Chapter 20 #2
He smiled and thought for a moment, then the smile disappeared. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair.
“This might be too personal, I . . .” He broke off. “No, I can’t.”
“Surely that’s the definition of a secret? Secrets are personal. Isn’t that the whole point of a secret?”
“Maybe.” He bit his lower lip. Oh God. She couldn’t get enough of gazing at that mouth.
“Okay.” He swallowed hard, looked at her. “I don’t know if I can have kids.”
The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded and left him the space to say more, if he wanted to.
“We tried to have a baby for a long time. Several years. And when Lovisa met someone else, she got pregnant right away, so . . . What other conclusion can I draw?”
Had he really just said that? It was the first time he’d put it into words, even in his own mind. Bente’s green eyes were fixed on his.
At first he’d thought she wouldn’t go along with this silly competition.
She was so incredibly private, it had been a ruse to try to make her reveal something, get a little closer to her.
Instead he had ended up babbling about himself.
And now this—the words had just slipped out somehow.
He hadn’t intended to tell her, but in hindsight it felt good, as if he had wanted her to know.
Presumably this was a way of processing the whole thing. Lovisa was pregnant, by someone else. So the fault for it not happening for them must lie with Didrik.
He clapped his hands. “So shall we continue our Parisian adventure?”
Everything had gotten so serious, and now he wanted to leave it behind for a while. To try to have some fun—he didn’t want Bente to feel she had to act the role of therapist.
She smiled. “Good idea. One thing I think you have to do in Paris is buy a bottle of Meursault and drink it on a hill with a fantastic view of the city.”
“Meursault?” He smiled. The name was familiar—maybe he’d drunk it in the past, but he couldn’t be sure.
“One of my absolute favorites. It’s also a Chardonnay, but it’s completely different from Chablis.
It’s from a different region of Burgundy and is stored in oak barrels, which gives it that buttery, rounded taste.
American Chardonnay wines often try to imitate that style, and certain producers are pretty successful—I love American oak-stored Chardonnay.
” She grinned. “But you’re going to sample the French version. ”
They wandered along to a small wine store she said she knew well. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but Didrik assumed that they offered a wider selection than most of the state-owned liquor stores in Sweden.
As soon as he walked in, he saw that the shelves were crammed with bottles. No flashy signage, though—this place wasn’t aimed at tourists; it was a store for those who were genuinely interested in wine. Bente browsed happily and eventually placed three reds in her basket.
“I’m going to take a couple of bottles home to Sweden—that’s the best thing about traveling by train.
” Then she chose a Meursault from one of the refrigerators at the back of the store.
She also bought two large, cheap wineglasses, which the assistant wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a shopping bag with the wine.
They took the Metro a distance, and then made their way up the hills in the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. As they walked, Didrik noticed that Bente’s bags appeared quite heavy. He offered to carry them.
“I was the one who was stupid enough to buy so many bottles,” she said, allowing him to take them.
“As a thank-you, maybe you could let me share one of the bottles when we get back to Stockholm,” he said, glancing at her.
Bente smiled, then nodded.
They had reached the top of the hill. From here they could see Sacré-Coeur and Montmartre, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.
“Are the skies always more pink in Paris?” Didrik asked as they sat down and contemplated the streaks of white clouds against the rosy background. The view really was magnificent.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s because of the pollution.” Bente grinned. “But it sounds lovely—the idea that the skies are more pink in Paris.”
She opened the bottle while he unwrapped the glasses. She poured and they toasted each other.
He felt relieved that his revelation about children hadn’t completely ruined the mood. Sitting here with a view over the rooftops of Paris at sunset was something he would never forget.
He took a sip of his wine. “Delicious. So this is from the place called Meursault?”
She nodded. “It’s quite exciting to drink this—several years ago they ripped out the white wine vines in Burgundy because it was believed their grapes made bad wine; the whites became considered out of fashion.
Scandalous, when the green grapes in Burgundy are so fantastic.
Today Burgundy wines are considered the best in the world!
You can taste it—burnt butter, nuttiness, but also a hint of floral notes.
And as smooth as silk. Completely different from Chablis. ”
Didrik had to agree. Very different. “Absolutely delicious.”
“There’s something seductive about it. I once heard someone say it makes a person think of white silk sheets, and they could well be right.”
He nodded slowly and caught her gaze. There was a spark when their eyes met, and the soft sunlight was reflected in those green eyes.
“What made you fall for Frederic?” Didrik asked after a while.
Bente laughed. “I don’t know—maybe the fact that I could be myself with him. And I learned a lot about myself. I discovered new things with him. Apart from that . . . I guess I was young. And you? What did you fall for?”
“His masculinity, that incredible French . . .” He grinned at Bente, who burst out laughing.
“All joking aside . . .” He took a deep breath.
“Lovisa made me feel secure, she was . . . everything I was looking for. But I also valued her passion for her subject—maybe I told you she’s a lecturer in philosophy?
I’ve always found it attractive when people are passionate about something.
It could be work, music, some form of art, anything. ” He looked at her. “Even wine.”
That hit home—she was clearly embarrassed.
“How did you two meet?”
“At a mutual friend’s thesis disputation dinner. I was sitting next to Lovisa, and . . .”
He began to tell her the story, but after a while he realized he had been too long-winded again. Why would she be interested in hearing about his ex?
“Anyway,” he said. “Sk?l.”
His phone buzzed. Shit. He sighed.
“Lovisa?”
“Just Mom.”
“Just Mom?” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “Take it if you want.”
“She doesn’t know we’ve split up, so I’m avoiding her calls right now.”
A second later a message flashed on the screen.
I’ve just spoken to Lovisa. Are you getting a Divorce?
He sighed. Answered quickly:
Haven’t got time to talk at the moment, but yes, we’re getting a divorce.
For a few seconds nothing happened. He looked at Bente.
“Okay?” she said, just as his phone buzzed again.
You need to fix this, Didrik.
He shook his head and groaned. Of course in his mother’s eyes it was his fault that Lovisa had met someone else.
“Are you all right?” Bente placed a hand on his arm, which made him jump. She immediately drew back. He cursed his reaction, but he had been unprepared.
“She’s found out that Lovisa and I are divorcing, and she wants me to fix it. We’re so far apart, Mom and I. We’ve never understood each other.”
“How do you mean?”
“For one thing, she can’t understand why I want to work in television when I could go all in and become a professor. Maybe it’s my way of rebelling against her. My way of resisting.”
“Why is she so set against TV?”
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s her academic leanings. She doesn’t believe it’s good enough. But I also think . . .” He paused, sipped his wine. “I think she doesn’t like it because her sister is Kristina Storm. Part of this is rooted in sibling rivalry.”
“Seriously? Is Krissie your aunt?”
He nodded. “Mm . . . and Mom has never liked the fact that she’s famous, though she would never admit it. So when I started appearing on TV, too, it felt to her like a slap in the face.”
Bente smiled, but quickly grew serious again.
“So what does she say to you?”
“I suppose she imagines she’s being subtle, but what she thinks is as clear as day to me.
She makes little digs all the time, hidden criticisms.” He knew that his mother’s attitude was unhealthy, even though he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it.
But now, talking about it to someone on the outside, he realized just how true that realization was.
Before this, he had always accepted that the fault lay with him, believing that his choice of career was controversial and unsatisfactory in some way.
Bente remained silent for a little while, as if she were letting what he had told her sink in. Then she took a big gulp of wine and looked at him. The sun had gone down now; all that remained was one last shimmering strip of light that made Bente’s hair glow.
“I don’t know your mother, and I’m not familiar with your relationship. But the fact that she criticizes you feels . . .” She broke off. Once again she placed her hand on his arm. This time he didn’t jump, even though her touch seemed to be burning a hole in his sleeve.
“You explain history to viewers. A colleague in the wine bar told me that her nephew developed an interest in history thanks to you. He never liked school, but then they started watching The Experts together in the evenings, and he became really curious about the stories you brought to life. What you do is important—you teach anybody and everybody about the past, you reach out to them, and you do it brilliantly. You’re popular, you’re nice, everybody loves you.
She’s your mom, for God’s sake, how can she criticize someone she loves like that . . .”
Her tone made it clear what she thought about his mother, which was something entirely new for Didrik. Lovisa and his mom had always been united in their dislike of his TV career, as if it were some kind of crazy whim. But somewhere deep down he had always considered it a cool thing to do.
“You’re absolutely fucking fantastic, Didrik.” Bente took her hand off his arm, looked him straight in the eye, and raised her glass in a toast.
Didrik knew he was appreciated, but to hear Bente talking about what he did as if it were something important, actually hearing someone praise him like that, made a wonderful warm glow spread through his body. He nodded slowly and took her hand.
“Thank you.”