10
Slottsholmen was deserted, and the sea appeared as no more than a dark silhouette in the distance. Across the water the lights of the town sparkled, with Saint Gertrude’s church lit up like a stately crown jewel. Nora was strolling over to the hotel, where she was due to meet Tess and several friends. She took out her earbuds—she was listening to one of her favorite political podcasts—and listened to the sound of the wind whipping across the waters of Skeppsbrofj?rden.
The ruin of Stegeholm castle was no more than a shadow in the distance; the town’s music festival took place there every year. V?stervik was completely different in the summer: sunny, with offshore breezes that smelled of seaweed, burning sunsets, and a horizon that stretched for miles.
A few months ago, she and Bea and her other friends from high school had cycled down to the castle ruin with a picnic basket and blankets. It was the only fun thing Nora had done all summer, given that it was the patisserie’s busy season. But that evening had been magical, with the sound of guitars and beautiful voices, the evening sun on her face, a beer in her hand, and easygoing conversation. If there was one thing that could make her relax, it was the company of her friends. They did their best to be there for her—especially Bea—which included making their families, friends, and acquaintances shop at Nymans instead of some soulless coffee shop chain.
When Tess had suggested meeting up at Slottsholmen this evening, Nora had jumped at the chance to see her gang. A glass of wine with friends was exactly what she needed. After a quick shower, she had changed into black jeans and a white silk blouse, with big hoop earrings. She had blow-dried her hair, put on some mascara and a slick of red lipstick. She felt like a new person.
A gust of wind tugged at her scarf. She pushed her hands deep in her pockets and lowered her head against the weather as she ran the last few yards to the hotel entrance.
She walked into the warm lobby and made her way to the restaurant. The loud laughter made it easy to locate her friends. They were over in the corner, their table already crowded with plates and glasses of wine. Nora had had some leftover soup back at home. She hadn’t eaten out in ages, as she simply couldn’t afford it.
She joined the group, hugged everyone, and sank down in an empty chair.
“Chablis for you.” Tess handed her a glass.
“Just what I need.” Nora took a big gulp. It was crisp and ice-cold. Tess always chose delicious wines.
“We’ve ordered lots of food,” Bea informed her.
“It’s okay, I had something at home and ...”
“Just eat,” Maryam said, pushing a plate of Skagen toast toward her. “It’s on us.” Nora inhaled her perfume. She was the principal of a junior high school, but as soon as she left work for the day, she sprayed herself with the latest scent. Her collection was almost as impressive as Tess’s wine cellar.
“They have oysters,” Tess announced. She was the bon vivant of the group. Her impressive manor house had a pool and a fantastic sea view, as well as several stables and a huge wine cellar. When Nora needed to rest, she stayed over with Tess, enjoying the food, wine, and tranquility of her home. She had a feeling it would soon be time for another visit.
The waiter arrived with a tray of oysters on ice, and a bottle of Tabasco.
Nora couldn’t resist. She picked up an oyster, added a few drops of Tabasco, closed her eyes, and savored the saltiness and the heat.
When she had turned thirty a couple of years ago (God—almost three years ago!) the girls had surprised her with a weekend in London. It was late spring, warm and sunny. They drank beer in gastropubs, shopped for Marc Jacobs purses, accompanied Maryam to various perfumeries, and ate oysters in the sunshine at a bar on the Portobello Road. They ordered oysters with Tabasco whenever they got the chance, and even if the feeling wasn’t quite the same in late fall in Sweden, those flavors took her straight back to that wonderful weekend.
Then she took a bite of the Skagen toast, a heavenly crispy bread fried in butter, topped with creamy but fresh-tasting shrimp, crème fra?che, lemon, and dill. Followed by another sip of Chablis. She looked at her friends. “Thank you so much—I’ll repay you one day.”
They protested loudly.
“Forget it,” Bea said. “We know how hard you’ve been working lately—well, for the last few years—and you deserve a treat.”
What would she do without them?
“If anyone deserves a special night out for hard work, it’s you,” Nora said to Bea. “You haven’t exactly been taking it easy.” Bea had recently been promoted. “The only thing I don’t like about it is that you always have to put yourself at risk.”
“That’s because I’m a police officer.”
“I don’t know how you do it.” Nora shook her head. “I liked it so much better when you were pregnant with Svea and confined to desk duties.”
Bea laughed. “I nearly died of boredom—it definitely wasn’t my thing.” She looked at Nora, smiling but with a seriousness in her eyes. She had been there through every family loss Nora had suffered, and knew how much sorrow she carried within her. It wasn’t easy to be best friends with someone who was paranoid and overprotective, but Nora did her best not to show how anxious she was when Bea was working.
“Okay, we want to hear all about the TV show,” Tess said, leaning across the table. “What’s Henrik Eklund really like?” Her green eyes sparkled at the thought of him.
“Where do I start?” A purely rhetorical question. Nora took the wineglass that Tess had refilled, looked down into it as if the words might be swimming around in the ice-cold Chablis, which in a way they were, and took a generous sip. “Henrik Eklund is repulsive, every bit as vile as he is on TV.” Tess suddenly looked shocked; she seemed to be staring at something behind Nora.
“But good-looking?” Maryam asked. She was sitting next to Nora, who rolled her eyes.
“What’s with the but ? There’s no contradiction—good-looking men are usually smug shits, in my experience.”
Tess quickly shook her head, her red curls bobbing. She looked almost panic-stricken. What was her problem?
“What? Henrik Eklund is a smug shit,” Nora reiterated.
Now Bea was smiling at a point beyond Nora’s shoulder. The smile was broad and entirely insincere, and Tess was shaking her head again. What the hell was wrong with them?
“He’s awful, a real diva,” Nora continued blithely. “He showed up late this morning on the first day of filming. And he’s incompetent to boot.”
“Nora,” Bea said tentatively.
“What?” Nora spread her hands wide. “It’s true. He complained about my cheese rolls and the size of the cinnamon buns, just because he’s a raw-food-munching idiot.” She let out a snort. “I’d like to bet that he never even eats real bread.”
“Nora,” Bea said, louder this time, looking meaningly at Nora, then beyond her shoulder.
Nora heard someone clear their throat. Right behind her.
It couldn’t be . . . no . . . could it?
She turned around.
Yes indeed, His Highness Henrik Eklund was standing behind her.
He held up his hand. “I just came to say hello, but you seem to be busy explaining something. Don’t let me disturb you.” His tone was acerbic. Obviously he was going to be furious about this. And, Nora thought, who wouldn’t be?
“I ... I didn’t mean ... I was talking about ...” She fell silent. “I was talking about a friend that we ...” Her eyes darted around—hello, couldn’t one of the girls step in?
“It’s cool.” He smiled, glanced at her friends and then back at her. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Oh yes, of course.” She stood up. “This is Henrik Eklund,” she announced with a sweep of her hand, as if she were hosting some kind of gala. Ridiculous. Then she introduced her friends, one by one. The atmosphere was still strained, she could see that Bea wanted the floor to open up and swallow her, but that was nothing compared to the way Nora was feeling. This couldn’t get any worse.
“But where are the children?” Henrik asked.
“The children?” Apparently it could get worse. “They ... They’re ... I ...” She broke off as a series of potential lies flashed through her mind. “The parents had a change of plan and I ...”
“It’s fine, I won’t tell the others.” Henrik leaned a little closer. “I get it—it’s nice to have some free time.” She could feel his breath tickling her cheek, and she shivered. A very pleasant shiver.
She cleared her throat and he leaned back.
“So where are the others?” she asked, wondering how she could have been so stupid. How could she have come to Slottsholmen for dinner when they were staying here, for fuck’s sake. She was lucky that Henrik was the only one around.
“They’re at another restaurant. We had a drink here in the hotel bar, and I stupidly forgot my wallet. That’s why I came back.”
“Yes, that was stupid.” She let out a shrill laugh.
“It’s fine.” He leaned in again so that his mouth was close to her ear, so close that she could smell him—like a pine forest on a hot summer’s day, mixed with freshly baked gingerbread cookies. And something else—she didn’t know what it was, but it was incredibly masculine. His scent, along with the taste of the oyster lingering on her tongue, gave her a tingle deep in her belly. “I promise I won’t say anything to the others,” he said quietly. His warm breath and his deep voice made her shiver again, and something inside her vibrated. The feeling died a quick death as soon as she met his gaze, which was cold and anything but sensual. He must really loathe her.
“I’d better go.” He turned to her friends and said, “Good to meet you,” before he walked away.
Oh God. This was definitely a disaster—she could see it in their eyes.
“I don’t suppose that will have improved your working relationship,” Bea said.
Nora sank down onto her chair, stared gloomily out the window, and took an enormous swig of her wine.