driven young men and women with master’s degrees from the Stockholm School of Economics who fight to work for him, because the position is regarded as a prestigious springboard for a career in finance.
She sinks back in her chair again.
Being with a man like Henry is like visiting a land of make-believe, a kingdom she didn’t even know existed. Everything is possible as long as you’re prepared to pay for it.
Their conversation is interrupted as the chef approaches their table. He is carrying an elegant cake, topped with perfect chocolate roses and lit sparklers.
Suddenly they are surrounded by the staff, who burst into song. The Swedish version of “Happy Birthday to You” echoes around the room. Then a sommelier appears with a bottle of Dom Pérignon in one hand and two champagne flutes in the other.
“Wow,” Hanna says when the champagne has been poured and they have each been served with a slice of cake. “You’re spoiling me. This isn’t quite what I imagined when you said the two of us should go away together.”
Henry puts down his fork.
“I wanted to surprise you with something special. You’re always working. Now that I’ve got you to myself for a few days at long last, I couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity.”
This is one of the things they can’t agree on—Hanna’s working hours. Or rather, her ability to become completely absorbed by her job.
They have a long-distance relationship, and Henry thinks she should visit him in Stockholm more often, but Hanna doesn’t like traveling to the capital, and often uses work as an excuse.
Which means that more often than not, he comes to her.
In a way it is easier to spend time with Henry on her home turf. In Stockholm she is constantly reminded of his status, and the circles in which he moves.
How well known he is.
In ?re she can think of him as an ordinary person, and she can also avoid having anything to do with his upper-class friends and acquaintances.
She has yet to meet his three grown-up sons—this is something she has actively tried to steer clear of, maybe because she doesn’t want to admit to either Henry or herself that they are a couple.
Or that she is only five years older than his firstborn son.
Suddenly she notices a square, flat package in front of her on the table.
“Happy birthday.”
The thick, shiny gift wrap and the pretty ribbon tied in a perfect bow suggest that the contents are high end to say the least.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Henry sounds like an expectant child; she can’t help smiling at his infectious enthusiasm.
“Absolutely.”
She pulls the package toward her and fumbles with the ribbon. A red velvet box reveals itself, engraved with the characteristic C. C for Cartier. It must have cost a fortune, whatever it is.
She places her fingers on the box, can’t quite bring herself to open it yet.
It’s too much, everything is too much. She doesn’t know how to react to this kind of excess.
They have had a wonderful day together, flown over the mountains in a private helicopter until the pilot gently set them down on a mountaintop amid virgin snow.
After a few hours of superb skiing, which beat most of Hanna’s experiences so far, their guide was ready with a gourmet meal, complete with champagne, on a sun-drenched plateau with a view of the Norwegian peaks that went on for miles.
And now an extravagant gift.
Whatever it is, no doubt the price tag represents several months’ salary for Hanna and her colleagues.
Daniel would never give her something by Cartier. He can’t afford it; plus he doesn’t even like jewelry.
The thought pops up and immediately disappears.
Don’t think about Daniel.
Inside the box she finds a slender bracelet in rose gold, resting on a velvet cushion. Next to it is a tiny screwdriver in the same color.
“It’s called a Love bracelet,” Henry explains, picking up the screwdriver. “Let me show you how it works.”
He opens the little lock and gently slides the bracelet over Hanna’s right hand. Then he clicks it shut.
“Don’t lose the tool,” he says, feigning gravity. “Because then you will never be able to take my present off again—you will have to wear it forever.”
The soft-rose-colored bracelet shimmers in the glow of the candles on the table. It is a perfectly designed circle, decorated with smaller circles with a narrow line in the center. Tiny diamonds complete the effect.
Hanna has never been given anything so beautiful.
Or so expensive.
“Do you like it?”
Hanna gives Henry a big smile.
“It’s fantastic. It’s just . . .”
She stares at the shiny piece of jewelry, trying to understand what it actually means. What he is trying to say with such a magnificent gesture.
And how is she ever going to be able to give him an equivalent gift?
“Too much?” Henry wonders, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist.
Say what you like about Henry, but he is never tone deaf or insensitive.
He is probably one of the most intelligent people Hanna has ever met.
It is partly why she enjoys his company so much.
He is excellent when it comes to understanding people; he hears what they are saying, picks up nuances and the slightest shift in the atmosphere around him.
He also has a big heart. He has devoted a great deal of time to his godson, Filip, over the past year, after the tragic events last Easter when Filip’s mother was brutally murdered.
This evening it is clear that Henry has made a huge effort, and the last thing Hanna wants to do is appear ungrateful.
“A little too much, maybe,” she admits. “It’s so beautiful.
But you do realize that when it’s your turn, it’ll be dinner at the local restaurant if you’re lucky, and possibly something from the craft store in ?re.
Whatever I come up with, it’s never going to match the way you’ve treated me this weekend. ”
“If you’re happy, that’s enough for me.”
Henry leans back and sips his champagne. “Besides, it is more blessed to give than to receive, according to the Bible.”
“Since when did you become a believer?”
Hanna laughs at her own riposte, and the atmosphere lightens. Then something changes in Henry’s face; he looks almost shy. He reaches for Hanna’s right hand and presses her palm to his lips.
“I have a question for you. We’ve been dating for nearly nine months now. And we’re both old enough to know what we want.”
Hanna smiles uncertainly. She doesn’t know where the past year has gone. She hasn’t given it much consideration, just taken each day as it came. Enjoyed Henry’s company, but rarely thought beyond their next meeting.
To be honest, she has enjoyed allowing herself this kind of escape from reality.
She hasn’t wanted to think about where their relationship might be going.
As soon as her mind has drifted in that direction she has ignored it, well aware of how complicated everything would get if she started planning for the future.
“Hanna,” Henry says, his gaze so intense that she can’t look away. “How about moving in with me?”