All I Want for Christmas

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘Well, it wasn’t pretty – but I’m in,’ Darcy said, throwing her arms out haplessly. Getting the wetsuit on in the tiny cafe toilet had been like trying to wrestle an octopus, but against the odds, she had prevailed. ‘I have to say, it’s not my most festive look.’

Aksel looked back, grinning at the sight of her standing there with her hands planted on her hips. ‘Well, we can do something about that. Here, put this on.’ He was holding out a lifejacket for her to slip her arms into. Darcy stood like an obedient child before him as he zipped her up. ‘Safety first.’

‘Now I feel like a Michelin man in a corset,’ she murmured.

He laughed. ‘You don’t look like one! Wait till I add my finishing touches.’

She watched as he pulled a string of red tinsel from his backpack and criss-crossed it around her torso. He reached into his backpack again and she saw the wink of a gold bottle cap inside. ‘And for the win...’ He set a pair of reindeer antlers on her head and then another pair on his own. ‘See? They flash,’ he said, switching them on.

‘Oh my God,’ she groaned, grinning. ‘I’m glad no one I know can see me right now.’

‘ I know you.’

‘No, you don’t. And if you think you saw me here, no you didn’t.’

He reached over and kissed her, just a peck on the lips, but there was a growing familiarity in the gesture now. He didn’t need to ask with his eyes first. He was beginning to claim her as his and there was an unspoken expectation now that tonight would be ‘third time lucky’. Their impromptu date on Sunday had been delivered a second and fatal death blow when Freja had come home mere minutes after Max’s departure – by sheer dint of luck, Darcy had immediately put the replacement dress on Freja’s wardrobe door straight after Max had left; she had needed a few moments to herself to process what had just happened. But Freja’s disconsolate expression as she had come into the apartment had sent Aksel making his excuses almost immediately – Tristan hadn’t proposed in Amsterdam after all. Freja hadn’t known just how much she had wanted him to ask, until he hadn’t.

Darcy looked around. There were hundreds of people milling about, mostly trying to find a spot to stand on the banks, their fellow kayakers walking through with backpacks and oars. ‘So, what’s the plan?’ she asked nervously, rubbing her hands together.

‘We get on the water, paddle round to Nyhavn, sing some carols; paddle on to Christianshavn, do the same. Repeat through Blox and H?jbro before ending up back here again.’ He shrugged. ‘It takes about an hour and a half and there’s mulled wine and aebleskiver at the carol stops to help keep us warm. Then they serve bouillabaisse and bread rolls back here for dinner.’

‘Okay. Sounds fun.’

‘It is. It really kicks off the Christmas spirit.’

‘Well, I could definitely do with some of that. We haven’t even got our Christmas tree up yet,’ she said, shivering and jumping up and down on the spot a few times.

‘Cold?’

‘What gave it away?’

‘Here, have a glug, it’ll warm you from the inside,’ he said, pulling a hip flask from his backpack.

‘What is it?’

‘Brandy.’ She could feel from the weight of it that it was only half full.

‘Hah,’ she winced as she took a sip, feeling it burn her throat. It did warm her a little – but it mainly burned. He took it from her and had a long, deep slug himself. No shiver. No wince, it just slid down.

Someone with a speaker began making announcements and Aksel listened in as the first kayakers made their way to the steps and began getting on the water.

‘Right,’ he said, screwing the lid back on and returning it to his bag. He zipped it closed. ‘Wait here. I’ll put these in the lockers,’ he said, and she stood obediently as he checked in their backpacks and coats at the kayak bar.

‘Oh, I’m a bit scared,’ she said, slightly jittery, when he came back a few minutes later.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, slipping what looked to be a small grey, waterproof pouch over his head. ‘I’ve put both our phones in here,’ he said. ‘Just in case.’

She grimaced. If her phone was to fall into the canal...‘You’re sure it’s watertight?’

‘I’m certain. I use it all the time...And that’s your song sheet,’ he said, handing her a small pamphlet. ‘With the lyrics. Tuck it into the front of your lifejacket.’

She copied his actions, shivering all the while. Even in a wetsuit, it was a freezing cold night.

‘Oh...that’s us,’ he said as more numbers were called. ‘Follow me.’

He led the way over to the steps and the organizers lowered the next kayaks into the water. Aksel got in his first – so much for ladies first, she thought, waiting her turn.

One of marshals held the prow of the boat as she lowered herself in carefully, trying not to look at the black water sloshing just inches away from her now. She couldn’t imagine what the water temperatures must be.

It rocked side to side precariously and she squealed with fright as she sat down quickly, really not convinced this was any way to get into the Christmas spirit. A mince pie worked far better in her opinion.

‘Feeling okay?’ Aksel asked, as she was pushed away from the steps and found herself floating alongside him.

Admittedly, now she was squarely loaded and on the water, she did feel safer. Each kayak had been threaded with fairy lights so that the canal was brightly illuminated. Above them, on the banks, the trees and ship masts were lit up too so that Darcy felt she could see every single face peering down at her. In front of them, and behind too, sat the multitude of kayakers already buoyant and just waiting for the command to go.

‘This is amazing,’ she beamed, wide-eyed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Some of the kayakers had tiny Christmas trees strapped to the backs of their kayaks; others were wearing velvet cloaks and crowns, as if they were kings travelling to Bethlehem.

The backs of their kayaks were gently butted by the newcomers coming up behind them and they were in turn pushed into the backs of the people sitting ahead of them – but it didn’t matter. She felt safe. The atmosphere was relaxed and happy. No one was in a rush to get anywhere.

Soon enough, a command was given and like a very, very slow Mexican wave, oars were angled out of the water and they began to move. The crowds cheered as the illuminated kayakers began to glide down the canal, a vast body of light slinking through the city’s waterways.

Darcy laughed as they went. It was crazy but brilliant! There was simply no possibility of something like this happening on the Thames. The Serpentine lake in Hyde Park, perhaps? But that was tiny compared to this route, and there was nowhere else to go there but round and round.

Aksel grinned, looking over at her as he paddled with ease. She had never seen the city from this perspective. She had thought it would feel cold and dark, but it felt as bright as if they were standing around a bonfire. Everywhere she looked, people were talking and laughing, paddling with easy strokes, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to be doing on a Friday night in December.

She was happy – until they pulled away from the protected wharf, into the wider, more open water of the harbour. Hadn’t he said there were no tides? There was a light wind blowing in, whipping up small waves that felt big in a kayak; it was darker, too, as they had only the lights on the kayaks now to throw out a glow, and she was grateful for the large body of people surrounding her. She reminded herself there was safety in numbers, although it made it hard to keep track of Aksel. He had pulled ahead of her, not quite realizing his superior stroke-rate.

‘Aksel,’ she called, not too loudly. Not wanting to appear frightened in front of all these people. He didn’t hear her but she managed to keep him in her sights, his flashing antlers making it easy for her to find him in the crowd.

She decided to paddle in time with the kayaker in front of her – it seemed like a logical thing to do – but by the time they pulled into the famous Nyhavn harbour twenty minutes later, she was out of breath, blisters beginning to rise on one hand.

Lights shone again, basking them in a golden glow, and the contingent stopped paddling as one, everyone letting their arms rest as the crowds gathered on the bank cheered their arrival. It had been harder work than she had anticipated.

‘Darcy! Hey, over here!’

The shout carried over to her and she saw Aksel waving. He was seven kayaks away from her, width-wise, and it was difficult to navigate across to him now everyone was stationary.

‘Sorry...sorry,’ she winced apologetically as she bumped and nudged her way over to him. She could see people giving her irritated looks as they had to help her round them.

‘So? What did you think of that?’ he asked brightly as she finally got to him. ‘There was a bit of a headwind so it was a little harder work than usual.’

She looked back at him in disbelief. ‘Aksel, you went ahead without me!’ she hissed, trying not to betray the extent of her upset. ‘You left me behind!’

‘Did I? I thought you were right behind me,’ he frowned.

‘How could I be right behind you when I’ve had to get past all these people just now?’

‘Oh...’

She tried to keep her fear out of her voice. She didn’t want to sound whiny or needy...‘Aksel, I’ve never done this before and I told you I was nervous about it...You can’t abandon me.’

‘I didn’t abandon you!’ he protested, a little too vehemently. ‘It’s not like you can make a wrong turn or get lost! We’re all heading in the same direction. You probably wouldn’t even need to paddle and the momentum of everyone else would carry you along.’

She looked away at his scorn. If he was trying to reassure her, he was failing. She saw people on the banks looking down at them. Could they tell they were arguing? She felt embarrassed that they were being watched, so conspicuous out here.

She felt her kayak pulled back slightly, bringing her alongside him; they had drifted apart again a little. ‘...Hey, I’m sorry,’ Aksel said. ‘I really didn’t mean to leave you behind like that. I just get so into it, sometimes I forget.’

‘It’s fine,’ she murmured, but her blissful mood had soured somewhat, something of the joy lost now. Could she trust him to look after her on the next leg or was he going to disappear into the night again? All these minor breaches of etiquette that she kept trying to brush off as unimportant suddenly felt so much more pertinent in an environment where she felt unsure of herself. She needed to be able to trust him, but he didn’t really make her feel safe.

‘Oh – you’re glowing,’ she said, pointing to the pouch around his neck.

He looked down. ‘Huh...Well timed.’ He unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out his phone.

Only it wasn’t his phone that was glowing.

He looked back at her. ‘...It’s yours. Do you want it?’

She hesitated. They were mere inches from the water. One fumble...‘Can you just see whose name is up?’ If it was her mother, or Freja...

‘Sure, it’s...’ She waited as he peered at it. ‘Otto.’

‘Otto?’ Why was Otto calling her on a Friday evening when all of Denmark was engaged in processions? ‘Shit.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s my boss. I’d better take it.’

Aksel passed the phone over and Darcy called Otto back. It felt somewhat surreal to be sitting in Nyhavn, on a brightly lit kayak, in the dark water, making a phone call.

‘Otto, hi, you called?’ she said quickly.

‘Darcy, you need to come in.’ He sounded slightly breathless, as if he was walking at pace.

She rolled her eyes. Another emergency? ‘Otto, I can’t this time. I’m sorry.’

‘Why not?’ he snapped. ‘Have you left the country?’

‘No, of course not, but—’

‘Then you have to come in. They’ve released the backing.’

‘What? ’ She was so shocked, she almost dropped the phone. ‘But...that’s so far ahead of schedule.’

‘I know. Everyone’s heading over to the Academy now. Get over here as soon as you can. You need to be in this meeting.’

‘But—’ She looked around her. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. She looked across at Aksel, seeing the apprehension bloom on his face as he watched her. ‘Otto, I’m in Nyhavn. On the canal. I’m in a kayak, on the water.’

‘Then get out of it and get a cab! Keep the receipt.’

‘But Otto—’ she protested. ‘...Otto?’

He had hung up.

‘Bad news?’ Aksel asked in a flat tone.

‘He’s at the Academy. He’s insisting I go over there right now...They’ve managed to release the portrait.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘Right this minute? Can’t it wait an hour, at least?’

‘I’m sorry, they’re calling a meeting. I have to be there.’

He was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged. ‘Well, sorry, no. You can’t go.’

She stared at him, not sure she’d heard correctly. ‘What?’

‘I said you can’t go. They’ll have to wait. We’ve got plans... Look at us!’ He pointed to their all-too-evident predicament on the water.

‘I know, Aksel, I told him that – but I still have to go.’

‘And I’m saying no.’ He stared at her with a level expression.

She gave a disbelieving laugh, really not sure if he was being serious or not. It wasn’t like she wanted to leave, but he couldn’t honestly think he had the right to detain her here against her will either? ‘Are you...are you messing with me?’

‘Do I look like I’m messing?’ His stare had grown cold, those eyes she had thought soulful now looking back at her blankly.

There was a long pause.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally. ‘I’m sorry to leave to you here like this but I really don’t have a choice. I’m needed there.’

‘Fucking unbelievable,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

She was taken aback by the level of his resentment. ‘...What?’

‘There’s so much drama with you, Darcy. Emergency meetings that can’t happen without you! Depressed housemates who simply have to talk to you alone! Hostile dress couriers who want to punch my face in.’

She stared at him. Where was this coming from? ‘You turned up at my door, uninvited! And as I recall, you were the one creating drama earlier in the week.’

A flash of anger tightened across his face. ‘Oh, there it is! I knew it would come out sooner or later! You’ve just been waiting for a chance to throw that back in my face!’

‘That’s not true,’ she gasped, seeing the scale of his rage. ‘You’re the one—’

‘Just go, then! Fuck off!’ he blurted suddenly, reaching over and roughly shoving her kayak away from his – but he caught her at an awkward angle and she wobbled wildly, having to grab the sides to stop from falling in. She cried out in terror, certain she was about to plunge into the black water.

‘Hey! Hey!’ She looked up to find a marshal pointing at them both. ‘Stop that! You know the terms of conduct!’

‘What the fuck are you doing, man?’ another guy in the kayak beside her shouted, looking straight at Aksel. ‘You almost knocked her in!’

Darcy tried to catch her breath, deeply shaken by what had just occurred. All around them, people were staring, frowning, watching them. There were children here. Families...

She felt her cheeks burn, shock and fright swirling and making her shake. Everything had escalated so quickly. She couldn’t believe he had forcibly tried to push her into the water!

She glanced across at him and he was glowering at her with an expression that chilled her blood. In a flash, she understood; she needed to get away from him. ‘...C-could I get out, please?’ she called up, desperately.

The marshal stared at her, glancing at Aksel before looking at her again. Did she look – sound – as frightened as she felt? He nodded, beckoning for her to paddle in towards the steps.

She didn’t look back again at Aksel as she paddled past him and he made no move to stop her, nor to apologize. She just wanted to get away from him and back onto terra firma as quickly as possible. She was deeply shaken by his flash of temper. There’d been no inkling he could turn like that, and she didn’t want to think what he might have been capable of if they’d been alone.

Someone shouted around the harbour and there was a shuffling of paper as she made her way towards the docking platform. All around her, everyone began to sing ‘Silent Night’, their voices echoing over the water so that it sounded cathedral-like.

The marshal reached out as she approached, grasping the prow and guiding her alongside the jetty. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, leaning down to secure the boat with one hand, grasping her wrist with the other and helping pull her ashore.

‘...It is now,’ she said shakily.

‘What happened?’

‘I – I just said something he didn’t like.’ She shouldn’t have said it, she thought to herself. She should have known it would be a touchy subject. No man wanted to be reminded of his failure to perform.

‘Do you need medical attention? First aid?’

‘No, nothing like that...’

‘Do you want to file a report against him?’

‘...No.’ She squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath, trying to remain calm. Composed. She just wanted to get away from here. ‘Uh, what should I do with the kayak?’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll deal with that,’ the man said with a concerned look. ‘They all go back to the same place.’

‘Okay.’ Darcy glanced back, finding Aksel alone in the crowd, bobbing on the water. He wasn’t looking her way, but was staring ahead with a dark look. How could she have got him so wrong? She was trembling a little, her breathing shallow from the shock. She had a fierce urge to cry.

‘You can’t stay here, miss,’ the marshal said kindly. ‘You’ll need to get up on the bank.’

‘Okay, y-yes.’ Darcy turned and made her way up the steps to where the crowds stood ten deep, people shuffling a few paces to the side as she tried to slink through inconspicuously even though she was bulky and unwieldy in her protective gear.

Her phone buzzed – another message from Otto, telling her to hurry up.

She looked back one last time, but the canal – and Aksel – was hidden from her sights. She tapped on the Uber app and made her getaway.

She squeaked as she walked. The security officers had laughed at her as she gave her name at the door. It felt ridiculous walking through such a hallowed institution gloved in neoprene and tinsel.

Heads turned as her inelegant approach was heard. Margit Kinberg did a double take; Helle Foss’s eyes narrowed; Otto frowned as if he’d not in fact been told she was sitting on a kayak in Nyhavn when he had called.

‘Please, don’t dress up on our account,’ Helle quipped.

‘My things are still in the locker,’ Darcy replied in a quiet voice. The upset from their fight on the water had settled into her bones now and she couldn’t quite shake it. She felt subdued and just wanted to crawl into her bed. ‘We’d already left when you called and there was no time to get back there.’ She hadn’t even taken off the lifejacket. There was nowhere to leave it and she only risked losing it; she would have to go back over there in the morning to return this kit and pick up her things.

She glanced at Max. He was staring at her as if she was a riddle (or perhaps a joke). Too late, she remembered her antlers, still flashing on her head. Could he guess she’d been on a date? Did he know it was with the same guy who had stood, bare-chested and drinking wine, in front of him at her door? She knew he couldn’t possibly imagine what had just happened with the kind vet with the soulful eyes who turned out to have problems with anger, performance and alcohol.

He looked away again in the next instant; he was wearing jeans and a sweater. Weekend Max. Had he not had any plans tonight? He didn’t celebrate Christmas, of course, but did he not even have a St Lucia’s party to go to? A model to pick up? He hadn’t responded to her thank-you text on Sunday evening; nor had he picked up on Monday when she had called, determined to pay for the dress. He was ghosting her.

‘I got here as soon as I could.’ She felt tearful, and perhaps there was a suggestion of that in her voice, because Otto put a hand on her shoulder.

‘It’s quite all right, Darcy. We were busy inspecting it ourselves anyway. This is the first time we’ve drawn breath...Take a look.’

He stepped back, creating a space for her around the table, just as he had a couple of weeks ago when she’d received a similar call – but this time the UV lamp was turned off, no longer needed. Instead Her Children , delicately held up in a specialist clamp, had been turned around and there, affixed on the back, lay Lilja Madsen’s portrait.

Darcy gasped as she laid eyes upon it – upon her – unobscured for the first time. Her hands flew to her mouth as she took in the painting clearly now. Immediately she looked at everyone else in surprise – did they see it too? – but they were all watching her with blank expressions.

‘Have a good look, Darcy,’ Margit instructed. ‘We need confirmation if it’s her.’

Darcy hesitated. Were they serious? Couldn’t they see...? But she wasn’t going to disobey the director of the National Gallery and she bent forward, wetsuit squeaking ignominiously, so that she was at eye level with the portrait.

The colours were far more vivid than she had expected – the flesh tones suffused with yellow ochre, as per Vermeer, to add luminosity and imbue a sense of flushed radiance and youth. Lilja’s dress was green with delicate pink buds and had a narrow lace frill at the neck. The red necklace lay behind it, winking through the lattices, only the gilded central bead clearly visible front and centre at her throat. And on her shoulder, Darcy saw now what had been indistinct before – not a dead fox stole, as Otto had speculated, but a robin, beautifully fat, with a tomato-red chest.

The background was unfinished but the impasto looked deliberately done, as if reinforcing the point that the painting’s only focus was this young woman’s face. The strong brushwork in green earth suggested trees: an exterior sitting.

‘So there you are,’ Darcy whispered, looking into her eyes at last. They were round and light brown, flecked with gold. She had freckles too, and a tan, and though her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, wisps of baby hair sprouted from her temple, as if she’d been caught in the wind. Had she just come in from one of her beach walks?

It was a startlingly lovely rendering. Now that she could see details and not just shapes, the painting offered so much more narrative. She could tell that the Lilja who had been painted here was different to the Lilja standing in the photograph by the water’s edge; she had filled out, yes, but more than that, she had survived something terrible. She had lived through unimaginable pain and loss. The tilt of her head had always been distinctive even in silhouette, but now Darcy was able to see the look in her eyes, she could see this was an older, wiser, stronger Lilja. She would have been around eighteen here but she had already endured so much. The girl had become a woman. She was coming into her own.

...So what had happened that made her walk into the sea? Darcy saw a date lightly traced in the bottom right corner: August 1922 .

Darcy frowned; Lilja had been dead by the month’s end.

Someone – Max? – cleared his throat impatiently, as if reminding her to get on with it; this was everyone’s Friday night. Slowly, Darcy straightened up. ‘Yes. That’s definitely Lilja Madsen.’

Margit’s look of displeasure showed it was not the answer she had hoped to hear. ‘How can you be so certain?’

‘The necklace, for one – we have photographs of her wearing it. Her hairstyle, for another.’

‘...What about the hairstyle?’

‘Lotte Madsen’s diaries tell us Lilja wore hers in a braid. It was distinctive for its lack of refinement for a married woman and indicative of her inability to function beyond a subsistence level while she was unwell.’

Margit sighed. ‘I see. Anything else?’

‘Yes – the robin.’ She glanced at it again, as if checking her thoughts. ‘Lilja was left physically weakened by her son’s birth and she was severely depressed after his death. She was sent to convalesce at the Madsens’ country retreat in Hornbaek. Sea air and beach walks were her prescription, but it appears the garden became a real refuge for her. She took many photos of it while she was there.’

‘But why should the robin indicate this is Lilja?’

‘Because the robin is well known as the gardener’s friend. I believe it’s being used here as a motif to indicate the garden as her source of strength during recovery.’

Darcy watched as Otto and Margit swapped silent looks. She could feel Helle and Max listening intently.

‘I see. Thank you, Darcy.’ Margit’s face was pinched.

Darcy looked from her to Otto. She looked at Max, too; for once he appeared to have nothing to say.

She gave a small, astonished laugh, as no one appeared to be asking about the elephant in the room. ‘Um? So, are we going to address the main revelation, now that we can actually see the painting...?’

Everyone looked back at her, their expressions closed. Surely they couldn’t seriously not see it?

‘This isn’t a Johan Trier painting!’ she said bluntly.

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Helle said quickly.

‘Uh, we do,’ Darcy argued, looking at her in utter disbelief. ‘His figuring is completely different, not to mention his brushwork—’

‘He was well known for trying different styles.’

‘He never used smalt pigment and there are no other portraits by him done in an outdoor setting,’ Darcy continued, unabashed. She knew she was right. ‘Johan Trier did not paint this and it will take any reputable assessor all of three minutes to prove that.’ She looked around at everyone, not understanding their lack of consensus on what was clearly obvious.

‘Well, this is clearly a rolling situation,’ Helle said quietly. ‘It is good to have a confirmed subject, if not artist. We are pleased this is a portrait of Lilja Madsen, but clearly we all would have preferred this portrait to be by Trier’s hand.’ Helle’s gaze ran sceptically over Darcy’s reindeer antlers and tinsel-strapped chest, as if they somehow threw her professional opinion into doubt. ‘Your work to this point has been helpful, Miss Cotterell. Thank you.’

Darcy frowned at what sounded like a dismissal. ‘You’re not abandoning the research, are you?’ she asked Margit. ‘Whether or not it’s a Trier, that portrait is part of Her Children ’s legacy now. Visitors will still want to know about it. Unless...’ She startled at the thought. ‘You’re not intending to cover it up again?’

‘Absolutely not. The announcements have been made.’

‘So, then, I’ll need to continue as before,’ she pressed. ‘We need to find out who painted it, if not Trier. How it ended up boarded to the back of this painting. Why was it put there?’ They think now the portrait went in wet . ‘We need to give it the full art history treatment.’

‘We must be realistic. If this portrait is not Trier’s work, then public interest will be markedly less,’ Helle shrugged. ‘Margit can’t justify spending—’

‘That’s fine, Darcy,’ Margit interrupted. She looked furious. ‘Continue as you were. You’re working on our behalf, after all. Not Madsen’s.’ Margit looked pointedly at Helle until the other woman turned away.

Darcy frowned, baffled by Helle’s newly dismissive attitude towards the portrait, as if it was inconsequential now. She looked again at it, for some reason loving it even more, even though – without Trier’s signature – it was almost inherently worthless. There was something alive in Lilja’s gaze; it captured Darcy and drew her in, as if Lilja’s whispers were trapped in the paint, a past still beating within this present.

‘I imagine the possibility of this portrait being the work of another artist will be a complication for your restitution claim?’ Margit said coolly to Max.

‘Possibly. We’ll take advice.’

He was being unnaturally quiet, Darcy thought, watching as he shook Margit’s hand, preparing to leave. He seemed in a hurry to get away.

Otto, beside her, turned towards the window and stood looking out into the dark courtyard with a troubled expression. Darcy went over to him.

‘Otto, will my expenses cover a research trip up to Hornbaek?’

He looked at her. ‘Why do you want to go there?’

‘I think I should visit. Solvtraeer was an important place to Lilja. She lived there for her last few years and she died there. I think it’s most likely where the portrait was painted. Obviously, Trier was based in the studio and painting Her Children up there that summer, so there may still be a link between him and it. I do think it would be helpful to go there myself and I can be there and back in a day. I appreciate the house may no longer be standing...’

‘No, it’s still there.’

‘It is?’ She was surprised. ‘Well, great. I’ll knock on the door and see if the owners would mind me looking in the garden – but even if I can’t go in, just to see it and get the feel of the place would be useful.’

Otto glanced over her shoulder. ‘Would that be possible, Max? For Darcy to visit Solvtraeer?’

‘Oh – does the Foundation still own the estate?’ It had never occurred to her.

‘Not the Foundation, no,’ Otto said. ‘But Max does.’

Darcy looked at him. He owned the house Lilja Madsen had lived in?

‘His grandmother was a Madsen. Didn’t you know?’ Otto asked.

‘Thank you, Otto, for the family history,’ Max said sharply.

Darcy took a breath as she absorbed the news. It made sense – the quiet wealth, the air of entitlement, his trustee status and big job; his over-interest in anything to do with this family. His family, it turned out.

A beat pulsed as she awaited his verdict. She would hardly be the most welcome houseguest.

Helle stepped forward. ‘What’s really to be gained from thi—’

‘If she wants to see it, she can,’ Max said flatly, bringing his attention onto Darcy at last. ‘The house and gardens are largely as they were, although I don’t know what you expect to find there.’

She shrugged. Neither did she.

‘I’m driving up tomorrow. I was actually heading up there tonight when the call came in for this.’

‘...Tomorrow would be great.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ll get the train up.’

There was a pause. ‘Fine.’

His eyes were cold. He was looking at her like she was nothing to him, even though he had stood in her hallway and saved her with his gift; he had held her to him and given her his heartbeat to follow when her own had lost control. He had shown her, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise, that he was flesh and blood too; just a man.

But it was hard to believe, standing here now in their enemy camps. He was so far away from her that he might as well be on the moon.

‘Fine.’