Chapter 9 #2
Bente had therefore come here on a charm offensive. She needed Didrik, so she started talking.
He nodded as she plowed on. He was almost too attentive, as if he was making a huge effort.
She noticed that he couldn’t sit still and kept changing position; plus his gaze wasn’t entirely focused.
Jeez, had he been drinking? Wasn’t there a smell of booze in here?
Yes, come to think of it, she’d picked up something of the scent when she walked in.
Then again, it could just as easily be hand sanitizer—people who had just sprayed their hands smelled worse than Hanna’s cocktails.
Oh well. Whatever possible issues Didrik had with alcohol, she would just have to put up with them.
After receiving Elnaz’s email, Bente had realized that she was going to have to do this herself if she wanted the show to match her vision.
She had decided to take her camera and travel to Paris to carry out her own research.
Meet up with contacts, try to find out more about the bottle, the shipwreck, and Bordeaux.
But she couldn’t do any of that unless she was sure that Didrik was on board with the show, so she had to choose her words carefully, sell him the whole concept.
He had to say yes! Maybe she should stress the historical aspect?
“I want to follow the wine bottle, its origin and the history surrounding the wine. Travel around France, speak to historians in Paris. And possibly go on to Bordeaux to research the area during the occupation, how the winemakers coped, how the people lived in the past.”
Didrik kept nodding, as if he were taking in what she was saying and considering it.
“I think it sounds very exciting,” he began. Bente felt a surge of hope through her whole body. “I’d love to do it, but . . .” he added quickly.
The hope died away. “But . . . ?”
“But the situation at home is . . .” He sighed deeply. “There’s a lot happening on the home front. I can’t give you a definite answer today.”
Bente simply nodded. An unequivocal yes from Didrik was exactly what the production company and TV24 were demanding.
“We really do need you,” she pleaded. “The production company has asked some junior researchers to carry out the research, and they haven’t found anything.
I need someone with your expertise to tell us what to look for, to help me understand the history and find the truth.
” He was a researcher, after all—surely the truth and a story, together, must mean something to him.
“Okay . . . How far have you got? What have you learned?”
“Only that the bottle was sent to an address in Vetlanda in 1945. There was an inscription on a plaque attached to it, a picture of a big oak tree and then some words in Swedish. I don’t know where it was sent from, or why, but the people who lived at the address in Vetlanda were the parents of a man who left home to join the French Foreign Legion just before the start of the Second World War.
He was arrested by the Germans in France toward the end of the occupation and died in prison—before the bottle was sent.
I have no idea whether he sent it somehow, but there’s definitely a connection.
I want to look into the origins of the bottle.
” She took a deep breath. “Like I said, we need your expertise.”
Something about him seemed to change, maybe because now he felt needed. She got the sense that this kind of thing was important to Didrik.
“Your cooperation would mean a great deal,” she added.
“Okay.” He slammed both hands down on the desk with an unexpectedly loud bang. “I’m in!”
She couldn’t help leaping to her feet, beaming at him. She tried to dampen her enthusiasm; she didn’t want to show how much she really needed him. “Fantastic!” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll contact Elnaz about the logistics.”
“Excellent—I’ll book my trip as soon as everything is sorted.”
“Where will you go?”
Bente realized she’d been thinking aloud, but she was ecstatic.
The show was going to happen! She smiled at Didrik.
“Paris. The research won’t do itself, and I have some contacts there, so I’m hoping I can get some help with information about the bottle and its origin.
A little bit of groundwork before we go over there to start filming. ”
“Paris?” He looked thoughtful.
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?” He seemed much more alert and brighter than before.
She hesitated. She had planned to do this on her own. On the other hand . . . his knowledge was invaluable. She was no history expert.
“Okay, why not?”
“When are you going?”
“As soon as I get the green light from the production company confirming that there’s actually going to be a show. As soon as you agree on the practicalities.”
He remained silent for a moment, then nodded decisively.
“Cool. I’ll speak to Elnaz right away and ask her to book tickets for us.” He smiled at her, and her stomach flipped.
Perhaps it was because she would soon be in Paris.
Or maybe it was because Didrik Holgersson had just fired off the most charming smile.