Buried Angels (20 page)

‘I heard about the fire. And the other thing,’ said Anna. Finding blood under the floor of your house seemed such an absurd discovery that she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.

‘We’re trying to keep working as best we can,’ said Tobias. ‘We can’t afford not to.’

From inside the house came the sound of voices and splintering floorboards.

‘The tech team is still here,’ Ebba explained. ‘They’re breaking up the entire dining-room floor.’

‘Are you sure it’s safe for you to stay?’ Anna realized it was none of her business, but there was something about this couple that aroused her maternal instincts.

‘We’re fine,’ said Tobias, his voice strangely flat. He reached out to embrace Ebba, but as if anticipating the move she stepped away and his arm dropped to his side.

‘So you’re in need of a little help, is that right?’ said Anna, wanting to change the subject. The mood was so oppressive that she was finding it hard to breathe.

Tobias seemed grateful of the distraction. ‘As I said on the phone, we’re at a loss how to proceed once the basic remodelling’s finished. Interior design isn’t our thing.’

‘I really admire what you’re doing. This is quite a job you’ve taken on. But I think it’s going to be wonderful. I can picture a slightly old-fashioned, shabby country style, with rustic white furniture, pastel colours, romantic roses, lovely linen fabrics, pewter, and interesting little knick-knacks that will catch the eye.’ The images whirled through her head as she talked. ‘I don’t think expensive antiques would be right here – better to go for a mixture of flea-market finds and reproduction furniture that we can rough up to look old. All you need is some steel-wool and chains and …’

Tobias laughed, and his face lit up. Anna found herself thinking that he was quite attractive.

‘You certainly know what you want. But keep talking. I think it sounds good to both of us.’

Ebba nodded. ‘That’s exactly the way I envisioned things too. I just hadn’t a clue how to go about it, from a practical point of view.’ She frowned. ‘Our budget is almost non-existent. And I suppose you’re used to being able to spend a lot and command a high salary—’

Anna interrupted her. ‘I understand your situation – Tobias already explained. But you would be my first clients, so if you’re pleased with my work, I could use you as a reference. I’m sure we can agree on a price that’s within your budget. As for the furnishings, the idea is to make everything look as if it’s inherited or bought in a flea market. I’d view it as a challenge to get by as cheaply as we can.’

Her sales pitch delivered, Anna held her breath and waited for their response. She wanted this commission so badly, and what she’d just told Ebba and Tobias was true. To be given a free hand in turning the old summer camp into the gem of the archipelago would be the perfect way to launch her new enterprise.

‘I have my own business too, so I know exactly what you mean. Word of mouth is the best form of advertizing.’ Ebba seemed almost shy about mentioning this.

‘What kind of business do you have?’ asked Anna.

‘Jewellery. I make silver necklaces, with angel motifs.’

‘Sounds wonderful. How did you come to start doing that?’

It was as if the shutters had come down: Ebba lowered her eyes and turned her face. Embarrassed, Tobias dived in to break the silence.

‘We can’t say when we’ll be done with the renovation work. The police investigation and the damage in the front hall from the fire have thrown off our schedule, so it’s hard to judge how long it will be before you can start.’

‘That doesn’t matter, I can fit in with whatever suits you,’ said Anna, still puzzling over Ebba’s reaction to her question. ‘Perhaps for the time being we could just discuss colour choices for the walls, things like that. And then I could do some sketches for you and start checking out local auctions to see if I can find anything.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ said Tobias. ‘We’re hoping to be open on a small scale by Easter of next year, and then get into full swing by summer.’

‘So we have plenty of time. Is it okay if I walk around and jot down some notes before I leave?’

‘Of course. Make yourself at home,’ said Tobias. Then he thought of something. ‘But you’d better stay out of the dining room.’

‘No problem. I can come back another time to see that.’

Ebba and Tobias went off to resume what they’d been doing when she arrived and left her to wander about in peace. She took copious notes, feeling enthusiasm bubbling up inside of her. This place could be so amazing. It could be the start of her new life.

Percy’s hand shook as he prepared to sign the documents. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Buhrman, his attorney, frowned.

‘Are you absolutely sure about this, Percy? Your father would not have approved.’

‘Father is dead!’ he snapped, but quickly murmured an apology and then went on. ‘It may seem drastic, but it’s either this or sell the manor.’

‘What about a bank loan?’ said Buhrman. He had been Percy’s father’s attorney as well. Percy wondered how old he actually was. Thanks to all the hours he spent on the golf course near his home in Mallorca he resembled a mummy; his body was in such a state he could have been put on display in a museum.

‘What do you take me for? Of course I’ve spoken to the bank.’ Again Percy had to force himself to lower his voice and speak calmly. Burhman had a tendency to speak to him as if he were still a boy. He seemed to forget that Percy was now Count von Bahrn. ‘They made it very clear that they no longer wish to offer me help.’

Buhrman raised a startled eyebrow. ‘But we’ve always had such a good relationship with Svenska Banken. Your father and the old director both attended Lundsberg Gymnasium. Are you sure you spoke to the right person? Shall I try to arrange a meeting? They ought to—’

‘The old director left the bank a long time ago,’ Percy cut in. He was on the verge of losing all patience with Burhman. ‘In fact, he left this world so long ago that bones are probably all that’s left of him. We live in a different world now. The bank is staffed by bean-counters and young whippersnappers from the School of Economics. They have no idea how to behave. We’re talking about the kind of people who take off their shoes indoors!’ Angrily he signed the final document and shoved it across to the attorney, who was shaking his head, utterly perplexed.

‘Well, I do think it’s strange,’ he said. ‘Next thing you know they’ll be trying to abolish the laws governing entailed estates so that properties can be divided up willy-nilly. Speaking of which – couldn’t you speak to your siblings about this? Mary has married into wealth, and Charles is making a fortune on his restaurants, from what I understand. Maybe they would be willing to help out. You’re family, after all.’

Percy stared at him. The old man was out of his mind. Had he forgotten the heated arguments and lawsuits that followed his father’s death fifteen years ago? Percy’s siblings had been foolish enough to challenge the law which entitled him, as the eldest son, to inherit the estate in its entirety. Fortunately, the law was very clear. Fygelsta Manor was his birthright and his alone. It might have been considered proper to share some of the estate with his siblings, but after their wilful attempt to take from him what was legally his, he hadn’t felt particularly generous. So they’d been left empty-handed; and to add insult to injury they’d had to pay his legal expenses. As Buhrman said, neither of them was hurting financially, and that was something Percy consoled himself with whenever he felt a pang of guilt. But there was no way he would ever approach them, cap in hand.

‘This is my only option,’ he said, nodding at the documents. ‘I’m lucky to have good friends who are willing to step up, and I’ll pay them back as soon as I’ve straightened out this unfortunate situation with the tax authorities.’

‘Well, do as you please, but you’re putting a great deal at risk.’

‘I trust Sebastian,’ said Percy. He only wished he was as confident as he sounded.

Kjell slammed down the phone on the desk so hard that the force reverberated up his arm. The pain merely increased his fury, and he swore as he massaged his elbow, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from hurling something at the wall.

‘What’s going on?’ Rolf, his best friend and colleague, stuck his head in the door.

‘What do you think?’ Kjell ran his hand through his dark hair, which had begun acquiring the odd strand of silver a few years back.

‘Beata?’ said Rolf, coming into the room.

‘Who else? I’m sure you heard that at the last minute she stopped me from having the kids over the weekend, even though it was my turn. Now she’s on the phone, screaming and yelling that she won’t let them go with me to Mallorca. Apparently a week is too long for them to be away.’

‘But didn’t they have two weeks with her in the Canary Islands in June? And didn’t she book that trip without consulting you? Why shouldn’t they spend a week with their father?’

‘Because they’re “her” kids. That’s what she’s always saying. “My” children. Evidently I’m only allowed to borrow them.’

Kjell tried to force himself to breathe slower. He hated the fact that she still had the power to upset him. And that she didn’t care about what was best for the children. All she wanted was to make his life as miserable as possible.

‘But I thought the two of you were granted joint custody,’ said Rolf. ‘You should be allowed to have the kids more often than you do now, if that’s what you want.’

‘Yes, I know. At the same time I want them to have a stable life. I shouldn’t have to do battle every time it’s my turn to have the kids. One week’s holiday – is that too much to ask? I’m their father, and I have every bit as much right to be with them as Beata.’

‘They’re getting older, Kjell. Eventually they’ll understand. Try to be a better person, a better parent. They need peace and quiet. Make sure they have that when they’re with you, and things will work out. But don’t ever stop fighting to see them.’

‘I refuse to give up,’ said Kjell grimly.

‘Good,’ said Rolf. Then he waved the daily newspaper, which he was holding in his hand. ‘That was a great piece you wrote, by the way. You really pushed him hard. I think it’s the first article I’ve ever read where somebody actually dared to put John Holm and his party on the spot.’ He sat down in the visitor’s chair.

‘I can’t understand what’s wrong with the other journalists.’ Kjell shook his head. ‘There are such obvious holes in the rhetoric spouted by the Friends of Sweden. It shouldn’t be so hard.’

‘We can only hope more will follow your lead,’ said Rolf, pointing to the paper, which was open to Kjell’s article. ‘We need to show our readers what these people are like.’

‘The worst part is that some voters buy into their cheap propaganda. They put on those fancy suits, publicly kick out a few members who’ve attracted negative press, and try to talk about budget cuts and economizing. Behind the facade, they’re still the same old fascists. Only these days, if they give the Nazi salute and wave swastika flags, they make sure they do it under cover of darkness. Then they sit there on TV and moan that they’ve been vilified and unfairly attacked.’

‘You don’t need to preach to me. We’re on the same side,’ laughed Rolf, holding up his hands.

‘I’m convinced he’s hiding something else,’ said Kjell, massaging the bridge of his nose.

‘Who?’

‘John Holm. He’s too smooth, too polished. Everything’s too perfect. He hasn’t even bothered to cover up his past as a member of the skinhead movement. Instead he brazens it out, sitting on the studio sofa on morning TV shows, apologizing and lamenting. So none of that stuff is news to the voters. No, I need to dig deeper. He can’t have purged himself of all his sins.’

‘I agree. But his secrets aren’t going to be easy to uncover. Holm has put too much effort into the whitewash.’ Rolf tossed the newspaper aside.

‘At least I’ve got to—’ Kjell was interrupted by the phone ringing. ‘If that’s Beata again …’ He hesitated for a second and grabbed the phone. ‘Yes?’

When he heard who it was, his tone of voice changed at once. He noticed that Rolf was watching him with amusement.

‘Hi, Erica … No, no problem … Sure, of course … What did you say? You’re kidding, right?’

He cast a glance at Rolf and smiled broadly. A couple of minutes later he ended the conversation. He’d made a few hasty notes, and now he tossed down the pen, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head.

‘Looks as though things are starting to move.’

‘What is it? Who was that on the phone?’

‘That was Erica Falck. Apparently I’m not the only one interested in John Holm. She complimented me on the article and wondered whether I had any background material she could see.’

‘Why is she interested in him?’ asked Rolf. Then he opened his eyes wide. ‘Is it because he was on Valö? Is Erica writing about the family that disappeared?’

Kjell nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what it sounds like. But that’s not the best part. You won’t believe this.’

‘Come on, Kjell. Don’t keep me in suspense.’

Kjell grinned. He knew that Rolf was going to love what he had to say.

The woman who opened the door was not at all the way Dagmar had pictured her. She was neither beautiful nor seductive, but tired and haggard. She also appeared to be older than Hermann, and everything about her exuded an unexpected ordinariness.

Dagmar gawped at her in silence. Had she come to the wrong place? But it said ‘Göring’ on the doorplate, so she decided this woman must be the couple’s housekeeper. She took a firm grip on Laura’s hand.

‘I’ve come to see Hermann.’

‘Hermann isn’t here.’ The woman looked her up and down.

‘Then I’ll wait until he comes home.’

Laura was trying to hide behind Dagmar, and the woman gave the child a kind smile before she said:

‘I’m Mrs Göring. Is there something I can help you with?’

So this really was the woman that Dagmar hated. The woman who had been in her thoughts ever since she’d read her name in the newspaper. Dagmar regarded Carin Göring with surprise: the sturdy, practical shoes, the well-tailored ankle-length skirt, the blouse that was primly buttoned up to her throat, and her hair pulled back in a bun. Tiny lines were visible around her eyes, and her complexion had a sickly pallor. Suddenly everything fell into place. Of course, this was the woman who had duped her Hermann. An old spinster like her could never get a man like Hermann without some wicked trickery.