17
Nora’s panic attack had shocked Henrik. He thought he had acted appropriately under the circumstances; he knew that Elnaz was going to talk to Nora and offer counseling, but maybe he ought to do something else as well. In the end he sent a text message. Should he apologize?
When they were filming without Nora the following day, Ted insisted that Henrik do a piece for the camera about what had happened, as if they planned to include Nora’s panic attack in the show. Henrik naturally questioned this, but Ted reassured him that they would show only the conversation beforehand, not the attack itself.
Henrik was still ashamed of himself for going along with it. He talked about how Nora drove herself too hard because she had no boundaries. “And,” he had said in conclusion, “if someone is in such a fragile mental state, then maybe they shouldn’t be running their own business.”
How could he have said that? Surely he had gone too far? But Ted had been pleased, and in the end it was all about making Don and TV24 happy. What the hell was happening to Henrik’s show if they were putting the participants in situations that provoked panic attacks? Don had been across the room when Nora collapsed, and Henrik had seen his expression. He had looked shocked, but also delighted in a bloodthirsty way, like someone watching a gladiator fight.
On their way back to the hotel that evening, Elnaz took him aside.
“Did you think what happened yesterday was okay?”
Henrik gazed out across the inlet. He could just make out the circular jetty that was apparently known as Myntbryggan. The sun had gone down, leaving behind pink streaks across the sky and casting a golden glow across the surface of the water. A thin mist was rising in the chilly air.
He turned to Elnaz. “What do you think?”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I thought you were going to try flirting with Nora? You do realize Don is going to want to highlight the hysterical-woman angle with manipulated emotions, if you don’t give him anything else?”
“So pretending to flirt with her isn’t manipulating her emotions?” Henrik pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his sheepskin jacket.
“It’s not about pretending or manipulating, it’s just being a little flirtatious with an attractive woman—that’s not such a terrible thing, is it?”
Nora was attractive, he couldn’t deny that. He had gazed at those incredibly long legs more than once, and then there were those alarmingly blue eyes that constantly threw murderous looks at him. He shook his head. “Surely that’s irrelevant? Ted just asked me to talk about Nora’s reaction yesterday. What do you want me to do? Ted gives me one set of instructions, then you come along and say something different. Then there’s the fact that Nora is furious all the time. I have no idea how I’m supposed to flirt with her convincingly.”
Elnaz shook her head. She sighed, a distant look in her eyes as if she were thinking. “Maybe the two of you ought to meet up on your own; it might make the vibe between you a little more relaxed. Ask her out for a glass of wine; try to build some bridges.”
“I’m not sure a glass of wine will help when my very existence infuriates her. She seems to think it’s my fault that she’s run her place into the ground.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thing you mustn’t say. I know how Ted thinks, but we’ve got a lot of footage of you being supercritical—I’m afraid the viewers will begin to have a negative impression of you if we carry on like this. Everyone loves Henrik Eklund, and I’d prefer that it stay that way. A little romance would make you more human; they don’t want to see that superior being anymore.” They had reached the hotel, and the last rays of sun had been swallowed up by the dark-blue twilight.
Elnaz had a point, of course.
“Invite her out for a glass of wine tomorrow evening and talk about something else. Just try to get her to like you a little bit so that we can get on with filming. Okay?”
In order to clear his head before dinner with Don, Henrik took a walk through town. He stopped outside the bookstore and decided to go inside. It was a light, airy space, with bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Henrik’s latest book was a bestseller. Thanks to his TV success over the past few years, sales had been excellent. Then again, success might be fleeting—he was nervous about meeting Don.
He wandered over to the cookbook section. He couldn’t see his father’s latest work, but the classic Home Baking with Hasse was there. It had been reprinted several times, with a new edition published last year. Henrik picked up a copy, leafed through the pages. He stopped on a picture of his father and thought of how he’d outright rejected his proposal for a café. The book really was a classic, containing recipes and photographs of bread, cakes, and Danish pastries. There were also a few pictures of his father in the big rustic kitchen at the mansion.
The recipe for Eklunds’ cinnamon buns was one of the first in the book. The buns were their pride and joy, and they were the key to the company’s original success.
It had all begun with Great-Grandfather, who had started his own bakery, which then grew. Henrik’s grandfather had gone into the business as soon as he left school, and the two of them had expanded the bakery, delivering bread and buns all over V?stmanland, Uppland, and Dalarna. By the end of the 1970s the firm had grown so much that Eklunds’ cinnamon buns were the most popular store-bought bun. Thanks to the technique of baking at a high temperature and then immediately freezing them, they seemed as if they were freshly made when customers bought them at the store.
The love of baking had been passed down to Henrik’s father, then to Henrik and Tom. Even though they had so much in common, there had always been quarrels and rifts within the family. Hasse thought his children should earn their place in the firm, because that was what he had had to do. He had created a public profile, made a name for himself, and the expansion of mass-produced loaves and cinnamon buns had proceeded at warp speed when Hasse took over. He thought his children had had everything served up on a silver platter. He had assumed that he would eventually have sole control of the business, given that he was an only child. When Grandfather split everything equally between Hasse, Henrik, Tom, and Camilla, the shaky relationships within the family had reached an unprecedented level of difficulty.
Henrik had always gotten along better with his grandfather, who adored his grandchildren. On one occasion when Henrik was a teenager and his father had made some disparaging remark to Henrik over dinner at the summer cottage in Bergslagen, in front of the whole family—Hasse’s specialty was making condescending comments when everyone was listening—Grandfather had taken Henrik on a fishing trip. In the little skiff on the quiet waters of the lake, with only eight hundred mosquitoes for company, he had confided in Henrik that he and his father had also had their difficulties. The conflicts between them had escalated, and by the time Great-Grandfather died, the two of them were only colleagues rather than father and son. They discussed business, nothing else. They never saw each other outside of work. Henrik didn’t know what those conflicts were about, and it didn’t matter; he had understood that he didn’t have to be friends with his father, that it was okay for a family relationship to be poor. And now it felt as if everything he had fought for, all his dreams, was slipping through his fingers because of his father.
Henrik had spoken to the landlord, who told him that there was another interested party coming to look at the place in a couple of weeks. The board meeting would be taking place around the same time, so Henrik still had a chance of securing the lease unless the other party was superquick.
“It’s Henrik Eklund, isn’t it?”
A voice interrupted Henrik’s train of thought, and he turned to see the bookstore owner smiling at him.
“It is.” He held out his hand.
“Malin—I just wanted to say hello. I heard you were in town.”
“That’s right—I’ve been here for a few days now.”
“Your book is very popular. I love the apple cake, my kids are crazy for it. I make it all the time.”
Henrik smiled. “I’m glad you like it—it’s always good to hear that.” It was true—he was always pleased when people appreciated his recipes.
“I wonder if you’d be interested in taking part in an author’s event here? We run them from time to time, and they’re very well attended.”
He considered for a moment. He wasn’t sure he had time; filming days were busy, and he was traveling back to Stockholm soon to record Christmas with the Eklunds . But he enjoyed meeting his viewers and readers, and maybe the production team would be interested in including it as part of the show?
“Of course I understand if it’s not possible, but I thought it was worth asking,” Malin said.
Something about her cheerful demeanor and warm smile made it hard to refuse.
“Why not? It sounds great—would you mind if we filmed it for the TV show?”
“That would be fun! We could make it a mulled wine evening—we could buy some snacks and treats from Nymans too. Maybe you could bake your delicious gingerbread cookies?”
“I’d love to.”
“We usually hold our author events on Wednesdays—would that work for you?”
“Let me double-check the schedule with the production team—I’ll ask them to contact you.”
“Wonderful!” Malin clapped her hands with delight.
Outside the snow had begun to fall, thick, heavy flakes drifting slowly to the ground. The world was like a snow globe that had just been shaken. Henrik made his way to the restaurant. An open fire was crackling inside, and Don was already waiting at a corner table with a lowball glass in front of him. He stood up and held out his hand as Henrik approached.
“I’m drinking an old-fashioned—what would you like?”
Henrik shook hands, then turned to the waitress, who had just arrived with their menus. “I’ll have the same, please.”
“Good to see you,” Don said, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. I want to start by saying that Let’s Get Baking is a good show. We’ve had several fantastic seasons. But as I mentioned earlier, we need to liven it up this season. We want something to happen , which is why I think we have to make the best possible use of Nora Jansson.”
“Are you sure? Let’s Get Baking has been popular for several years now, and the concept works.”
“What can I say? The competition is fierce, and we need higher viewer ratings. We need something extra to make the show stand out, something that makes viewers engage . And Nora has character. Feisty as fuck. It could work.”
“And is there a particular reason why you’re so focused on the ratings right now?”
“We’re always focused on ratings.”
“I heard through the grapevine that you’re not happy with the numbers.”
Don put down his glass. “Okay, I’ll be honest with you. TV24 isn’t too happy with the fall season’s ratings.”
Although Henrik had already heard the same thing from his father, and Elnaz had confirmed it, he still found it tough to hear it from Don—who actually represented TV24.
“Why haven’t you said anything until now?”
“We didn’t want to make things worse; the plan is to work on taking the show to a new level. Obviously we were going to share our thoughts with you. I was planning to bring it up with Camilla, but since we’re sitting here, I decided I might as well talk to you about it directly.”
Henrik nodded, studying the young executive producer. Don looked significantly older than he was, with his shaven head and slightly old-mannish clothing. He was ambitious and would no doubt be working on the channel’s biggest shows in a few years. His penchant for creating controversy might cause him some trouble, though, especially if he refused to drop the reality thread. “While we’re being so honest, are you lining up any new shows for next fall?” Henrik asked.
Don’s pause and sharp intake of breath confirmed Henrik’s fears.
“We’re in discussions with a production company about a new baking show, yes. But nothing has been decided yet.” Don leaned closer. “I mean, what can I say? The success of the Christmas special is crucial. We have to give viewers what they want.” He sat back and finished off his drink. “So it’s in both our interests to make this year’s Christmas special as good as it can be.” He grinned at Henrik, picked up the menu. “Agreed?”
Henrik nodded slowly, even though he didn’t quite know why. Had he just agreed to try to make Let’s Get Baking the next big reality show?
Ahmat offered to drive Nora home with all the decorations, but she needed the ride home in the cold November night to clear her mind. Bea promised to bring the boxes over later in the week.
The sky was clear and filled with stars. Nora cycled fast, enjoying the feeling of the icy air tearing at her lungs.
When she reached the kiosk on the corner next to the patisserie, she slowed down. Celebrity Baker Chooses V?stervik said the placard for one of the evening papers. So her participation in the show had hit the headlines in town.
She was about to stop when she saw a man standing outside the patisserie, looking up at her windows. Unfortunately, it was Mange Lund, a guy she’d hooked up with now and again. He’d wanted something more serious, which had made her break off the whole thing. She braked sharply, then turned into the first alleyway she came to. Someone appeared out of nowhere. She braked again, lost her balance, and wobbled precariously.
“Whoa!” The deep voice belonged to the man she had almost crashed into; fortunately, he caught her and stopped her from falling.
Unfortunately, he turned out to be Henrik Eklund.
She couldn’t help registering how solid his torso was. He held her firmly to keep the bike from tipping over.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She freed herself from his grip and got off, her legs trembling.
“Are you okay?”
“Ssh!” She put a finger to her lips.
“Why are we whispering?”
“Because there’s someone I don’t want to talk to just around the corner.” She moved over to the wall, where the glow of the streetlamps didn’t quite reach and she was hidden by the shadows. Henrik followed her, raised his eyebrows. “And what is this someone doing there?”
“I think he’s checking to see if I’m home.”
Henrik’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t sound too threatening.”
“No, it’s just ... he ...” She hesitated. “He might have a reason for coming over. I stopped contacting him, and I haven’t answered his calls, and ...”
Henrik was grinning now. “I understand—it’s kind of awkward.”
Nora shrugged, feeling stupid. What could she say? She’d simply been too much of a coward to have that conversation with Mange.
“So what are you doing out and about?” she asked quietly.
“I’ve just had dinner with Don, and I thought I’d take a walk around town.”
“Not much happens at this hour in November.”
“That’s okay. I like the quiet.”
She nodded. “That’s what I like about this town too—you can find peace and quiet, but still have people around you. It’s an unbeatable combination.” They fell silent, and she expected him to bring up yesterday’s incident. “I’m sorry I lied the other day,” she said quickly, in an attempt to divert him.
“Lied about what?”
“About dinner—when I said I was babysitting. Going out for dinner with you and the production team would have felt like hanging out with my kidnappers.”
“You mean we’ve kidnapped you and your patisserie?” He was smiling.
“Something like that.”
“And having dinner with us would equate to some kind of Stockholm Syndrome?”
She couldn’t help laughing, then suddenly realized she was laughing with Henrik Eklund—the man she had regarded as her enemy.
Henrik’s expression grew serious. “Listen, what happened yesterday ... I apologize for pushing you too far. I didn’t understand what was going on until it was too late.”
“Neither did I. You’re not going to use any of that, are you?”
He hesitated briefly. “No, of course not. I’ll make sure of it. This process is intense when you’re not used to it—long days with cameras in your face, irritating features producers, and a sour-faced executive producer to boot.”
His phone buzzed, and Nora sighed with relief—the last thing she wanted was to discuss her panic attack with him. He read the message and frowned.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He slipped his phone back in his pocket. “It’s just something I’m not too happy about.”
She nodded, but couldn’t help feeling curious. Surely his celebrity baker life must be worry-free?
“A difficult TV-something?”
He gave a wry smile. “A difficult TV-something with my family.”
“Oh?” She was surprised.
He shrugged. “We’re about to start filming Christmas with the Eklunds , and the situation is a little ... strained.”
Nora was even more surprised. The Eklund family seemed so perfect on TV. “I guess it can be tricky when you spend so much time working together.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then looked at her. “Is this really what you want?”
“The show?” She frowned. This was getting tedious—he knew she didn’t want to be on his show, but she had no choice.
“No, I mean the patisserie. Is it really what you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has running this place always been your dream? Is this where you saw yourself ten years ago? Or are you doing it for someone else’s sake?” His questions seemed honest, with no hint of cynicism. “Sometimes it sounds as if you’re doing things out of a sense of duty, as if you’re baking for someone else. Is that the case with the patisserie too?”
“This is definitely what I want,” she said, perhaps a little too quickly. “And is this what you want?” she countered. “Baking on TV?” Maybe that would show him how dumb his question was. Of course he wanted to be a celebrity, of course she wanted to run her business.
“I don’t actually know,” he replied to her amazement. He said nothing for a moment. “I want to bake, but I don’t know if I want to do it on TV.” He looked up at the starlit sky. “Or at least not only on TV. The fact is, I’d really love to do something along the lines of what you do. To have my own bakery. That was how our family business started, and I long to bake that way again, to sell what I make and interact with the customers. I’d love to go back to the heart of what we used to do.”
Nora nodded. “Having your own place is fantastic, but at the same time you’re ... vulnerable. As you know, taking part in your show wasn’t my choice. And running the patisserie is hard work. But surely you have every opportunity in the world to open up a place of your own? Why don’t you just do it?” He was in a healthy financial position, with a well-known name and reputation—he’d be able to draw plenty of customers. What was stopping him?
“Actually, I’ve set some plans in motion. I want Eklunds to open a bakery, and I’ve already produced a business plan.”
“How exciting—so what’s the problem?”
“The formalities—getting the board’s approval and so on.”
She still didn’t understand why he didn’t just do it.
“So why not do it yourself, without the family firm?”
He stared at her in silence, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I ... I think it would make sense to do it within Eklunds somehow, since that was how it all started.” He smiled. “So there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?”
She sensed he was trying to change the subject. She considered her answer. “I’ve always been interested in politics.”
“Politics?” She had taken him by surprise.
She nodded. “The patisserie means everything to me, and it’s what I want to do, but ... If I hadn’t ended up there, I might have gone into politics, one way or another.”
He narrowed his eyes. “With the Center Party?”
“I have no intention of sharing my political views.” She laughed again. “What are you basing that assumption on?”
“You’re the owner of a small business out in the country.”
“Not exactly out in the country. And maybe I wouldn’t want to work for any party, but instead get a job as a civil servant. I might have studied political science in college. That guy on TV24—Hermansson—has a dream job analyzing and commenting on politics. Not that I want to become famous,” she added quickly.
“Don’t worry. I know that fame isn’t high on your list of priorities.” He glanced in the direction of the main street. “Do you think your admirer’s left by now?”
“Probably.”
She left her bike propped up against the wall, took a few steps, and peered around the corner of the building. The street was deserted. A bitterly cold wind was blowing up from the harbor, the wet surface of the asphalt had hardened but was not yet frozen, and she suddenly shivered. She went back to Henrik and retrieved her bike.
He walked her to her door. The air was cold and clear, with a hint of woodsmoke from someone’s stove.
“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a glass of wine tomorrow after filming?” he asked. “I thought it might be nice to meet up and talk about something different.”
Why would he want to do that? Nora was under the impression that he disliked her at least as much as she disliked him.
“It was Elnaz’s idea,” he added. “She felt it would improve our relationship, and I agree. It’s always easier on camera if you get to know each other off camera.”
“Okay.” Nora knew that saying no wasn’t an option, after lying about the reason why she couldn’t have dinner with the team, then making such nasty remarks about him.
“Good. Cool.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Any suggestions as to where we should go?”
“How about Harry’s?”
“Perfect.”
He said good night, and as Nora was locking up her bike, she reflected on what had just happened. She was going to have a glass of wine with Henrik Eklund. For some reason the prospect didn’t seem quite as bad as it would have a few days ago. Maybe it wouldn’t be completely unbearable.