Chapter 10
Bente woke on the morning of her departure with a tingling, throbbing sensation in her body.
She floated into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee while humming along to Bruce Springsteen, the way Dad used to do on the weekends: as a kind of warm-up for an afternoon of cooking, while playing Bruce at full volume.
The sun was shining from a cloudless sky.
She wrapped herself in a thick cardigan and took her cup out onto the balcony and into the damp freshness of spring.
If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that she was in Paris.
The smell of asphalt warming up in the sun, the green shimmer of leaves in bud, about to burst forth yet still a little subdued, the way spring always was in a big city.
Like the blurred contours of a painting.
It was happening; she was about to start work on her show.
Her own TV show. After the meeting with Didrik, they had kept in touch and made a plan for their research in Paris—who they would contact ahead of time, which museums they would visit.
She had done her part, and she hoped that Didrik had done his.
He had been difficult to get ahold of, slow to answer emails, and even worse when it came to confirming that tasks had been done.
All she could do was keep her fingers crossed.
She had arranged to see Camille, who she hoped could tell them more about the bottle, and some colleagues from her time as a sommelier in Paris: people who were experts on older wines.
She had also tried to get in touch with Frederic.
Her ex-boyfriend’s family owned a vineyard in Bordeaux, and he knew the area well.
She hoped he would be able to answer several of her questions.
She had to admit that she was also looking forward to seeing him.
In typical fashion, he hadn’t yet replied.
She was pretty sure they would see each other, though; he never missed her when she was in Paris.
She finished her coffee. Time for a shower. On her way to the bathroom, she bumped into her sister.
“You’re going today?”
“I am.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “There’s coffee if you want it.”
“You could still drop out of the trip,” Hanna said.
“Why would I do that? I want to go. Plus this is for work; I’m taking my camera so I can get some authentic material we might be able to use for the show.”
“But will doing the show make you feel good?”
“It’s going to be different this time. People have forgotten all about what happened.” At least that was what she told herself.
“You love working with wine, that’s your passion. You like making your YouTube videos—so why do you have to be on TV? People don’t have to see that you’re successful in order for you to be successful.”
“Thank you for your advice, but if I want to enjoy words of wisdom with my morning coffee, I can order an embroidered wall hanging online.” Bente went into the bathroom and tried to shake off the aftertaste of the conversation.
Why couldn’t Hanna simply be happy for her?
She knew that her sister’s misgivings came from a place of love, but this was something Bente wanted, and she was going to be fine.
She had spent three years recovering, and she was mentally ready to work in TV again.
She chose her softest jeans and T-shirt, with a lovely thin cashmere sweater. She had a long train journey ahead, with transfers in Copenhagen and Hamburg.
She grabbed her wheeled suitcase and looped her big leather bag over her shoulder. Pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head, pulled on her leather jacket, trench coat, sneakers. She took a scarf from the hallstand at the last minute and left the apartment without speaking to Hanna again.
She ran downstairs to the waiting cab. Hanna’s words still lingered, but Bente was convinced that she was wrong. It really would be different this time. Besides, Bente wasn’t looking for recognition.
She just wanted to work with someone she thought was fun.
Springtime in Paris could be treacherous, but in Stockholm that treachery was guaranteed.
A strong wind was blowing down the street outside the station, and she hurried inside, where she was met by the aromas of coffee, freshly baked bread, and fried food, as all the restaurants that had opened over the past few years prepared for lunch.
She made her way through the crowds of travelers to the platform where she and the others had arranged to meet.
The place was unusually busy for an ordinary Wednesday morning.
Elnaz, who was coming along to project-manage their research, was already there, tapping away on her phone. Once it was clear that Didrik was on board with the project, the production company had decided to pay for the trip.
Elnaz looked up. “This is going to be so much fun!” She placed a hand on Bente’s shoulder.
“I have to say that this show—the whole concept, in fact—is incredibly exciting. There’s no mistaking your enthusiasm and commitment.
And the idea of filming with your camera during the research phase is genius. ”
Bente smiled. “Good to hear.”
The burning smell of the trains’ brakes mingled with the unpleasant odor of a nearby trash can, but there was also a fresh breeze blowing in off Riddarfj?rden, the easternmost bay of Stockholm’s Lake M?laren, just visible from the platform (if you peered into the distance).
Tomorrow she would be in France. There was something surreal about the whole thing. As soon as they were settled on the train, she would leave Hanna’s tedious words and the fiasco at the wine bar behind her. She would be on her way. She was going to work. Soon, soon she would be in Paris.
Elnaz glanced down at her large wristwatch. “Where’s Didrik?”
The train would be arriving at the platform in a few minutes.
“Did he say he might be late?” Bente asked.
Elnaz shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything.”
They both checked their emails and text messages, but there was nothing.
The minutes passed with no sign of Didrik. Surely he ought to contact them if he was running late?
The train pulled in and stopped with a screech and a hiss.
“He’ll be here, don’t worry. He’s punctuality personified,” Elnaz said calmly.
If he was going to make it, he had to come now.
The doors opened and they found their carriage, stowed their suitcases in the luggage rack, and sat down.
Bente settled down and peered out of the window as Elnaz focused on her phone. Wasn’t she nervous? The train was due to depart in mere minutes.
Soon Elnaz was also peering out of the window, as if she had just realized that maybe she ought to be worried. “Where the hell is he? This isn’t like him at all, he’s usually so . . .”
“Reliable and easy to work with, I know,” Bente said wearily.
In spite of Didrik’s much-lauded qualities as a colleague, Bente was sitting here with a laptop stuffed with information, a file of printed-out documents, and a list of things they needed to go through during the train journey, and the fantastic Didrik Holgersson couldn’t even be bothered to show up.
Did he have any idea what a difficult position he was putting her in?
She clamped her jaws together. Hard. “I’ll call him,” she said. The signal rang out, but then his voicemail kicked in. She sighed, stood up, and angled her head so that she could see along the platform. Please, Didrik, don’t drop out now.
“This train is ready to depart,” a voice informed them over the loudspeakers.
Shit shit shit.
She had been so close, so close to producing and filming her own show. Was Didrik Holgersson about to wreck the whole thing?
She looked at Elnaz.
Elnaz tried to reassure her. “Maybe he got the time wrong, in which case we’ll wait for him in Hamburg.”
Before starting this project, Bente should have made absolutely certain that it wasn’t a mistake.
Didrik seemed to be the kind of person who was completely on top of departure times, who had all the details of the trip printed out and safely tucked into one of those plastic folders that looked like an envelope, but had a little button so that there was no danger of anything falling out.
The folder would be carried in a practical rucksack or a briefcase with a shoulder strap.
Now she wasn’t so certain about any of that.
She was about to sink back into her seat when she saw him, running along wearing a woolen coat and carrying a leather duffel bag over his shoulder.
“There he is!” she exclaimed.
He jumped on the train a second before the doors closed.
Elnaz sighed and rolled her eyes. After a few minutes, as the train left the central station, he arrived in their carriage, making his way along the aisle, every head turning toward him as the passengers realized who he was.
Before he reached Bente and Elnaz, he was intercepted by a woman requesting a selfie; needless to say, he obliged with a smile.
“Sorry I’m so late, but I . . . I had to post a letter. It was impossible to find a mailbox.”
“There’s one at the entrance to the City terminal, and Vasagatan,” Bente informed him tersely.
“What?”
“In fact, there are lots of mailboxes at the central station—surely you must know that?”
Didrik appeared taken aback. “Well yes, now you come to mention it . . .”
She had seen right through him. Why lie about something like that? Maybe he was simply unreliable, an airhead who was too fond of his drink, in spite of everything—and who always got away with it?
Once they had passed the city of Mjolby, Bente and Didrik went to buy lunch while Elnaz took a phone call. The dining car was relatively quiet, so Bente seized the opportunity to speak to Didrik privately. She took a deep breath.
“I can’t work like this. I just want to make that clear from the start.”
Didrik looked inquiringly at her as he chose a Caesar salad from the shelf in front of them.
“You hesitated before you said yes to the show, and ever since then you’ve been bad at answering emails and .
. . and it feels as if you’re not completely on board.
” He was the star—was it dumb of her to speak to him like this?
But she had to clear the air. “And you almost missed the train. I have to know if you’re committed to this project.
If you’re not, you need to say so right now.
You didn’t have to come on this trip, you could just appear in front of the camera later. ”
“I was late, that’s all. Like I said, I had to post a letter.”
“I know a white lie when I hear one.”
He remained silent for a moment, and then he looked at her, his expression serious. “I really do apologize for being late and worrying you and Elnaz, but I’m here now, aren’t I? And I do want to be on this trip.”
Bente nodded. He was already a bigger part of the project than she was, despite the fact that she had spent several days preparing the trip and planning the show. She had to give him a chance. She had no choice. She was going to have to let go of her resentment.
They changed trains in Copenhagen. When Bente and Elnaz ordered wine with their meal, Didrik went for mineral water. Bente relaxed a little; it seemed that alcohol wasn’t his problem. It must be something else.
Next they caught the sleeper train in Hamburg.
She and Didrik worked until late, and got along very well now that they’d said what had to be said.
Listening to him talking about history was captivating—he came alive as he related anecdotes and described exciting events that they could incorporate into the production.
It was obvious that he was capable of raising the show to another level with his knowledge of history.
The passion he felt for his subject was clear.
Bente could see now what others saw in him.