Chapter 22
When Bente woke up the following morning, her head was pounding and she had a weird feeling in her body.
Warm yet slightly nauseous, as if yesterday’s alcohol was overheating her blood.
She rarely drank so much that she finished up with a hangover; she loved wine too much to sabotage the experience like that. But yesterday she had . . .
At that moment she remembered, and suddenly became aware of something else.
Someone was lying next to her, and she had a memory of something wonderful: that warm, relaxed feeling that came only from having sex.
She turned her head to see Didrik moving slowly.
Seeing his tousled hair, his lips swollen from all the kissing, the stubble that had grown even darker during the night, caused a sense of tenderness within her to wrestle with much more earthy, swirling emotions.
A second later he opened his eyes.
Her heart was racing. She wanted to kiss him, snuggle up close beside him, cancel the train home, stay in this hotel room with him for the rest of the week.
This was not good.
She reminded herself that he’d only needed someone in order to get over his ex. She had to get out of here, save them both from this uncomfortable situation.
But Didrik acted first, pulling her close with complete confidence, as if doing so were the most obvious move.
She had no intention of letting herself be fooled. He was only doing this because he regarded himself as a gentleman. She had to be professional. She sat up. Pulled the sheet over her body.
“Are you okay? Does this feel . . . wrong?” Didrik asked hesitantly.
“Not wrong, but . . .” She pulled the sheet right up to her chin, wanting to conceal herself. “I don’t think this was wrong, or bad or anything, it’s just that we work together and you’re . . . in the middle of a divorce.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not ideal.” She gathered her thoughts.
She wanted to be honest, these few days had been .
. . fabulous. No, that was too weak a word.
These few days had been pure magic. “I really like you, and these few days have been . . . fantastic. But . . .” She sighed.
“We’re going to be working together, I don’t know if this is such a good idea, and besides .
. .” She shuffled over to the edge of the bed.
The window was open, the curtains were fluttering in the breeze, and the scent of lavender from the pots in the courtyard was drifting into the room.
“Besides, you’re still married . . .” Didrik tried to protest. She raised a hand to stop him, went on: “ . . . and I assume you’ll agree when I say it’s best if we don’t continue with this.
We’re at different . . . stages in our lives. ”
Bente stood up and felt Didrik reach for her. She wrapped the sheet around her, leaving him completely naked. She quickly turned around, muttered an apology as she threw the sheet back at him, and put on her panties and her dress as fast as possible.
“So we just forget this, okay?” She shook out her hair, slipped on her shoes.
He watched her thoughtfully as she gathered up her things and scurried out into the corridor, letting the door close behind her.
Back in her own room, she threw herself on the bed.
What had just happened? What was that all about?
What the hell had she done? Didrik was a celebrity, for fuck’s sake, a much-loved TV star.
Why on earth would he want to be with her?
To get over his wife, yes, that was definitely it.
During the night it had felt perfectly okay; she had wanted to go to bed with him, and it had been fantastic.
Better than she could ever have dreamed of. But . . .
Didrik Holgersson. A man like him didn’t fall in love with someone like her. He was unattainable. Everyone loved him, and he had everything. She, on the other hand, had a slightly messy life, lived with her mother and sister, and harbored pathetic aspirations about returning to TV.
Why had she gone to his room? Why had she slept with him when she knew it could ruin so much?
Because he had aroused something within her, it was that simple, and she had been unable to resist. They could talk to each other.
He was interesting, and interested in her.
She felt seen when she was with him. And he was such a decent person.
More than that, she felt the tingle. And when you felt the tingle, a one-night stand was no good, because sex led to deeper feelings.
She rolled over, buried her face in the pillow, and screamed. Screamed out her anguish over the night, and over the fact that she had walked out, leaving him there. Screamed out her frustration.
Because Didrik was the only man she really wanted.
After a while she managed to summon up enough energy to take a shower and get changed.
They had been given permission to take the wine bottle back to Sweden so they could use it for filming and for further research, so she wrapped the wooden box that held it in newspaper and placed it in her suitcase, protected by her clothes.
Afterward, she sat on the balcony for a few minutes, inhaling her last breaths of Paris before meeting up with Elnaz and Didrik outside the hotel. Didrik arrived at the last second, hurrying across from the other side of the street.
Bente felt as if an electric shock passed through her body when she saw him.
“I just had to do something,” he said, before dashing into reception to retrieve his suitcase. When he came back, he had taken the plastic folder with all the travel arrangements out of his briefcase and was double-checking the train’s departure platform. Always in control.
Maybe it was that air of safety and security that she found so frightening? Even now, when he was in the middle of a crisis, he appeared totally secure. If anything, this trip had recruited Bente into Didrik’s huge fan club.
She now got why everybody loved him. People enjoyed his company, that unshakable calmness, but also the fact that he listened with such interest. He was curious about her.
She reflected on her answer to his question about Frederic and why she had fallen for him.
She had been able to be herself with Didrik; she didn’t need to pretend when she was with him.
But that also meant that he had just let her be.
It occurred to her that he hadn’t really asked questions about her background, or seemed to wonder about who she was and how she operated.
Henrik Eklund, her ex, had wanted to get to know her, had wanted to know everything about her, and she had told him about her father and what had really happened; it would have been odd not to share that with her boyfriend.
But she had given Henrik the simple version and thereafter avoided the subject.
She didn’t really know why she acted that way.
Didrik had shown interest in her, but no good could come of imagining she was unique in that respect; no doubt he was the kind of guy who was generally interested in people.
Thank goodness she hadn’t opened up too much, or she would have scared him off.
That was why it was probably best that they didn’t continue, best that whatever this might have been was finished now.
Before things got too complicated.
They woke up in Hamburg the following morning and ate breakfast in the restaurant car as the outskirts of the city swished by.
Bente had just sat down with a cup of coffee when she received a message from the head of her former sommelier school.
Based on the kind of wood and the craftsmanship, the box was probably made in Deux-Sèvres in western France, near Bordeaux. Unfortunately we can’t find any more information.
She looked up at her companions with a resigned expression, and passed on the message.
“So nothing to link the bottle to a specific vineyard,” she concluded, “or even a specific village in Bordeaux.”
“That’s a shame,” Elnaz said. “We really do need some kind of breakthrough.” She spread butter on her toast. “I’ve kept the production company and Don, the exec producer with TV24, updated during our trip, and . . . well, they’re not too impressed with what we’ve found out.”
Bente held her breath.
“I mean, I believe in this,” Elnaz said, “and I know it would make an interesting program, even if we can’t get to the whole truth about the bottle. And the company and TV24 still want to make the show.”
Bente exhaled.
“But with a slightly different angle. A little more personal.”
“Personal? In what way?”
Elnaz gazed steadily at Bente as she answered, with some hesitation in her voice. “More focus on the two of you. Didrik is incredibly popular, everyone wants to know more about him, and everyone is . . . curious about you.” She spoke slowly, as if she were choosing her words with care.
What did that mean?
“I don’t really understand,” Didrik said.
“Well, think more Stars at the Castle and So Much Better,” Elnaz said, citing two famous Swedish reality programs: one featuring celebrities who live together for five days, discussing their lives and careers; the other starring musicians who stay together at a hotel, reinterpreting each other’s songs.
“You chat to each other during your journey, get to know each other . . .”
Bente couldn’t suppress a small smile. If Elnaz only knew. She didn’t dare look at Didrik.
“. . . through the wine, the history, the food. Maybe you invite some guests,” Elnaz continued.
“Other well-known personalities who have some kind of food or wine profile. I haven’t quite thought it through, but it was an option I suggested to TV24 when they initially were hesitating, and they asked us to keep it in mind.
A different angle. We’ve been discussing that option, and I’ve found some fabulous locations in Paris.
It could be terrific—the two of you have amazing chemistry. ”
Didrik laughed. Bente turned to him and saw that he was looking out of the window. She turned to Elnaz again.
“So you suggested this?”
“Not exactly, I was just giving them an alternative option.” She sighed and took a big gulp of her coffee.
Put on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the rays of the low sun.
“Or would you prefer they cancel the whole show?” Her tone was neither harsh nor unpleasant, simply matter-of-fact.
“I’ve put together everything we’ve got, and they still think it’s too thin. ”
Bente gave a cautious nod but didn’t say anything.
“I assume we can think it over,” Didrik said, giving Bente a meaningful look.
She gazed out of the window. Forest. The forest had taken over from the built-up suburbs.
Yes, she could probably go along with Elnaz’s suggestion, but she still wanted to tell the story of the bottle; it had gotten hold of her.
It meant something. But if there was nothing to tell, what would she do then?
Was it worth making a TV show she didn’t believe in at all, and wouldn’t feel comfortable with?
Could that show lead to other possibilities, the chance of making one in the future with a concept she really did care about?
This was her opportunity to get back into the world of TV.
So maybe she should just grab it with both hands.