43
Henrik scattered flour across the slab. Tipped out the dough he had left to proof overnight. Kneaded it as the cold stone surface slowly warmed up beneath his hands.
As a child he had baked sourdough at least once a month. These days he baked every weekend. His friends loved the bread, Bente had adored it, and they had always eaten far too many slices at weekend breakfasts.
He shaped the dough into loaves and covered them with a kitchen towel. He took down the jar containing the sourdough starter from the cupboard above the refrigerator and stared at it. When Nora had told him the story of her sourdough that night at the hotel, he had thought it too unbelievable to be true and quickly dismissed the idea. But he hadn’t been able to let it go completely.
His father wasn’t aware that Henrik knew the whole story. He had heard it from Lydia, an elderly lady who had worked at the bakery, then become manager of Eklunds’ café in Almtorp.
She had spent many hours there as a pensioner long after the café had been sold to a new owner, sitting happily in a corner with her coffee, newspaper, and a cinnamon bun. Henrik used to hang out there in the summer, and he and Lydia became friends. She told him the story of the sourdough when he was a teenager and said that his paternal grandfather had never forgotten the love of his life. “She simply disappeared—to Sm?land, people thought, but there wasn’t much he could do. He spent a long time searching for her, but he never found her.”
When Nora had mentioned the name of her great-grandmother, Henrik had understood how it all fit together.
He left the loaves to proof and went up to the loft and dug out a box containing old documents he had been given after his grandfather’s death. He riffled through the photographs, recipes, and sketches for advertising posters, and then he picked out a recipe and a sketch and returned downstairs.
He took a cab to the solicitors’ office in ?stermalm to sign all the documents. Sv?rdh as far as Henrik was aware, Hasse hadn’t reported his son to the police yet. Maybe he realized it wouldn’t exactly be good PR. Henrik had made a pretty clear statement, and if he was reported to the police, the facade of the happy family Hasse had built over several decades would be completely shattered.
“Fine.” Henrik checked the relevant section; the amount was correct. He picked up the pen, skimmed through the agreement, and signed it.
He strolled from the solicitors’ office to the NK department store, where he was meeting Tom for lunch. He took a moment to admire NK’s festive window display before he went in. There was an elves’ workshop in an elaborate wooden house: elves toiling away, beautifully wrapped presents, gingerbread houses, Christmas stockings. He thought about Nora—she would love this.
Tom was already waiting for him in the restaurant. He greeted his brother with a pat on the shoulder—they didn’t really go in for hugs, except when they were being filmed—and sat down. The waiter took their order.
“So you’re pulling out?” Tom said, unfolding his napkin.
Henrik nodded. “I’ve had enough. I’m done with our father.” He sighed. “I can’t bear to work with him any longer. It’s impossible to collaborate with someone who’s constantly working against me.”
Tom gazed at him. “Dad does seem to have a problem with you at the moment.”
“I just can’t deal with his whims and moods anymore.”
Tom nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. We’ve always played along, done whatever it took to make him like us. We all wanted to be number one. But what’s led you to make this decision now?”
Henrik took a deep breath and looked out the window. “These last few months have been different, somehow. I’ve gotten to know someone who has no family to lean on, no family to back her up, no financial security at all, and yet she manages to cope all on her own. It’s made me realize that I don’t need this safety net. Being dependent on something so dysfunctional just makes everything harder.”
“Are you talking about that baker?”
Henrik nodded. “I am.” Then he smiled.
Tom smiled, too, and took a piece of bread from the basket in front of him.
“How’s Ellen?” Henrik asked. “I hardly got the chance to speak to her when we were filming at Dad and Anita’s.”
“We’ve separated.”
At first Henrik thought he must have misheard. “Separated ... But ... Are you serious?” He leaned across the table, clumsily placed a hand on Tom’s arm. “How are you feeling?”
His brother shrugged. “Fine. It happened a while ago, back in the summer actually, so I’ve had time to work through it.”
“Back in the summer? But she was there for ...”
“The filming, yes, I know. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Dad—he’ll just think I’m even more of a failure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tom simply took a deep breath, and Henrik understood. They didn’t talk to each other about that kind of thing. They had always made sure they came across as successful in front of each other; any weakness felt like a failure.
“Things have to change,” Henrik said, his expression serious. “You can talk to me whenever you need to.”
Tom nodded. “Thank you.” He sighed. “I knew that really.”
To think that they’d ended up here, unable to share important family news. Henrik thought how sad it was, but he understood Tom. He himself had waited a long time before telling the family that he and Bente had broken up. There was a time when the siblings had meant everything to one another, but somewhere along the way, when they realized what the family firm was worth and what possibilities it could offer, the situation had changed and they had begun to regard each other as rivals rather than friends.
“And the baker? Is it ... serious?”
Henrik nodded. “It is. But the press launch was a disaster, the trailer they showed was completely out of line, and Dad was there, too, talking a load of crap, and now ... she doesn’t even want to talk to me.”
Tom looked pensive. “One of the reasons Ellen and I broke up is that she found the public side of things very difficult—and I wasn’t even in the public eye all that much. It must be super tough for ... Nora, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“It must be tough for Nora to understand it all, with all its twists and turns,” Tom added.
“But I had nothing to do with the editing. I’ve tried to explain it, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Okay, so the editing isn’t in your control, but something must have led to those scenes—and yet you’re still portrayed as a decent guy. Perfect, as usual.” Tom took a sip of water. “What I’m saying is that it can’t be easy for her to know what she’s supposed to believe. It must look to her as if you’ve benefited from the fact that she comes across so badly. The clips that were shown at the launch have attracted a lot of interest, haven’t they?”
Tom was right. Henrik wasn’t much better than their father—who exploited everyone around him in order to succeed. Nora had been depicted as a hysterical woman on the show, and he had contributed to that. He had to admit that he’d known exactly what he was doing while they were filming. Okay, so he had protested over the fake romance direction, but he’d still gone along with it. He’d exploited her. Just like Bente. How could Nora possibly know that he felt differently now? Especially after all she’d gone through ... She, if anyone, deserved real love.
“Go and see her,” Tom said. “Talk to her, show her what’s real as far as you’re concerned.”