Chapter 31
Didrik smiled at his aunt. The interview had gone well.
She had asked him some probing questions.
The Friday show always included a longer, more in-depth conversation with the special guest, and of course Krissie was a journalist—he wouldn’t have expected anything less.
For example, she had asked what his parents thought of his career choice, which had made him laugh before admitting that while his father was his greatest admirer, his mother wished he had stuck to the world of academia.
Honesty in prime time—Mom could handle that.
Krissie had smiled in mutual understanding; over the years she had suffered her own share of digs and jibes from her sister.
She hadn’t mentioned his separation, though. When he got back from Paris, Krissie had contacted him to offer sympathy on the split. Sometime later, she had come by his office with lunch, and he had told her most of the story. It had been easier to talk to Krissie than to his own mother.
Appearing on Krissie made for a nice break from brooding over his conversation with Bente. They hadn’t been in touch since she’d insinuated that he didn’t mean that much to her.
Just anybody.
He couldn’t let it go.
They were due to travel to Bordeaux in a couple of weeks. Didrik believed in the show. He wanted to be involved, and he had managed to book several exciting interviews during their trip that he believed could take the content they already had to another level.
But were they going to be able to work together?
The cooking segment came next, and he helped Krissie and the guest chef prepare a chicken dish.
After that, the book panel offered tips on what to read over the weekend.
Didrik had also brought a book to recommend, a biography of Queen Elizabeth.
He loved the whole concept of Krissie’s show, and realized he was really enjoying the live broadcast. His aunt was so good at making everyone feel comfortable.
Krissie looked into the camera. “And now it’s time for our wine slot. This evening we are joined by the sommelier Bente Hammar.”
Didrik gave a start. Bente?
“Bente is going to tell us about the best wines available this spring.”
And there she was, wearing a pale-green, silky, knee-length dress with long sleeves.
She went over to the table where four bottles of wine were waiting, with three glasses in front of each one. Didrik didn’t move for a second or two. He was completely unprepared. Then he felt Krissie’s inquiring gaze.
“I believe you two are working together on a new show?” Didrik put on his most professional expression, got up from the sofa, and went over to join the two women. He was almost dazzled by the reflection of the spotlights in the highly polished glasses.
“That’s right,” Bente said. “It’s going to combine wine and history, and we’re actually heading off to Bordeaux in a couple of weeks, where we’ll attempt to track down the origins of a mysterious old bottle of wine.”
“Sounds great,” Krissie said. “Definitely a show to look forward to!”
Didrik nodded in agreement. He looked into Bente’s eyes. Their deep-green color reminded him of green wine bottles under those studio lights. She smiled politely. Coolly. How could she be so frosty? So distant?
Didrik had never been able to love half-heartedly. He couldn’t feel an attraction and a passion for someone and then simply move on. He found it so hard to understand how someone couldn’t open up completely when they really liked the other person.
The wine had already been poured into large glasses.
“Are we tasting Bordeaux wines today?” Krissie asked, picking up the first glass before swirling it around and sniffing.
“No, I’ve selected Pinot Noir, which is mainly associated with Burgundy and the New World. It’s a fantastic grape at this time of year, springtime, especially to accompany lighter dishes. It’s used to produce reds, but also sparkling wines and rosés. I have a wonderful Austrian rosé to begin with.”
They sniffed and sipped while Bente talked about the wine, then she moved on to an American Pinot Noir.
“Mmm . . .” Krissie said. “A wine for the hammock!”
Bente smiled. “If you take another sip, I think you’ll find this wine has slightly fiery, smoky notes. You can almost taste a charcoal grill! And caramelized tones—it opens up gradually.”
Unlike certain people, Didrik thought, hoping she couldn’t see how hurt he was.
Bente closed her eyes. “This is one of my favorites—I love it.”
She spoke with such intensity about wine. Would she ever be able to feel even half of that passion for him?
Didrik nodded. Made an odd comment about licorice even though he couldn’t taste any licorice at all. She lobbed a quick response back at him, said there might be a hint of aniseed, a touch of something herbal.
He couldn’t help himself. “Don’t you think there’s an element of thatched roof in this wine?” His tone was awkward. He hadn’t meant to sound exactly the way he felt; he’d planned to hide it a little better. He swirled the glass around. “Dish soap?”
Krissie gave him an uncertain look. Laughed disarmingly. “You’re being very creative, Didrik.”
Bente smiled. “Maybe—there’s certainly a freshness, perhaps a little fruitiness.”
When it came to the next wine, Didrik managed to comment first. “I’m getting . . .” He paused, and his poor aunt forced a smile. “Sweaty horse.” He was sure he’d heard that stupid description somewhere.
“Sweaty horse.” Bente’s expression grew serious, and she remained silent for a few seconds.
“Funny you should say that.” She sniffed the red wine, turned to face him, and fixed him with her gaze.
“The person who first got me interested in wine sometimes used that description for red wines.” She stared meaningfully at Didrik, and something happened deep inside him.
It was as if she wanted to show him that there was a little leeway, after all, that she could open up.
But there was also a tentative little smile on her face, as if she were saying sorry.
“He’d picked the term up from a TV show in the eighties,” she added.
“And who was it who got you interested in wine?” Krissie asked.
“My father.” Her voice trembled, and he saw that her eyes were shining with tears.
“He must be so proud of you,” Krissie said.
“I’m sure he would have been.”
It was all Didrik could do not to close the distance between them, take her in his arms, and hold her. Instead he reached out his hand under the table so that no one could see. Squeezed her hand.
As he watched, she closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.
Bente had hoped that Didrik would understand—this had been a huge step for her to take.
She made her way to the greenroom while he remained on set, talking about the new season of The Experts that was to be filmed after the summer.
She could see him on the big screen in the greenroom.
The show was live, and he was laughing and joking, being completely himself.
He was always like that. His authentic self.
But the fact that he had shared his innermost thoughts with her meant that he had been more than just genuine with Bente; he had made himself vulnerable too.
She thought about Henrik; she had always kept him at arm’s length. And before him she’d done the same with Frederic, who in turn had always kept his own innermost feelings a very long way from Bente. This had suited her very well because it meant their relationship made no demands on her.
Didrik, on the other hand, had expected her to open up, exactly as he had done. Maybe doing so was worth it. Maybe she needed to do that in order to give him—to give them—an honest chance?
When he emerged from the studio, she was waiting. She looked him in the eye.
“Running a restaurant,” she said, because she didn’t know how else to start.
“Sorry?”
“Running a restaurant. Or a wine bar.”
He raised his eyebrows. Apparently she needed to explain why she was standing here spitting out alternative careers.
“That’s what I dreamed of when I was a child—running a restaurant.”
“Okay?”
“And that’s what I’d choose to do today, if I were to do something else. A wine bar rather than a restaurant, though. But I have to explain why. Everything kind of hangs together.”
He nodded.
“Do you want to talk?”
He gazed into her eyes.
“I’d love to.”
They wandered through G?rdet. Today Stockholm was offering its entire repertoire of spring weather.
A storm had just passed, and now the steel-gray bank of clouds was resting on the horizon, appearing to swallow the setting sun, which was staining the sky the color of a blood orange.
The air was heavy with rain and dampness.
“First of all, I want to say that I really do want to share more,” she began.
“I want us to get to know each other, it’s just that I’m not sure .
. . what this is, what we have. I mean, you’re Didrik Holgersson.
One of Sweden’s most likable personalities.
You can have anyone you want.” She laughed.
“I guess this is my way of telling you I’m insecure. ” She stopped, smiled.
He smiled back. “Anyone I want? I want you.” Those dark eyes twinkled.
His words made her heart pound.
I want you.
He gave a little laugh, sounding almost embarrassed. “I like you very much.” He kept his gaze fixed on her and she had to look away, but she was still smiling. They set off again and she continued to talk.
“My parents were accountants, but Dad’s passions were cooking and wine.
He often talked about running a restaurant, something of his own.
Nothing major, just a modest local eatery in the suburb where we lived.
He had big dreams, and in the end his dreams became my dreams too. And somehow they have lived on.”