Chapter 18
The sunshine outside the hotel’s main entrance was almost painful to Didrik’s eyes after the subdued lighting of the bar.
The whiskey had gone straight to his head.
There was something weird about feeling slightly drunk in the middle of the day as they walked along the street among strolling tourists and Parisians hurrying back to work after lunch.
They reached the Jardin du Luxembourg, where the treetops bursting into life swayed above the gardens. On a street corner, Bente stopped at one of those stands where artists with varying degrees of talent sold pictures featuring motifs of Paris.
“It might be stupid, but . . .” She picked up a painting of the Arc de Triomphe.
“My father always bought one of these on vacation when I was a kid. A little picture to remind him of where we’d been.
So I always buy one too.” She looked at Didrik.
“I’ve got quite a collection now.” She laughed and put it back, then took down a watercolor of the Moulin Rouge in pastel shades.
“No, I mustn’t, I’ve already got way too many little pictures from Paris, I’ve been here so often.
” She shook her head. “Shall we move on?”
“You should buy a picture, if it means something to you.”
She shook her head again. “It’s too hard to choose.”
They set off again and soon arrived at the antiquarian bookstore.
The walls were covered with overfilled shelves, as if someone had just kept on cramming in more and more books, then added even more shelves until the little store had become something of a labyrinth.
Bente helped Didrik find the right section; there were lots and lots of old books that featured accounts of the war.
While Bente slipped across the road to look for books on Bordeaux in another store, Didrik went to the counter and asked for assistance from the clerk, who began searching for a title on her laptop.
Its metallic angularity seemed totally out of place in this setting, which otherwise consisted entirely of organic material—wood, leather, and paper.
Leaving her to it, Didrik wandered around the shelves.
He found the biography of a woman in the resistance movement in Bordeaux, which contained extracts from her diary.
That might be useful. He added a couple of other interesting volumes about the resistance and the Foreign Legion and took his haul to the clerk.
She told him that unfortunately she didn’t have the book he wanted, but could order it.
Didrik explained why he was in Paris, and she offered to mail the book to Sweden when it came in.
Didrik picked up one or two other titles on French history, and the assistant wrapped everything in rustling brown paper, then tied it up with a piece of string.
Didrik paid and left the store just as Bente reappeared.
They went to a café farther down the street where they ordered sandwiches and coffee. They chose a table by the window and sat down.
“Look what I found.” He undid the string and took out one of the books.
“It’s the biography of a woman who was active in the resistance movement in Bordeaux.
I thought she might have written about a Scandinavian man, or there might be some information about messages sent via wine bottles.
I don’t know, but hopefully the book will be useful.
” He tried to sound positive, wanting to give her hope.
“And I’ve ordered the priest’s diary, the one the military historian mentioned.
Apparently he had lots of contacts, so we might spot something, find the odd detail that will help us. ”
Bente sipped her coffee as she listened to him. She looked quite cheerful.
“What did you find?” Didrik nodded in the direction of a shopping bag on the floor.
“Some books about winemakers in Bordeaux, and the history of the region.” She took out a book with a red fabric cover, then leaned back and took another sip of her coffee.
Her lipstick left red marks on the white rim of the cup.
She was wearing a white cotton shirt and black pants, with a black-and-white-striped silk scarf knotted around her neck.
Her large sunglasses were pushed up onto the top of her head. She blended well with the Parisians.
“One thing I don’t get,” she said. “If Sven was in France, what was he doing there? And specifically, why was he in Bordeaux? There was no fighting at that time—France had already capitulated.”
“There was no armed conflict between military forces, but the resistance never gave up the struggle.” Didrik took out the notes he had taken while conducting his own research, and during his discussion with the military historian.
“Sven belonged to a Foreign Legion battalion that fought for France in Narvik, when France and Britain helped Norway to defend itself against Germany.”
Bente nodded. “So what happened to the Legion when France capitulated?”
“Things got kind of messy.” He flicked through his notes.
“Parts of the French army chose to join the Free French forces, led by de Gaulle. Some parts of the Legion did the same, while other sections of both the army and the Legion were loyal to the Vichy regime, which agreed to a ceasefire with Germany. Sven’s brigade remained in Britain, so I assume they chose the Free French. ”
“The liberation army?”
“Exactly.”
“So if the Foreign Legion were working for the liberation army, it’s not impossible that they might have sent people to help from inside France?”
“Not impossible at all.”
Bente went to the bar and ordered a glass of wine for each of them to drink as they continued to look through their purchases.
“That’s delicious,” Didrik said when he had tasted the cold wine. “Chablis?”
“Correct. Well done.” Bente looked impressed.
“I’ve drunk quite a lot of Chablis—you could say it’s my house wine. In fact, I think you might have recommended it on one of your shows.”
“When Chablis is good, it’s excellent. And this one is fantastic—dry, with a mineral flavor.
” Bente tasted again, let the wine roll around in her mouth before she swallowed, then sniffed the bouquet as she swirled the glass.
“Some people insist they would never touch Chardonnay, only Chablis. My mother, for example. Although Chablis is made from only Chardonnay grapes,” she explained.
Didrik laughed. “Lovisa says exactly the same. ‘Only Chablis!’” He imitated her voice.
Bente smiled. “It’s a common misconception, and it’s not really surprising.
Chablis is the actual place where the wine is produced, and it has that typical minerality, fresh and with elements of citrus, while American Chardonnay is stored in oak barrels, which gives flavors like butter and nuts.
Some link the name Chardonnay with those wines. ”
He tasted again, noting the freshness and the hint of citrus. “So you didn’t inherit your interest in wine from your mother?”
Bente shook her head. “Mom’s drink of choice is my sister’s Manhattan cocktails, which are revolting. But they love them, for some reason. I have no idea how my sister manages to mix perfectly reasonable ingredients and end up with something that resembles a witch’s brew.”
Didrik grinned. “So where does your interest come from?”
Bente’s expression grew serious, as if she was thinking about something.
“From my father,” she said after a moment.
“Is he a sommelier?”
“No. He was an accountant. He and my mother ran an accounting firm together.”
“Ran?” He felt as if he was having to drag the words out of her. Bente could be so chatty and sociable, asking him questions with interest, but right now it was as if she had completely shut down.
“Yes. He died when I was thirteen.”
“Oh . . . I’m so sorry.”
She managed a small smile. “Thanks. It was tough.” She sipped her wine, turned away, and gazed out across the street.
She couldn’t have given him a clearer signal that the conversation was over.